prompt
string | chosen_story
string | rejected_story
string | chosen_username
string | rejected_username
string | chosen_timestamp
string | rejected_timestamp
string | chosen_upvotes
int64 | rejected_upvotes
int64 | chosen_comment_id
string | rejected_comment_id
string | chosen_reddit_post_id
string | rejected_reddit_post_id
string |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
[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.
|
“Mwahahaha! Who wants more honey?!” I continued tossing jars of honey at the customers in the candy store, who were desperately trying to escape the sticky, gooey mess. I shook a yellow-striped fist at the obese kid scrambling towards his mobility scooter. “Honey is high in nutrients and is much healthier than sugar, fatsos!”
“Honey-B…”
I turned around, coming face to face with a heroine in a tight spandex suit, emphasizing her legs, which were both slender yet deceivingly muscular. She sighed and shook her head. “Listen. I don’t feel like doing this today, there’s too much going on right now.”
Placing my a fist on my hips, I flashed my teeth (painted yellow and black). “Well, well, well. Gazel. I’m guessing my nemesis Amphibaman won’t be joining us today?”
“He’s dead, B.”
“He- uh, what?” The grin slipped from my face as my heart dropped.
“There’s a super killer going around. Look, I know you’re having fun with your shenanigans, but it’s not a game anymore. Go home, lay low.”
I lowered the jar of honey I was holding. “How… many?” I managed to choke out.
“Amphibaman went down this morning. Cheetspeed is fighting him right now while I’m in charge of getting the supers to safety, now, if you’d just-“
**Crash**
The ceiling collapsed right behind Gazel, and a large figure appeared. Standing 8 feet tall, his burly hands was wrapped around the neck of a man in a spotted cat getup. Sniffing, the giant tossed Cheetspeed, who bounced lifelessly on the floor.
**”So you run, female hero. But you can’t hide from my nose.”** he growled, blood dripping from his fangs, which were attached to a lion-like face complete with a bushy mane. Gazel reacted almost immediately, launching herself into the air and delivering a spinning back kick, which was promptly caught by the monster.
**”Show some respect, female. The king of the beasts is here.”** He smirked.
“Oi!” I yelled, throwing my jar of honey right at the beast. It broke and covered him in a thick syrup. “You’ll have to get through me!” The lion blinked, then roared in laughter. He let go of Gazel, who landed on her feet and leapt in front of me.
“Run, you idiot!” She grimaced through gritted teeth.
“No, no, I got this.” For the first time in forever, I grabbed a fistful of spilt honey from the floor and licked it, and immediately I could feel its effects. My fingers grew into claws and fangs of my own appeared. As I transformed, the lion monster narrowed his eyes and began to square up with me. My muscles grew and burst out of my colorful costume, revealing the fur underneath, which were bristling with anger.
As my foe prepared to attack, I turned to Gazel, whose eyes were wide in surprise.
“By the way, the ‘B’ stands for Badger.”
|
Part 1 of 2
The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of.
Pascal wrote as much. You're not certain what it was about, certainly something about God and faith. Not that it matters, the sentence stuck with you, and you agree. One shouldn't always look for reasoning, the absence of it explains so many things.
Streets built to accommodate traffic as if each driver was a droplet under the yoke of fluid mechanics; industrial zones separated from living areas to keep it all ordained and neat; motorways connecting farms to the concrete where people ate. It looks rational and sensible, and that is all it is. A pretense at common sense, just enough to keep the illusion alive; That mankind is, on a global and individual scale, dictated by science and enlightened.
As if.
You certainly believed so too, once. It's an architect's prerogative to think in right angles and load-bearing walls. Ah, the folly of youth. If only the old would recognize this folly and let go of it, but no, it appears you are cursed like Cassandra before you, to see and tell the truth and never to be believed. Then again, it's easier living in an illusion, they cannot be blamed.
"Any idea?" a voice asks behind you as you contemplate the body, warm blood seeps from a slit throat. There is a menacing tinge in the voice. They fear you, they know what you've done in the past, they know you are causing problems on the regular still. They also prefer the devil they know.
"I say we have a contender on our hands," you reply.
The victim was killed at home, a nice apartment up in a skyscraper with a fully-equipped kitchen open on a tasteful living-room and massive windows looking over the city. Hard to breach, some would say. Easy place to get isolated and far from help a killer would reply.
You recognize the method. Slick, efficient, driven.
Like you, once.
Young and brash, you were armored in the certainty of knowledge, wielding efficiency and reason as weapons. If only you were in charge, then things could finally go forward. Few agreed, it was a human right to choose for themselves, so they said, mistakes were part of growth. Mistakes were done aplenty over centuries, and still the world was on the brink of collapse. Choice is what brought us there, it was up to you to correct this mistake.
You never were a grand and powerful warrior. In truth, nobody is. Humans merely need to shape their hopes and fears in the plastic of heroes and villains. The stories are always grand and noble, unlike the truth, and these great figures often forgot that. You didn't. When they came for an honest duel, you trapped them in a burning building. When they came to save your hostages, they discovered they didn't want to be saved.
And when they tried to handle things like adults and pick you apart in a public debate, they discovered how you, unlike them, had a vision. And as blind humanity is to their own heart, they still wished for reason to rule them, and your vision had enough gold and right angles to make you beloved.
It isn't a fight under a thunderstorm that brought you to power, but a vision spoken on cameras. Heroes and villains, the concepts are outdated.
You worked hard. The world a mess to be remade, reorganized. The wealthy and inefficient saw their funds put to good use without their opinion. Clogged streets, like waterways, were reorganized to handle each droplet. The cities, like humans, perfected to get the world forward. No choice meant going up. And up it went. From the brink, each system, be they financial, human, or ecological, recovered and thrived.
Gorgeous, it was gorgeous. These moments when you could earnestly think *it's going to be alright*.
You're lost in the memory as you hound the killer. They are easy to track, they are like a younger you. There are a few misses in your hunt, murders you predicted not happening, for the killer had yet to perfect the method. You admire their will, their hope, their childish belief. Such a beautiful illusion. Age has ripped this illusion from you.
The killer may not reach that age. She stands before you, knife gleaming in the dark of an unlit alleyway. The sort of path one with good education wouldn't dare taking, and one with bad education has seen the danger of and avoids. The rain pours, the thunder roars, whatever happens, you and her are well and truly alone. No scream will be heard, no unlucky passerby will watch.
"I have a vision," you hear her say, it is the only justification she needs to lunge for your throat.
|
hatabou_is_a_jojo
|
Ataraxidermist
|
2024-09-23 09:34:55
|
2024-09-23 08:46:25
| 1,115 | 72 |
loi0yjl
|
lohwwr9
|
1fnekwz
|
1fnekwz
|
[WP] Pluto is actually an ice prison, harbouring one of the most dangerous people in our part of the universe. You are on an exploratory mission and accidentally unleash it upon landing.
|
"So... How did you end up here?"
'I don't know, man! I was on the way to 65 RDE and appeared here. This isn't the city, is it?'
"Nope, pretty far from any cities. Let me check your inputs..."
'How about getting me down from here first?'
"Ah, right. You'll be easy pickings for the flyers up in that tree. Hang on."
'Ow! My motherb-!'
"Anyway, seems your steering had a bug which caused an overflow. Look here."
'65... million BCE?! But no one's allowed here besides the Chronotech. So you’re-'
"Yep. And glad as I am with finally having some company, we need to get you back to the bunker and out of here ASAP.”
‘O-ok. Let’s get going, then.’
…
‘What’s that? Wargh! Monsters!’
“Shut up! Don’t look at them. Just ignore them and keep moving.”
‘But those flashing horns…’
“Triceratops. You’ve seen the bones, yeah? Apparently their horns are bioluminescent. Distracts the T-Rexes when it’s dark.”
‘T-Rexes?’
“Yeah. Hear that high-pitch sound? Remember: Bats don’t exist yet.”
‘Oh, shi- can it see us?’
“Technically yeah, but it’s probably focused on the Trike, so I suggest we stop gawping and get the hell out of here.”
…
‘Those lights in the sky… are they stars?’
“Yeah. Beautiful, aren’t they? I spent the first week just staring at them every night.”
‘I’ve only seen them in holos. Wow.’
“By the way, you’re going to RDE? Isn’t that…”
‘Yep. I’m going terminal.’
“I’m sorry. For what it’s worth, I don’t have long either.”
‘And why’s that? You don’t seem bugged.’
“Well, my term here ends with a bang, you can say. See that big one there? Sort of like a satellite but pulsing?”
‘Wait. Are we at…’
“Yep. Welcome to the end of this world. By my estimate, just a few hours until impact. There, all done.”
‘YARGH!’ **CRASH**
“Wait, what are you doing?! You just doomed yourself!”
‘Well, I wasn’t looking forward to getting wiped and repurposed anyway.’
“How is this any better?!”
‘Well, I figured you could use a friend at the end. And as destructive that space rock is, it’s quite pretty in the sky. I could go out with a view like that.’
“Yeah, it’s really beautiful, isn’t it? I’ll go get some drinks.”
Edit: Grammar
|
Pouring up another coffee, I took a quick glance at the screens before me. They hadn’t changed in the nearly ten years I had manned this bunker. It was a bit of an uneventful ending to be honest, especially compared to all the others.
A shift in the Ktharval system had been full of life in the emergency bunker. Ten years there felt like that of a day on this god forsaken planet. Machines breaking down, rebels and smugglers thieving the repair shop, and planetary occupation from the Snazzleths. It was never a dull moment, and that was the thing I liked most about it.
On this planet the humans mastered time travel, and then chose not to use it. This bunker was placed here out of pure caution for something that will likely never happen. Something about a prisoner of the void. They had told me when I started my shift here that some day, there would be a ripple that would cause so much pressure my eardrums may rupture. A button in the bunker was to be used if it every happened, and since then I have had nothing but radio silence.
I took a sip of the coffee and laid back in my chair for a moment. The room was filled with all of my personal belongings and items of my hobbies. Nothing more than some entertainment like movies and what humans call Holo-games, but still anything you might need as a home-sitter of sorts.
"Where did I leave that controller..." I mumbled to myself, sitting up once again in my chair to search around the floor in the amassed junk pile. Nothing more than empty boxes and broken electronics, but I wasn't fond of throwing anything away.
I sighed as I pulled a control device from the floor and clicked the power button, turning on the hologram machine.
“Please… help…” I heard as nothing but a whisper in my ear, yet somehow feeling like the most blood curdling scream in existence.
Stopping in place, I held my breath and slowly looked around. I didn't get a warning anyone had entered the bunker. There wasn't any presence that I was able to detect otherwise either.
"Wh-who’s there? Where are you?” I sternly said, standing to take a closer look around the area. There was still nothing visibly out of place.
The air began to thicken, and the bunker began to shake as if something from beneath the thick floor was trying to break its way into the bunker. The humans had told me that the floor beneath me was surrounded by a near impenetrable substance that was made of the thickest alloys in the galaxy, and even after analysis by the Galactic Time Vault Co. had shown that the material was far above standards.
“Everywhere… Need… Help… In…”
The whole bunkers continued to shake, with anything not bolted down being flung from its resting place onto the floor. Pictures shattered and the all the lights went out as the power failed. Gaining my balance, I reached for my chest to grab at the panic button the humans had given me with the warning of the ripple. It was nowhere to be found, and in the pitch black it would take me some time before I was able to see anything.
As my eyes adjusted to the absence of light, I caught a glimpse of the panic button being absorbed by a liquid seeping up from the ground. The black tar like substance was bubbling as it began to pool all over the floor, dissolving whatever it touched. Panic overcame me, and I closed my eyes.
“PLEASE, HELP US IN! EVERYWHERE, WE NEED TO BE EVERYWHERE!” A shrill screech sounded, my ears bursting from the pressure within my head. I opened my eyes to see a sludge before me begin to take shape into a grotesque monstrosity with bubbling eyes that popped only to quickly reform themselves and sharply pointed teeth all over its humanoid form. The feet of the creature were linked to the puddle and there seemed to be some kind of mist being created by every popped bubbling eye on it's body.
I gasped for air as the being began to slide over the floor in the puddle it had created, and my eyes closed as I fell to my chest with my arms outstretched.
"WELCOME! WE ARE INFINITE!"
|
hatabou_is_a_jojo
|
Yorishie
|
2024-04-21 03:10:13
|
2024-04-21 02:31:44
| 40 | 16 |
l0joylp
|
l0jk3ko
|
1c94lgv
|
1c94lgv
|
[WP] As a child, you dreamed of helping a wounded faerie. As an adult, they returned to repay the favour.
|
“This sucks.” I muttered as I stood at the pantry, eyeing the empty shelves by the light of my window. What can you cook with half a can of cornstarch and a quarter of a jar of peanut butter? I puzzled this as I walked back to the fridge and opened it to find the same things I found the last 3 times. A bit of milk in a jug, two weeks expired, an empty egg carton, and the wilted remains of what once might’ve been a salad. All I could think to do was sigh. If sleep were sustenance, I’d have a feast tonight.
I flopped down on my bed and kicked off my shoes, then curled into a ball and closed my eyes in a feeble attempt to block out the sound of my stomach growling. “Just breathe”, I thought to myself, “Concentrate on your heart beating, and you won’t feel your stomach as much.” I drew in slow, methodical breaths as I drifted off, lacking the energy to even pull a blanket over myself.
“Hey!” Shouted a small, high pitched voice right beside my head. I awoke with a start, placing a hand over my ringing ear as I sat up and looked over to see a tiny, glowing little winged girl no bigger than a Polly Pocket fluttering about a foot in front of me. “W-what…” I trailed off as I stared at her, until a question sprang to my mind. “Holy shit, did I die!?” I exclaimed. The fae laughed in reply, “not yet, but you look about halfway there! Come on, come on, come on! I have a lot planned for you!”
She flew around my room, leaving a trail of sparkling dust behind her, and effortlessly passed through my bedroom door. I followed with wavering steps, and slowly opened the door to find a field.
The scent of flowers filled my nose as I stepped through. The sun was bright in the sky, and the air filled with birds singing and squirrels and rabbits running and hopping around. Butterflies gently glided from flower to flower on a cool breeze. I walked along a stone path, following the faerie with trees towering over us.
Apples, pears, peaches, and plums so ripe they looked ready to burst where they hung. Past them, I could hear the soft babbling of a creek. Lining our path were sprawling blackberry bushes that looked as delicious as the fruit above us. “Have some!” The fae offered, “The animals won’t mind. We can stay for as long as you need.”
“Really? Thank you.” I said with a watering mouth as I reached up to twist a peach from a nearby branch. The fuzzy skin tickled my hands as I turned it about to look it over. No bugs, no bruises, no wrinkles… no mould. My fingers left the smallest dents with a squeeze. It seemed okay. I looked to the fae once more, and she smiled and sat on up on a branch as I took my first bite…
It was sweeter than candy, and gone in minutes.
The plums were equally sweet and soft, with a much thinner, glossy skin, and deeper flavor than any plum I’d had before. The blackberries popped between my teeth as I ate them, savoring each one as the brighter flavors melded with the plum. It was beautiful. Before long,
“You sure were hungry!” The fae said cheerfully, “you sure you’ve had enough? I guess it doesn’t really matter.”
“What?” I asked as she took to the air once again. She made her way to my level before replying, “Come on! I’ll show you!” Then, she flew ahead on the trail once again. And again, I followed.
A short while later, our path was blocked by a stream. The fae promptly turned and flew against the way of its current. As we walked, it got wider, flowing over larger stones, and branching off to form a multitude of smaller brooks that sang together as we made our way. It looked strangely familiar.
Soon after, we came to a weeping willow tree. The river babbled away as the fae landed on my shoulder and placed her small hand on my neck. “Do you remember this place?” She asked, her once chipper voice now solemn, and low. I racked my brain, but couldn’t remember. After a short silence, she began.
“You were playing here, a long, long time ago. You were a lot smaller back then, but you wanted to be taller. So, you climbed up and up, and found me stuck in that little cave,” she pointed to a small hole in the tree, the remnant of a long-gone woodpecker. “That big mean bird pecked through my wing, and I was stuck in there until you came along. You lowered a vine to me, and I was able to climb out. Then, your parents called you, and I didn’t get to say thanks. It took me a long while to find you.”
The fae took to the air once more, and flew up to the woodpecker hole. From it, she pulled a small, golden bell. She smiled and placed it in my hand.
“If you’re ever hungry, or lonely, or sad… if you ever need me, just ring this bell and I’ll find you. Wherever you are.”
“Well… wow.. Th-thank you… I don’t know what to say…”
“Say we’ll see each other again?”
“Yes… of course…”
|
\[Rhapsody: Hopes and Dreams\]
"This is such bullsh-" Craig's whining was interrupted by a sudden, chipper voice.
"Hi!" Craig spun his office chair to face the door. He hadn't heard it open, and it was still closed. But, a teenage girl with long, straight white hair stood in his office. She wore a crisp white suit with a familiar red scissor logo that only added fuel to his current growing negativity.
"This is still my office until 5 o'clock," he replied without hiding his bitterness. He didn't even bother standing up, and in fact made it a point to slouch lower.
"I'm not here for your tiny office," she shook her head with a light giggle. "I'm Rhapsody," she said. Her eyes glowed with Red energy. "Don't you remember me?"
"I’ve never met you or anyone from Sharp Development until today," he shook his head. “Never even heard of your company until I was part of it,” he said. “For all of a day.”
“Does this help?” Rhapsody asked. At her question, the teenage girl vanished. She was replaced by a red wisp that flew around his head a couple of times. “I guess that was a LONG time ago; you’re looking kind of old already,” she giggled as she circled around him; then, she flew back to the door and took a full teenage shape again.
“Hey…,” that warm summer day sprouted in his memory like a magic beanstalk and he could vividly picture it again. Over the years, he had his doubts and the memory faded; but, he had undeniable proof now. It had happened. He was there. He saw a fairy. “That was only 10 years ago!” He felt playful again, somehow. His mood brightened once he knew magic was real after all. He sat up more attentive in his chair. Rhapsody giggled.
“So, you do remember!” she said.
“Yeah!” Craig nodded. But, the full scope of the memory hadn’t been registered until that moment. “Ohh.. yeah… you’re okay!” he said. As he reached his early teens, Craig often took to exploring the forest. There was something about the unknown possibilities behind every tree that called to him. There was adventure in every unexplored clearing; and, he found it once.
“Yeah,” Rhapsody nodded. “Thanks to a handful of kind souls that looked out for me over the years,” she smirked at him with a knowing playfulness.
“Wait, you’re… working for Sharp Development??” he asked. “Why is a fairy working? Why are you .. here?” He smiled. It was hard not to get his hopes up. She was a fairy, and they had a history together; no matter how brief it might have been. Her presence could not have been coincidence, so there was only one other reason for her being there. Maybe the impeccable white blazer was a disguise so she could help him keep his job.
“Technically, I’m only half-fairy,” Rhapsody said. “I don’t have to work,” she shrugged. “But, it’s my mom’s company, and I’m enjoying the job. Days like today, especially,” she grinned.
“Your mom is Dana Sharp?” Craig asked. It was hard not to already hate the woman completely. She bought his employers and dismantled the company overnight; he learned it was his last day as soon as he arrived that morning. But, as far as coincidences went, he was feeling pretty lucky at the moment. He was sure the boss’ daughter was about to do him a major favor.
“That’s the one,” she nodded.
“So..,” Craig leaned forward in his chair. “..what’s so special about days like today?” he asked with his own playful smile.
“Even half-fairies always repay their debts,” she said. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you for a little while now…,” she said. “You haven’t been doing great…,” she shook her head.
“Yeah, no kidding!” Craig replied. He had to clench his fist to keep his thoughts in check. He almost asked her why she didn’t show up sooner. But, she was here now; and comparatively, he was definitely at his lowest.
“I know,” she nodded. “But, then, my mom bought your Earth,” she said.
“Your mom bought this company…,” he said. Rhapsody shook her head.
“My mom only deals in Earths, not individual companies. You’ll see the rest of the changes soon. But, I had to come see you as soon as I heard. I finally have a chance to repay you!”
“Wait…,” Craig shook his head. The comment about a fairy repaying their debts rubbed him wrong the first time, but there was so much else going on. He didn’t consider the fairy to owe him anything; it was part of the reason the memory vanished so readily. “...I’m confused. You don’t owe me anything…,” he said.
“Of course I do!” she said. “Maybe your memory’s starting to go bad. Let me set the scene,” she became a red wisp again, then landed on the desk in front of him. She was now a tiny, 4-inch pixie laying on his desk. Her wings were solid, glassy white instead of the usual translucent wings insects had. She wore a silky red gown and she wiggled uncomfortably on his desk.
“Help, I’m stuck in a spider web,” she said. Her voice sounded like a veteran actor bored with rehearsal.
“Yeah.. I remember…,” Craig nodded. “..you still don’t owe-”
“Then you came along!” Rhapsody spoke over him. “Big, strong, teenage you; that spider web would’ve been nothing to you…,” she said.
“I’m sorry!” Craig replied. It was all he could do. Both, now and the first time he met her. “I’d never seen a fairy before! I didn’t know what to do!”
“Trying something is usually a good start,” Rhapsody nodded.
“Look,” Craig shook his head. “Today has been a pretty crappy day for me. We both know you don’t owe me anything because I didn’t do anything. So, why are you here?” he asked.
“I told you. To repay my debts!” Rhapsody said with enthusiasm.
“I didn’t give you anything!” Craig finally got to his feet and raised his voice.
“Sure you did. First, a big smile…,” she grinned from ear to ear. She moved closer to him and took his hand and patted it in a comforting, patronizing way. She looked up to him and he found himself staring into nothing but solid red energy. “Then, some encouragement. I hope you’ll be okay,” she said. “I’ll dream big for you, so get better!”
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1904 in a row. (Story #094 in year six.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on August 22nd and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until May 26th. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/wtglls/tokuhigh_alternet_class/).
|
Lady-Radziwill
|
HSerrata
|
2023-04-05 03:49:26
|
2023-04-04 20:50:36
| 203 | 37 |
jf0di9e
|
jeythuh
|
12bnooo
|
12bnooo
|
[WP] A medic saving a wounded soldier notices a supernatural being coming to take their soul. Out of options the medic punches it on the face, shocking the being.
|
For a medic who is a frail little girl, you are a bit shocked when you realize you have managed to punch what appeared to be a shadowy well-suited man with a tophat and a trenchcoat. The man seemed as surprised as you are, slowly walking backwards with his left hand on his cheek, like he was either offended or confused.
Finally, the entity spoke with a haunting yet melodic tone, "H-how, a mere little one, could have the courage and will to punch an entity like me?"
With his question, you decided to speak out with a soft meek tone, "I don't know...are you the grim reaper?"
"Y-yes, my child. Despite your efforts, the soldier's wounds outweigh your will," the entity answered in a sorrowful state, "I'm afraid I have to..."
But you angrily persist in his claims, "No, I am not going to lose him! Just give me another chance, please!"
The entity sighed and said, "Alright, I'm giving you at least one hour. If the soldier's health does not improve, I think you know what I should do."
You do everything in your strength and weakness to tend to the soldier's wound as adequately as possible. You can tell the soldier was more afraid than you are, seeing his eyes more watery as time marched on. And still, you worked hard to save the soldier's life as the figure looked on from the dark.
One hour had passed, and the bandages you put on had safely secured the wounds. You looked at the soldier's face and saw his eyes had closed, but you knew he was alive and sleepy. Because when you looked back at the shadowy figure, he was gone from the darkness.
\--
The End
|
Mortar had impacted close by. We were first on scene. Triage at a mass casualty incident is all about logistics. Sort the nonviable (black) from viable (red, yellow, green).
Size up my scene and I go through my internal checklist. No time to let emotions cloud judgement. I have algorithms. I have skills. We have a fucking situation on our hands. A growing pool of bright red and frothy blood flows and meanders through the dirt into a dusty street. A crumpled heap of clothing that hold together flesh in a vaguely humanoid shape as its source. The other heaps don’t bleed. Not a priority.
He’s unresponsive, cant even elicit an open eye from pain stimulus. No one around to help me stabilize C spine so that’ll have to wait. Not a priority. The crimson spurts are lessening in intensity before my eyes, I have seconds until he’s in irreversible shock. With a practiced motion I place the first tourniquet two inches above what I think is his largest wound, though they all blend together at some point.
War… war never changes is the only thing I can think as I work mindlessly. Ha, how much I loved that line when I was home playing my games. A grim joke. That was then, this is now. Though each trauma is different, my response never changes. The atrocities they commit to each other never change. Leadership sending young men to die for corpora- huh?
My internal monologue comes to a screeching halt as something changes. Before me lies a corpse, my efforts in vain. But he still had a chance. He was bad, but I’ve saved worse. FUCK. FUCK FUCK IT’S ALL FUCKING FUCKED. I wordlessly scream and rail and thrash against my helplessness. Traumatic arrest has one of the lowest rates of ROSC but any chance is worth it. This boy should live.
As I scream into a radio for backup I know is 3 and a half minutes too late, his eyes open. They stare straight ahead, unseeing. Yet I feel his gaze penetrating me; he’s looking through me. I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up as though electrified.
A barrier that I can’t see separates us now. I can’t do compressions. My hands stop an inch away. What the fuck is happening? I stand up and notice a shadow stretching in front of me that shouldn’t be there. My shadow shouldn’t be wavering and flickering. It’s late and I’m tired. Been awake for too long and my mind is playing tricks.
“No tricks. Just destiny. Rest now, Sterfri99. He’s mine.”
I hear this voice without listening. Voice isn’t the right word though. It’s a feeling. A thought. Knowledge. I know what I didn’t hear and it can’t be possible. Feeling the blood drain from my face I turn. My boots feel made of cement as I slowly come face to face with the ghoul.
Mottled and gray, its barely corporeal form displays swaths of green sickly decomposition. A rotten hand reaches out and pushes me aside as it lowers itself and unhinges its jaw.
No-
A size 13 steel-toed boot cracks the ghoul in the jaw hard enough to stand it up. Eyes widen in an emotion it’s never felt before. Jab. Reverse. 8 years of Goju Ryu karate give my strikes thunderous force. Reeling from the ol’ one-two, it starts
“Sterfri9-“
All the air whooshes out of what remains of its lungs as ribs and cartilage splinter on my knee. With a berserker roar channeling years of frustration, resentment, and bottled emotions I drop it to the ground and the rubber soles impact what used to be an intact skull.
A weak breath is taken.
|
Friendly_Anteater474
|
sterfri99
|
2023-01-09 05:58:39
|
2023-01-09 05:42:14
| 22 | 12 |
j3krbuf
|
j3kpq4x
|
106qz1g
|
106qz1g
|
[WP] Humans are often abducted as exotic pets for aliens. One day, your owner enters with a book and starts trying to speak your language.
|
I felt the intrusion in my mind immediately
The tender tickle before the violent intrusion into my brain
I got ready to defend myself from my captor's attempt to "communicate" again.
I counted 200 meals since my last capture. Before my watch ran out of battery power I was being regularly fed at 8 Earth hour intervals and contact would happen every sixteen, usually after a meal
The first time had been horrifying, seeing visions and sights no human mind was made to process. Then, it tried to take memories from me.
I had tried to repel the mental contact with many horrible images of war, personal pain, anguish, boredom, gibberish. Nothing worked except for music, and specific music.
It loved Justin Bieber, but couldn't stand Rick Astley.
I was getting ready the first stanza of Never Gonna Give You Up, to give as a memory, when instead I received an image of a human petting a dog.
They must have processed what they took from me the last session.
I saw my face on the dog's body and the captor's strange distorted alien head on the human.
Huh. I always thought that strange bud between it's 6 legs was it's genitals...
I wanted to show the alien I was i peer, so I showed two humans conversing
The alien sent me a lightbulb image... Then left me alone.
I sat in my permabright cell, alone.
During the next feeding, I was surprised to see the slot of my cell door staying open even after my food was delivered.
The alien sent me a picture of itself and me speaking like humans do.
Finally! No more mental communication! I was excited at the progress.
From the slot an eerie voice called out. "¡Holá!"
I cursed my luck. I took French in highschool
|
The Tower is a habitat created for human beings. It holds many floors of varying ecosystems due to human nature's trait of incredible adaptability, the species have created different forms of cultures and civilizations. To this species, the tower was their entire world, and anything beyond the walls was a being known as the Master. They are an enormous alien being who came to Earth one day and collected multiple individuals from our home planet. For what purpose, that remains uncertain but they maintained the ecosystem and climates within the Tower with great meticulous care.
This being we refer to as our Master, whom we have not seen its true appearance. Each floor has its colony recording each of its everyday lives through "confession rituals", typing down our lives now and then. Some who are more devout would write down their lives routinely, from weekly, monthly, or even daily. The colonies themselves are named by the Master, and each of them has an individual appointed by the Master to essentially be their envoy in the colony, occasionally acting as a figure of authority in certain circumstances. Their duties involve organizing information collected from the confessionals within the terminal. Each record, is filed accordingly, with date, importance, etc. It all depends on how the envoys organized how the records are organized, and if the Master is satisfied with their work, they would be rewarded accordingly.
Formerly known as Lough DF10 from the Erdhiz Colony, I was designated by the master to be the succeeding envoy under the new name O'sh. Today, I would meet the avatar of the Master to undergo the rites and training required to become the Envoy of my colony. This fills me with anticipation but also nervousness, knowing that I bear the responsibility for my colony and the Master and should I fail, the consequences are not only mine to bear but the colony as a whole.
Nevertheless, I could only dare hope that I would be able to reach the Master's expectations of me. This is the final log as Lough DF10 as I would undergo training with the Master and would not be required to participate in the confessional rituals nor I would be using this account for any future confessions if I may be required or desire to. The master has assigned me a new personal account that establishes my identity as the 42nd Envoy of the colony and that I would use this account to hold any records both personal and work-related.
The Avatar of the Master has been announced to arrive shortly at the designated meeting place, so this is where I end this log.
Farewell Lough DF10.
\------------------------------------------------
As the young man rests his finger on the holographic keyboard, the log has been saved and uploaded into the terminal amongst the many others. O'sh would organize these records, and a week's worth, after his secluded training with the Master. Shutting down the computer, the young man quickly starts doing some last-minute preparations before meeting the Master.
Gazing upon the mirror, O'sh combed his black-brown, braided hair into a neat bun, revealing a set of hazel eyes resting upon a round face and tanned skin. Smoothing out the creases on his clothes, he takes an attempt to smile. O'sh regretted it immediately as his face twisted into a cringe, deciding to keep a neutral expression to maintain his dignity. Soon, the young man walked out of his room and made his way through the door outside.
1/?
|
livebeta
|
Common-Scallion-3497
|
2023-12-29 09:38:30
|
2023-12-29 07:49:11
| 111 | 25 |
kfe6t30
|
kfdy3c0
|
18t93xa
|
18t93xa
|
[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.
|
I look at the Goddess on the imposing throne, and sigh.
"Don't sigh, dear mortal, for for your lifestyle, you have been chosen!
Despite dying, I am here to offer you whatever divine skills you desire, the love life of an Emperor, and the charms of a incubus!
Reincarnating in the world of your choosing, from this list, and becoming its savior and in the end...ruler.", she said, her voice sweet, and inspiring.
"Nah, that's a scam.
Just throw me into a worm's body or something, Imma be fine.", I said.
The Goddess froze.
"Dear mortal...
You have been chosen for a greater Fate...", she started.
"Yeah, no, I'm not the best choice.
Go next, thank you.", I said.
She was fuming.
"Listen up!
My divine blessings are coveted by mortals and immortals alike!
You think you can just refuse them?", she angrily asked.
I nodded.
She threw some lightning in my direction.
"Missed.", I said, as I looked at her heaving, and panting figure.
It was just a blurry figure, but damn, was she worked up.
"Mortal! YOU DARE DEFY ME?", she roared, as the entire place we were at shook.
"Yep.
Smells like a scam, sounds like a scam, you act like a caught-red-handed scammer, so yeah, no.
I refuse, just throw me into the afterlife, or nothingness or something.
I am dead anyway, not like you can make it worse.", I said.
At this she smirked, and started laughing.
"Ohoho, I could entrap your soul for eternity, making you suffer things you can't even imagine.", she said.
"'kay.", I said.
She froze, and almost fell over.
"What?", she asked.
"I said, 'kay. Do that.
Torture or whatever, it's not like I have a choice.
You've been literally throwing lightning at me, and your anger can shake this entire place.
Like the hell am I supposed to do against you?", I said.
"Just accept the reincarnation!", she sighed exhasperatedly.
"Nope. Sounds too scammy, too bothersome.", I said.
She roared, and started throwing stuff at me, and telling me ways she will torture me.
I shrugged.
I knew a bluff when I saw one, ditto with a scam.
If she thinks she can out-stubborn me, she was in for a surprise, after all...
I did die, because I was too stubborn...
|
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"
|
TheWanderingBook
|
jpreston2005
|
2024-07-23 15:41:48
|
2023-05-22 17:17:39
| 304 | 23 |
mua44u5
| null |
1kvfnw4
| null |
[WP] "I should've been a hero instead of following my family's legacy" a villain sighed to himself while rescuing civillians trapped under the rubbles of destroyed buildings caused by the reckless and arrogant hero who's still telling the fakest story to his Twitch fans while striking poses
|
"I couldn't deal with the shame. Every holiday, nothing but "Oh Xavier, why do you embarrass yourself like those gaudy 'heroes'?" "Why don't you follow the family business? We do what must be done."
Well Ma, I'm sorry I want to have some money. A fucking *life.* Yeah, I get it. Without us, the heroes wouldn't have anything to do. I've heard it a million times.
Except.. these heroes cause their own problems. I sure as shit didn't cause the earthquake, or the tornado, or the tsunami, or the hurricane, or the blizzard, or the heat wave, or the whatever-the-fuck they're posting about on Twitter.
No, my family is in waste management. We take care of the *waste.* Sure, that might include the occasional "hero" or two. But trust me, they weren't helping anybody but themselves. 1985, earthquake in Mexico City. You know who showed up? Not fucking Superman. Not enough cameras. No, only the people that don't care about glitz and glamor were on the ground floor, pulling out people that were only in the wrong place at the wrong time.
They don't get us. My family. They don't understand us. We aren't causing havoc and mayhem to hurt some random schmuck. We're making a statement. Hoping that the remaining few individuals with two brain cells to rub together will listen. Ever wonder why every "supervillain" is *magically* targeting the rich? *Magically* targeting the corrupt politicians, the dirty mayors and greasy-handed senators? No? Buckle up, kid, you're going to realize why my family is in waste management... and why Superman *isn't.* I'm not one of the good guys. I'm certainly not one of the "bad guys".
I'm trying to live my fucking life before this whole planet collapses. Now.. smile for the camera, Mr. President. My followers have some questions for you..."
|
After taking the 17:45 isekai express into this world, I'd been bringing the hurt like bus-kun himself. But I never let my methods get out, because frankly I didn't want the competition hurting themselves or others.
For example I once read a reddit story where someone claimed to use a stick of dynamite to blow a few pounds of flammable something or other into dust deep in a cave. At the mouth of the cave was a naked flame which lit the dust, and with the cave acting as a crude megaphone, the resulting explosion could be heard for miles. Now, reddit was a cesspool of lies, bots and creative writing for fake internet points, but hey grain silo explosions are a real thing, so I adapted the tale for my own use.
I threw a bag full of sawdust into the cave, waited five seconds for the embedded gust spell to trigger and then threw in a flame ball with another two second timer. It was no grain silo explosion, but it was medieval equivalent of a flash bang. After loud *whomp* I attempted a roll into the cave like the complete gravy seal wannabe that I am only to once again remember that you can't body roll with a three foot sword strapped to your waist. Oh yeah, this isn't actually Dark Souls. I needed to remember that.
I stood up, dusted myself off and looked around with a cocksure "I meant to do that" look on my face. Fortunately no one saw what'd happened, so I didn't have to try and sell it. We'd have both been embarrassed by the attempt. Yeah, anyway. In the center of the cave and covered by milky white wings curled over its head and a tail around its feet was a shaking little cat loaf of a dragon. It was keening for its mother and possibly crying; hard to tell with wings over its face. Dammit! It's official. *I'm a monster.* :sigh:
I walked over to the dragon loaf and sat down next to it. "You know, where I come from, we use loud sounds and bright lights as a tribute to the birth of our country. Even though the country is many hundreds of years old now, we still celebrate when it came to be every year."
The dragon peeked one eye out from under a wing and quavered "Re.. Really?". I reached down and gently scratched the dragon over one of its eye ridges and replied "Oh yes! We love to commemorate the birth of new things. Heck even babies get a tiny little fire on top of a cake.". As the dragon dragon had slowly uncovered itself the scratches progressed from full on head skritchies to a vigorous exfoliation of the triangular ridges down his back.
The dragon asked "So that... that was a celebration? A *tribute* to my incredibly handsome, newly hatched and yet utterly elegant self?". Hypothesis: Dragons are talking cats with wings. My left hand scratched the head again, concentrating on the jawline and ears while my right hand gave the little loaf a few light scratches where his tail met his back, which he immediately arched. Hypothesis promoted to Theory: Dragons are talking cats with wings.
"Yup, totally. Tribute. 100%. In fact if you'll indulge a second kind of tribute, you may ride my shoulders, little one. I'll carry you out of here and we'll go see about that cake. How does that sound?"
"Can it be gold cake?"
"How about a cake with gold-colored frosting? That work?"
He didn't say anything, but he did poke several holes in my leather jerkin as he scrambled up onto my shoulders. Theory promoted to Fact: Dragons are talking cats with some sharp little claws. "So, how long before you get too big to ride on my shoulders, my friend?". "Oh, no more than two or three hundred years, tops.". Mental note: I need to invest in another layer or two of clothing.
|
XandertheWriter
|
technofiend
|
2023-11-11 08:48:55
|
2023-07-14 21:05:47
| 63 | 13 |
k8rgha4
|
jrzhwmd
|
17skc4e
|
14zb4m1
|
[WP] God, demigod, guardian--Every time mankind finds you, during a different age, they give you a title representative of your otherworldly power. You aren't getting weaker, yet your title gets diluted each time until finally, a group of humans think you're just a homeless person who needs help.
|
I've been searching, waiting, trying to get my fishing hook back for 500 years. I've tracked it to the Museo di Palazzo Grimani in Venice, but I cannot enter for now. I have other matters to attend to, like this security guard.
"I am not homeless you damned mortal, I am a god!"
"Miss, if you would please leave before I have to escort you out with force."
"I will turn you into an insect where you stand, get out of my way."
"Hey lady," A boy no older than 16 dares to yell, " You're ruining the vibe of this place."
He comes over to me and whispers, "Nuasiela, I've got it. Play along."
"You vile boy, fine, I'll leave willingly."
A crowd has formed around us as I walk out the door, just as a small storm is coming my way. I snap and the clouds dissipate with no one batting an eye. Gods it's hard to get mortals to look up.
The "boy" comes up to me with a small grin on his face, "you like my disguise?"
"I don't like anything about you, Marsmoke."
"Well then, we'll just have to wait 500 more, won't we."
"That won't be necessary." I say as I snatch it out of his hand. Finally, my coveted fishhook, the very thing I needed.
I walk into the streets of Venice without another word, becoming one with the early morning mist.
|
*A whim. It was just a whim at first.*
***
Flitting across the cosmos from one rock to the next, all was still.
A swirly purple one. A little green one. A sandy red one. Alighting on a mostly blue one with wavy whites, she dangled her feet off the edge and into the void.
Cheek in palm, she bore a frown. Boredom reigned.
"Hmm?"
A brow was raised in moderate surprise. There was a microscopic peculiarity.
So she gave it a nudge. Just a nudge.
Space rippled as if it were the surface of a pond.
She was gone. Off to find the next rock.
***
...
..
.
A swirly purple one.
A little green one.
A sandy red one.
A mostly blue one with a tinge of green and wavy whites.
Little things had erected shapes and pillars from the earth.
***
Upon a pasture, a young girl laid limp. Her life pooled under her, dying the grass, already wet with rain. Huddled over her, embracing her tight, was a man clothed in primitive garbs. A father.
The air swelled, and a brow lifted in base curiosity.
Maroon climbed its way up the father's tunic. Tears were shed, unceasing in their sorrow.
A radiant palm reached out, drawing his attention, its touch gracing his daughter's figure.
He directed his gaze upwards and beheld naught but vestiges of fading ripples.
Warmth returned to the one within his arms, as did the sun.
"Goddess..."
The blades were dyed no longer, verdant in all their glory. Tears were shed, unceasing in their joy, unceasing in their piety.
Two souls thus set across the land, devoted to spreading word of a creator—of an almighty savior.
***
*Then came amusement at the status those creatures afforded her.*
***
...
..
.
A man of destiny stood before his vassals, crowned and clad in regalia. A sea of subjects heeded his words.
It was here that he set aflame the machine of war, pointing the tips of their spears towards friend and foe.
Space billowed, and from behind him manifested her radiant form.
Eyes wide, he spoke thus, "Behold, our kingdom's guardian has blessed us with triumph!"
A frown.
Resounding roars shattered the sky, smothering the warps in space left in her absence.
Unceasing was the king's ambition.
***
*In but a blink, however, her status diminished just as her amusement did.*
***
...
..
.
Towers of metal and glass protruded forth, motion and noise abound.
She walked among them.
"Did you see her? That wretch caked in dirt?" Laughter erupted among a passing pack of them.
That dirt was a souvenir from a brief visit to another one.
A coin was tossed her way, accompanied shortly after by some spittle.
They were unceasing only in their apathy and their derision.
Ripples spread just as they had before, but they now encompassed it all.
One moment, the mostly blue rock was there, with its swathes of green and stagnant grays in lieu of wavy whites. In the next, a vacuum took its place, the only indication anything had ever existed there waning waves.
But she was gone. Off to find another rock—perhaps another one worthy of a whim.
***
*It should come as no surprise, then, that just as it all began with a whim, so too did it end with one.*
|
Aquamarine_ze_dragon
|
RouGui_
|
2023-02-19 01:53:06
|
2023-02-19 01:18:13
| 16 | 11 |
j94051d
|
j93vu9r
|
115j1mh
|
115j1mh
|
[WP] in a post-apocalyptic world, you realize you have just been bitten by a zombie. The gravity of your situation begins to sink in when the insatiable hunger suddenly becomes overwhelming…
|
I remember a grassy hill with cold breezes. Running up it with other kids as one took a fall. We were scared and panicking for his bruises at the time but now it seems a distant blessing.
I remember years, decades of scavenging. Brutal days of hunger and getting the shits every few months for drinking the wrong water. Infected hands and a cut up arm from a stupid fall. Stoic delusions of being one of few left, a founder who has to father another generation and perserve what little humanity had to offer. Did I? Blurry faces of children I can hardly recall.
Too painful to remember being bitten. Too much for the senses, it felt like a million implosions splaying out over all my consciousness. I remember a simple mispreperation becore- no, it *hurts*.
I can't piece together my mind. I feel still like I'm laying on my side, always choking on spit or blood while my stomach heaves and bloats. I see pavement, where I lay after the bite- faded yellow markers of paint from those better days when painting roads was a way to live.
Am I still lying there? Or am I one of them now, shambling about with nothing better but sensory tricks and twitches. I can't stop dying, all I see is the pavement and a horizon I can't see folding in.
It *hurts* again now- comes in waves. Always worse, always worse.
A mother's lullaby- mine or someone else's? Singing about something morbid, because in those better days we couldn't just enjoy good things. Everything had to be a joke, a hidden veil to children they had to realize. Hands, the feeling of holding a wrinkled hand.
Now I want to cry again, a feeling that induces pain. I can't muster up the bodily function to, so I just feel numbing falling forward and a desire to vomit that won't go away. That bursts into more *hurt*.
Why do I have moments of thinking? Why can't I just be reduced to sensory flashes? I don't want to think like this, it *hurts*. *I keep dying*.
|
We are wired to survive. You know the odds aren't good, that the end is probably just a few days into the future. But you try, you try to hold on. No one seems to know where it came from, the most popular theory before most communications networks broke down was that it was a biological weapon. No one knew how something like it could have been made, though. Many people turned on the first aerosol exposure, but not everyone. However, the virus mutates rapidly after infection. Just coming into contact with one of the zombies is a risk. I heard some people managed to survive being bitten, but as far as I know, a bite will infect you nine times out of ten.
The city is a bad place to be. I have a gun, and people who have succumbed are not terribly observant. But I am still surrounded by enemies, ones that can inflict a fate worse than death. I need to eat, there is still food in the supermarkets and restaurants. Once I have enough food, I will flee the city entirely and look for other survivors.
I stride quietly into the market, the door already shattered. I'm not sure what the city's uninfected population is now. A lot of people are dead, and those that are alive are probably heading for the hills. I reach the canned goods aisle and start to fill my backpack. I have a high end portable water filter with me, I should be able to drink from any body of water safely. But I can still starve.
Can after can goes into the pack, but I have tuned out of the world around me. I hear a shuffle a few feet from me and turn. It's one of the zombies, it lunges, knocking me to the ground. It tries to sink its teeth into me. My left arm is pinned, I can’t reach the gun. But my right hand has a can of soup in it. I bash the corpse's head with it, denting both the can and the monster's head. I do enough damage to make it go limp, but I don't stop for several seconds, then I kick the now actually dead zombie off of myself, grab my bag, and flee the market.
I am two miles away when I start to feel funny. I tell myself it is the adrenaline fading from my system. Another mile, and I realize I'm hungry. I open a can of beans and stuff my face with it. Then another. I'm still hungry.
Two more miles, and I can no longer pretend something is not wrong. I can feel something changing inside me. I sit on a bench, and do what I have been avoiding. I check myself for wounds, and find a gash on my upper arm. I realize that, in the confusion, the zombie's teeth had carved a furrow in the skin of my right arm as I struggled to get it off me.
I feel queasy, on the verge of vomiting. I try to tell myself platitudes of comfort, "You'll make it," "You'll be fine," "Bites aren't always lethal," "Just find a doctor and they'll fix you up."
I feel a sickly creeping sensation. The malaise and fever of a conventional sickness, combined with the ever growing and utterly insatiable hunger. I walk two more miles, feeling myself changing inside the whole way. Soon, I won't be me anymore. No one knows what it is like to turn, those consumed by the disease are entirely incapable or unwilling to report the experience.
What should I do, in the fading final hour of my life? I could try to end it, damage my body until I could be no threat to anyone. I could embrace the disease, become an unabashed monster. I could look for other survivors to heal me or at least provide a death with a minimum of pain.
I stand, wavering for what feels like a long time. The shadows have grown only slightly longer, but I am indecisive. I know what the responsible choice is, but I don't think I have the strength to do it anymore. I walk into the countryside at a shamble. I hope I find a corpse or an animal to sink my teeth into.
|
CyanideLock
|
Saint_Of_Silicon
|
2024-07-15 01:38:39
|
2024-07-15 01:31:40
| 58 | 16 |
ld87tdf
|
ld86tje
|
1e3hjri
|
1e3hjri
|
[WP] “Why should I care what you think, dad? Humans only live for a hundred years if they’re lucky! Me and mom will be here for thousands!”
|
“Why should I care what you think, dad? Humans only live for a hundred years if they’re lucky! Me and mom will be here for thousands!”
The second the words left my lips I knew I'd made a mistake. My father had never been an emotional man, but I saw his screwed jaw relax into a frown, and then soften to nothing. He took half a breath, opening his mouth to speak before reconsidering his words.
He wouldn't meet my eyes.
"Dad..."
"You're right. I've got 40 or so left. Good point." My dad shoved his hands in his pockets and backed out of the room, closing the door behind him as he did.
I stared at the door for a moment. It was going to open right? He'd come back and scream at me, tell me that I'd been rude and that I shouldn't talk back to him like that and--
It didn't open. He didn't come back. I'd wanted him to leave me alone. I'd won, right? This was what I wanted and...
I flopped backward onto my bed and stared at the false starts on the ceiling for too long. I was right. He was only going to be here for 40 years. I'd still be in school when I was attending his funeral. What the hell? Was he even going to know where I worked? When I found a mate, when--
The door opened, I sat up.
Dad was back in the doorway, his arms crossed as he leaned against the frame. He'd cleaned his glasses while he was out. Dad didn't speak for the first seconds, just taking several deep breaths. Was he building up courage? How much was he going to yell. I deserved all of it. I just wanted to know.
"Cass," he said. My name sounded so human when he shortened it. "I just wanted to come back and--"
"Dad, I'm so sorry."
"Cass," he said, "just let me finish. I came back because I was hurt by what you said--"
"I know I'm sorry--"
"I was hurt by what you said, but it's also just true. I need you to think about it the way that I do." Dad stepped into the room and joined me on the bed, sitting beside me while I crossed my legs to make room. "I'm only going to be here for a short time in your life, right?"
"Yeah and I'm so--"
"Cass it's not about being sorry. But I should have talked to you about this more before." He put an arm on my shoulder. "You're right, in the long term for you, what I think won't matter unless you make sure it does."
"What?"
"Your Mom has a whole lifetime to figure out what you mean to each other. Heck. You're gonna be an old lady before she's hitting 1000. But Cass, I-- I don't have that long."
"I know and I'm sorry about what I said, I didn't mean--"
"Kid." He squeezed my shoulder. "It's not about being sorry. I don't have that long to make an impression on you, but I really want to ensure that I do."
"Dad."
"You don't have to care what I think, and there's no good reason why you should Cass, but I hope you want to. That's my job right."
"I--"
"Can't only be a pest for 40 years. You need more lectures than that young yady."
"Dad... ugh."
|
*"Heroes!"* The booming voice of the titan of a man with glowing eyes seated on a golden throne startled us awake. *"I have summoned you here to ask that you save the world I watch over. The laws that bind gods are strict, and I may not lay a finger upon it to enact my will. Thus, I have selected five souls from a different world to act as champions! Souls that would find the task an exhilirating adventure. Rest assured, you shall be greatly rewarded for your hard work, and as a "starting bonus" as I believe you might call it, you may each select the vessel of your souls in this world."*
He really couldn't have picked a more eager group. The five of us were about to start a DnD campaign for crying out loud, this was 200 times better than a tabletop game. The other four discussed the repurcussions and implications, then got down to what bodies they wanted. I already knew.
"We are ready," said Roger, our defacto leader since he was a great DM and knew how to wrangle us into an effective team. "When do we start?"
*"Right now! Prepare yourselves, and good luck!"* The god smiled as golden light and a deafening chime slowly built around us. The adventure ahead of us was going to rock, but I was straining to hold myself back from cackling at the looks on their faces when they saw what I picked. The light and sound faded away, revealing a gorgeous view of rolling hills, forest, mountains, and a city not too far away, all of it beneath a clear blue sky.
Roger was now an elf in grand robes with a fancy looking staff, tall and strong while maintaining that otherworldly grace the tree huggers were known for.
Tracy had picked an orc dressed in pelts that looked like they were skinned from dangerous beasts, two large hatchets on her richly muscled hips that looked like they could split skulls with ease, the weapons and the hips. She did always want to have an amazon physique, guess she saw her chance and took it.
Gus turned himself into a lizardfolk that was even taller than Tracy, but looked like he weighed 1/3rd of what she did. He was a huge fan of dextrous, fast paced characters, and this fit the bill if the ridiculous amount of daggers I could see strapped to his body (and the many I couldn't see but just KNEW he had) were anything to go by, not to mention the rapier.
Amy had become a human cleric in clean white robes with a mace on her belt, a fan of simple builds that helped everyone. Definitely the mom of the party, and our permanent healer.
"Steven... what the hell is that?" Gus hissed out a sigh, knowing how much I liked to come up with wacky homebrew characters. His exasperated reaction made everyone look over to see what bull I'd come up with this time. They all groaned and face palmed.
My huge mouth was pulled up into a savage smile as I began chuckling at them, then flat out guffawing. The base was a giant snake of at least 50 foot length, but everything else was unmistakably dragon. A majestic crown of horns, a glowing belly full of fire, the beautiful armor of deep red scales, and six spanning wings that would take some getting used to but would eventually let me become the master of the blue sky overhead.
"FEAR ME, PUNY MORTALS! TREMBLE AT MY PASSING!" I bellowed with a shit eating grin. I spread my wings wide enough to overshadow the hill we were standing on (laying in my case) and roared into the air to announce my power.
"You jackass!" Roger said. He was fully used to my antics and attempts to shoehorn weird shit into his games. "How do you expect to fit in anywhere, or enter dungeons?! Your fat ass couldn't fit in a barn, let alone a narrow fortress hallway!"
"YOUR WHINING ANGERS ME, ELF," I leered at the mage, showing off my mouth full of *very* pointy teeth. He was unimpressed. "WORRY NOT; I SHALL DESTROY OUR FOES WHEREVER THEY MAY HIDE. PLUS, YOU ONLY HAVE TO SPLIT THE LOOT FOUR WAYS NOW."
"You're so stupid it hurts, it causes me physical pain." Amy sighed, "That said, having a death wyrm on our side is a tactical bonus we can't ignore, and he's right about the loot. We can also have him carry our gear for us." My eyes narrowed
"I AM *NOT* A PACK MULE, YOU WILL NOT TREAT ME AS SUCH." Tracy waved off my complaining.
"You turn into a giant beast, you get to carry our shit while we deal with yours. We always try to find some kind of positive to your shenanigans, Steven. This time: pack mule." I groaned, a sound that shook the earth.
"FINE, BUT DON'T BLAME ME IF IT FALLS OFF AT 3,000 FEET IN THE AIR AND SMASHES INTO THE GROUND AS SCRAP. NOW CLIMB ON, I'LL GET US TO THAT CITY FASTER THAN YOUR TINY LEGS." With that, our adventure began, and it was awesome.
|
Writteninsanity
|
Jyx_The_Berzer_King
|
2024-08-14 16:56:28
|
2023-02-27 08:21:07
| 381 | 87 |
li3m8dz
| null |
1es40qy
|
wgzbwh
|
[WP] Every five years your island society must retreat into bunkers to avoid the month long flood. Out of boredom and rebellion, you surface to find no floodwaters at all. Just the face-less creatures.
|
“Complete remission?”
“Yes, Sir,” the AI droned.
“In 100% of the test subjects?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Well, this is certainly unexpected. Double check the selection of terminal cancer patients as the test subjects for Bio-Weapon X. Were they all genuinely independent selections?”
“No anomalies found, Sir. All subjects were predicted to die in the next three months, lowering the chance of bio-weapon test detection. As you directed, Sir. All subjects were selected at random from a world-wide pool. Post-selection analysis indicates no unexpected correlations.”
“Well, well. Schedule a suitably anonymized conference call with the bidders for Bio-Weapon X. Let them know in advance that it will be about a delay. Then scour the medical records of world leaders and billionaires. Find me some with cancer or with loved ones with cancer. Oh, and increase funding to the tobacco lobbyists by 250%. If we can cure cancer, we’re going to need more cancer.”
“Yes, Sir.”
|
I looked at the results, dumbstruck.
Seven tests and countless other minor examinations continued to confirm the fact.
The new virus (or should I call it an anti-virus?) was not the bioweapon I was expecting... it was a virus-killer that could kill cancer cells and prevent them from being generated. I had wanted a non-lethal virus that could suppress human cells and force them to obey my command, turning humans into unfortunate souls trapped in their own bodies.
How had this happened? It was supposed to suppress cells and force them to act on my orders, but due to a small mistake in programming it appeared that the thing could suppress cancerous cells and kill all mutations...
Then my lips curled into a smile. Perhaps this was going to work in my favor after all...
After all, no one knew of my existence. I had mostly stayed quiet, keeping my multi-billion family fortune hidden. I was a scientist who worked for the new Phoenix Labs by day, a savior.
Nobody knew that I had released the Life Eater Virus. That biotechnology and nanotechnology had been combined together to release the dreaded pandemic which had stripped Latin America of life and polluted the atmosphere. Nor that I had orchestrated the attacks on Japan and Korea with the Atomic Lasers, razing both countries to the ground.
That the combination of the two were slowly turning the atmosphere into a toxic and cancerous mess, contact with which was disintegrating plants, animals, humans and even microbes on an atomic level.
Nobody knew that the dreaded Coils of the Hydra were owned by me. No one knew that the dreaded God-Machines (a terrifying fusion of Flesh and metal with advanced technology) were my creation. Or that I was the progenitor of the dreaded Flayers (courtesy of another of my creations, the Reaper Virus). Or my Super-Soldiers, the Evergreens, were owned by me.
The notorious shadow simply called "Overlord" stood as a scapegoat in my stead.
And while I definitely would conquer the world anyways, why not speed it up? That being said, they had colonies in the Solar System. These could be used as a launching ground for a rebellion, so they could be sundered in half if I actually revealed the full strength of my inexhaustible armies.
Lay low and achieve. Till I corrupted everything. That was my motto.
Cancerous substances ravaged the world, and offering the desperate masses a cure would bring me into the spotlight as a "good guy." A few staged assassination attempts, a few bribes, another favor from some other problem, a strong PR Campaign... and you have rabid, easily-misled folks selling their bodies for it.
And by the point everyone realized, well...
Hmm, perhaps I could create another round of super-soldiers. That, or Project Silicon.
|
BobDowling64
|
Firm-Dependent-2367
|
2024-11-03 14:33:02
|
2024-11-03 13:53:55
| 256 | 55 |
lv6l0si
|
lv6ehtn
|
1giga2o
|
1giga2o
|
[WP] One's magical power is stored in a small object that must stay on the person at all times. Many duels and even fights consist of attempts to find this item
|
"Grok would like magic man to stop being weird about it."
The Barbarian orc stood proudly for having been stripped completely naked and locked in a cage along with the rest of his party. Phinius, the mage, shrugged.
"I'm not sure why I thought it would be bigger, I'm just a little disappointed is all."
The rogue, Gebranth, snapped the finger bone he had been trying to pick the cage lock with.
"Well, friends, at least it's been interesting."
The mage laughed and the other two served him flat looks, both assuming he'd passed the threshold from mostly to completely mad.
"Honestly. You two are so gloomy. We've got them right where we want them!"
Gebranth raised an eyebrow.
"Heavily armed, about to flay us alive and preparing to cook us into a presumably unseasoned stew?"
The Barbarian grunted in dissent.
"Grok see sack of onions and rosemary plant on way in. Stew probably tasty."
The rogue rolled his eyes but Phinius continued.
"They took us into the heart of their lair, my fine fellows." He said. "Right next to their treasure hoard."
Gebranth sighed.
"What difference does it make locked in this cage, Phin? They clearly took off your focus." He said, pointing to the spot on the mages ear where his earring normally was.
A faint smile curled at the edge of the old mages mouth.
"They didn't take it out." He said. "I did."
Grok shared a look with the mage and both began laughing. Gebranth looked between the two, perplexed.
"Wait is that why you didn't fight back when we were captured? Why would you take it out?"
Phinius stopped laughing and snapped his fingers. The lock on the cage snapped.
"To swallow it."
|
"Mommy! Mommy! Look, it's him!" A young boy exclaimed as he tugged on the tattered hem of his mother's shirt and pointed to a disheveled, unkempt man who sauntered drunkenly down the road.
The child's mother turned her attention from a rickety, dirt caked vegetable stand and begrudgingly turned in the direction of her son's frantic finger. The market fell deathly silent before slowly reviving with the sound of hushed whispers and half-mouthed murmurings. It seemed that all had stopped their business to watch as the man strolled through the market, seemingly oblivious to the effect his presence had caused.
As was obvious to all throughout the city, this mangey and malnourished man was far from the drunken beggar he appeared, he was in fact a seasoned war mystic and, before his unprecedented retirement, the reigning champion of the Grand Arena of Behmot. Countless men and women had travelled from across the seven kingdoms to test their strength and skill against Skellid the Ferrel, only to meet their gruesome fate upon the arena's unforgiving sand.
A short and slight man, who probably weighed less than a common greatsword, Skellid didn't appear to be the kind of man to win the favour of the bloodthirsty masses. Despite his countless victories and undoubtable magical prowess, it was Skellid's mystique that had launched his reputation to one of legend.
For as long as mystics had mastered the use of magic and levelled the field of battle by putting power in the hands of all who had the will to learn, there was one commonality that all warriors shared; Just as a Knight must weild his sword, and an archer his bow, a mystic must, at all times, posses their totem. A small object of significant emotional importance to its owner, a totem is the link between a mystic and the unwieldy force known as magic that they seek to bend to their will. Totems range from rings to shields, with countless deviations between, and if a mystic ever loses their totem, they'll soon find themselves as helpless as a foal in a wolf's den. Yet in all his battles, dressed in nothing but tattered, moth-munched robes not fit for the prisoners of Grimgab, no one had ever even seen a glimps of Skellid's totem.
Skellid's totem had been the subject of rumour and speculation since his time in the army, and this speculation only grew with his body count. At one point, the top bet in the gamblers den's was either one or both of his sandals. A powerful mystic by the name of Delae even called him out when Skellid met her challenge in the arena, laughing that she would take his sandals as a trophy. Her corpse left the sands with the melted remains still dripping from her face.
Even now, a full decade from his retirement, Skilled is still challenged by the occasional knight or mystic hoping to make their name against the old man. Yet their names faded as quickly as their blood was cleared from the streets.
Skellid stopped by the vegetable stand, wordlessly trading a coin for a ripe, red tomato. He smiled to himself as he saw a young boy, turning to smile at him while being quickly pulled away by his mother. With his long brown hair and ruddy cheeks layered with dirt, the boy reminded Skellid of his brother. His brother had died when they were both still young and not a day passed when Skellid didn't think of him; Thanks in part to the wooden arm of his brothers favourite toy, that, thanks to a brotherly quarel, was still, all these decades later, lodged firmly in the fat of his thigh.
|
jpb103
|
Excellent_Sorbet_985
|
2023-05-10 23:39:00
|
2023-05-10 23:33:19
| 17 | 10 |
jjo75tk
|
jjo6dia
|
13e3smi
|
13e3smi
|
[WP] After Earth was declared a galactic safe haven, anti-xenoterrestrial sentiment began to rise. You, a second generation immigrant from another planet, calmly walk down the street when a voice yells at you "Go back to Mars!" You snap back "I was born in Chicago!"
|
One thousand years ago, the holy knight Gareth of Deepwood, wielder of the Chrysanthemum Blade, leader of the Circle of the Sacred Sky, and the fated Seventh Son of the Seventh Son, laid the demon lord Roshanet low. As the blade was plunged deep into the fiend's chest, he issued forth Prophecy.
"Know you this, Children of Men, there is no blade of mortal make that can truly slay the True Lord of Demons. A thousand years from now, when you are dust and none remember even your names, I shall return and deliver ruination unto all!"
Naturally, there were those who felt that this was naught but bluster - an attempt to claw back a victory from what was truthfully a sound defeat and assuage a badly wounded demonic pride. These people were summarily drummed out of the rulership of the kingdom, stripped of noble titles and lands, and their possessions forfeited to fund the Chrysanthemum Institute. The finest arcanists, priests, and warriors came together under this banner, with the sole stated goal of ensuring that Roshanet's little threat came to nothing.
First and foremost, Gareth's sword was willingly given up to the institute for study. The arcanists spent decades studying the various spells woven into the blade, figuring out what was the exact magic that made it so effective against demons. Each enchantment and blessing was applied to separate bamboo rods by the priests, which were then issued to the warriors. Lesser fiends were summoned on an industrial scale for scientific testing. Each time a rod was found to be effective, the spell would be noted and applied in combination with others to create effective mass-production demon-slaying weapons.
Next, there was the Chronicler corp. Their job was keeping accurate track of the precise date and time of Roshanet's defeat, and using that to extrapolate the rough date and time he would return. In the event that the Chrysanthemum Institute, its home country, or both fell before that time, they also were tasked with ensuring that future generations would be prepared to deal with the demon lord. Additionally, a subset was tasked with studying other powerful demons, the effect they had on the world around them, and the signs that could be used to predict their movements.
Finally, there was the warrior training. Gareth himself headed this group at the beginning, training soldiers to combine swordsmanship with spellcraft, though he knew that most would not be blessed with his natural arcane might. He worked with the kingdom's most skilled artificers to build support units that the soldiers would be able to use to supplement their weaknesses. Some decided to forego balancing their loadouts to better specialize - arcane snipers, juggernauts, barrier masters and engineers. Eighty years after the Institute opened its doors, Gareth passed away surrounded by friends, family, those he inspired, and most importantly those who would carry on his purpose.
Nine-hundred-ninety-nine years after Roshanet fell before Gareth's band of heroes, the Signs and Portents were read by the Chroniclers. One year and one day hence, the Demon Lord would rise again. The exact location where the demon lord would re-emerge was determined, and the Guardians got to work. Engineers began the process of constructing turrets, barrier masters carved arcane sigils around the spot spiraling out for miles, with weaker sigils built in depth. Sniper posts, with enchanted rifles and blessed ammunition, were situated all around Point Gareth, named for the first head of the Chrysanthemum Institute, ready to take full advantage of centuries of arcane and technological advancement.
"At long last, Children of Men, your destroyer returns!" A deep, thundering voice echoed as crimson smoke coalesced exactly where the Chroniclers had predicted, "The Gnashing Fang, The Rending Claw, The Harrower of Souls-"
"Target acquired - Wild Roses, charge your C-blades and prepare to engage. Acanthus, bring the arc turrets online. Red Camellias, lay down suppressing fire for the Wild Roses. White Chrysanthemums," The commander, Gareth XXXII, grinned, "With me. We're finishing this here and now."
Demons are strong, cunning, and seemingly-eternal. They are deadly adversaries to even the mightiest. Roshanet, the Demon Lord, was almost certainly the most powerful of his kind. He was not even remotely prepared for an enemy that had not, in fact, forgotten him.
|
"Man, ignore that motherfucker. C'mon."
It'd be different if it didn't happen every few days. But nonetheless, Sai followed Opie as he wandered further down the block. Through traffic, and eventually to a small restaurant. Sai hadn't eaten there, Opie constantly kept talking about it however.
And while she'd never had pizza before, it was a bit better than expected. The slice was only $20, but it was at least the size of her head.
"I haven't eaten like that in a minute." He finally sat back. Eyes glowing under his glasses as he checked the updates on the baseball game within the lens. Even through the window, cheers could be heard from the stadium.
"It was really good!" She happily agreed.
"All this time you spent in Chicago and never ate any pizza?" He returned to their conversation. "That's like a crime against humanity."
Sai wasn't paying attention. She was busy watching the crowds mulling around the stadium across the road. A somewhat vacant look had taken over.
"Sai?"
Her name drew her back as he looked out the window. "Yes?"
"Is something wrong?"
"Oh. I've lived here my whole life. Well most of it. And people still keep telling me to go home."
"Yeah, I get that."
"No. No you don't. They don't say that to you."
"For starters, I don't tell you the things they say to me."
"Why not?"
"Because odds are they ain't gonna' do shit." He glanced lazily. "They'll say it. But most people aren't keen on dying on that hill." He tensed a little on that last part.
She blinked at that, the smells and sounds almost inaudibly emanating from him giving off an air of malice."What do you mean by that?"
"Do I have to spell it out for you?" He said spreading his arms outward. The aura of his lightened up again.
"Why are you so mean?" She teased him at this.
"This isn't me being mean. I'm being frank and honest at the moment." He answered. A mushroom fell of the remainder of his slice and landed in his soda. He frowned a little, shrugged, and drank out of the glass while the vegetable floated in the ice.
Sai simply shook her head at his demeanor. Opie probably wasn't the most delicate person. But as ugly as he could get, he meant well.
"No, but it's complicated." He confided finally. "You know. The fact people hate people like you."
"Why?"
"You know." He said, setting his food back down. "There's a conversation that I had as a kid. And it's a talk we all have to have. For our own good."
Sai simply looked at him as she munched on a piece of shaved ice. The green syrup already turning her tongue that color from its natural blue. It was funny, but now wasn't the time.
"It's really simple. Somebody's always going to hate you."
"Hmm."
The pair both stopped messing with their food to look at each other. An innate study for the topic.
"The reason doesn't matter. It could be who you are. What color you are. Who you're attracted to. Your voice. Your looks. Pretty or ugly. Fat, skinny. Doesn't matter. What you are. Where you're from." He stated.
"Even if you're from here. They'll hate you. And whoever they are, they'll find a reason to hate you. Even if there isn't a reason. They'll make up one."
He took a sip of his drink, realized the straw caught the mushroom. Turned and casually breathed down the straw. The mushroom hitting the window and sticking, much to his concern.
"And the unfortunate part is." He continued. "Plenty of people don't grow out of that. They get older. They leave school. Go to a job, go to jail, go to whatever. And they stay like that. And they can, unfortunately, even get into positions of power on occasion. And use their bias against you."
"Right..."
"Y'know?" He asked. "Could be some drunk asshole. Could be a cop. Or a social worker. A politician. A family member. Nobody's above it. A lot of people love picking a side."
"And when my mother told me this. I cried. Get me?" Opie narrowed his eyes. "I was maybe 8?" He shrugged. "It happens."
"You turned out alright." She egged on. His general vibe brightening again. "It seems pointless though."
"You're grown though. It's not like this is some big revelation." He dismissed his own speech. "I'm just talking stupid."
"Weird how it happens though." Sai wagered as she circled back around to the topic.
"It is. Buuut.... We've done it to each other for thousands of years. Before you or anybody like you were ever a thought. Welcome to the club. Tag you're it."
Sai rolled her head on the back of her seat for a second. "That's dark. Even coming from you."
"I didn't say it was all bad." He smiled. "There are infinitely more good people or people who are just scared of things they're not familiar with." He belied. "Nobody's perfect."
"Trauma, possibly?"
"Definitely." He pointed. "Maybe something happened, and they never thought to get help."
"Or they didn't think they could." She theorized.
"Yeah, it's tough to hear about that sort of thing."
A pair of the delivery bots turtled past them in the aisle, left the open door and rolled down the ramp to the street. The whine of the little motors soon overtaken by the noise of the city. The little holograms dancing next to the napkins letting them know that another successful order had been filled. Gimmicky, but, it added a bit of dumb charm in passing.
"Oh well. How about we get moving? It's the bottom of the 7th. I'd rather we beat the rush."
"But, I'm not done with my ice."
"Take it with you?"
They each casually observed the police as they watched a man try to scale a light pole before sliding back to the bottom, and into handcuffs. He began screaming as a tiny drone fluttered past his face. A crowd forming around the scene.
"Sounds good to me." She agreed.
As they passed back through the clusters of pedestrians. She couldn't help but find hope and humor in their conversation.
"It's different off planet Opie. I know you've never been."
"Good God. I'd hope so." He acknowledged. "Everybody better be cool if it means not dying in a tin can."
She soaked in the muggy atmosphere of a hectic evening. Of a place living and dying at the same time. As usual; what a mess.
"The things that can bring us together." She mused.
"Ain't that the truth."
---
r/Jamaican_Dynamite
|
MrArgetlahm
|
Jamaican_Dynamite
|
2024-10-29 03:21:09
|
2023-06-01 02:12:19
| 1,041 | 211 |
luakww3
|
jmfanvl
|
1gejm6t
|
13x018u
|
[WP] Once an hour, every hour, the richest person on earth dies. This continues indefinitely...
|
I sat out on the porch, looking out at my garden, the richest man in the world.
Nowadays of course, being the richest man came with a very short life expectancy. At least I knew that while my wife and children would be well cared for after my death, they would be significantly less rich than me -- comfortable, but not rich enough for a death sentence.
My garden was badly overgrown. As my cancer had progressed, I just hadn't had the strength to keep up with the children's events, housework and the garden, something had to give.
The deal was good. The doctors said I only have a month to live at most, and it would be a painful experience. The 10 richest people in the world had formed a company, just a place to store 90% of their wealth. Every hour the company was signed over to a new owner. In return for ownership, we have no real power. Once we pass, a small portion of the company's assets are given to our estate, to be passed on to our families. A tiny proportion of so much wealth is still more money that I made in my life up to this point.
It is amazing how life goes on as normal. No-one knows why the world's richest person dies on the hour, every hour, but it only took 24 hours for the world's most expensive lawyers to come up with an air-tight solution -- 24 billionaires died, and now the world carries on the same as ever. Just a few people die a little earlier, and their families get a generous inheritance. Not even enough to actually decrease the wealth of The Company, it turns out you don't need much to bribe people with who don't have a future anyway.
|
“Durva aunty! Tarun is fighting with the boys and isn’t giving the ball,” said one of the three little kids who had come to call Durva.
“What!” Durva was stirring dal in a large cauldron in the common kitchen where many other men and women performed their duties. She dropped the long stirrer and knowing that someone would take over her work, she ran. “Where is he?”
“The ground!” The kids shouted in unison behind her.
*No! Not Tarun. I don’t know how long he has held onto the ball. I hope to God he doesn’t think it belongs to him!*
Durva ran through the street flanked by houses. The gates always were open, many gates were removed decades ago.
“Nothing is yours! Everything is ours!” A voice called out from some distant speakers, the same voice that called over and over again every two hours.
She ran past a large poster painted carefully in red with the same slogan.
Some people squatted in groups of four or five and played something. Others were returning from their farming duties at the common farms outside their community. Two men carried back a hog on a long stick. As Durva ran past them, some hushed among themselves, some shook their heads and others never noticed her.
Durva panted as she reached the ground. Her eyes darted around to find Tarun and quickly spotted a group of kids sitting idly under a tree. Tarun was kicking the ball on a wall some distance away in the sun.
*Oh my God!* Durva sprinted and called, “Tarun!”
Tarun was barely two feet tall with bony limbs. A grey shirt and faint red shorts hung on his torso. He stopped playing as he heard his mother.
Durva ran and saw his expression change from confusion to terror as she reached up to him. Before she could realise it, she smacked Tarun hard across the face. He fell on the ground and Durva quickly picked up the ball and threw it towards the sitting children. They didn’t move from their places as they stared at her mother-son duo.
Durva could not lose Tarun to The Curse of Possession, as it was called. During any hour, whoever was the wealthiest person on earth, would die. As soon as it was figured out, the world shifted to a sharing economy where no one possessed anything. It was all in the mind.
It was easy for the adults to change their beliefs under the constant threat of death. But then the children began dying. And soon it became like a disease that only afflicted the toddlers who were starting to learn what it meant to be human. And one of their natural phases went through the concept of personal possession.
Durva picked up Tarun by his shirt. He was silent, his eyes in disbelief at the violence from his mother. Durva raised her free arm, slapped Tarun across both cheeks a few times and shouted down at him, “The ball is not yours. Nothing is yours! Get that thought out of your mind, Tarun!”
Tarun now wailed into the sky, his arms hanging like limp branches by his side.
Durva picked him up in his arms and began to walk back. She needed to get back to the family who could guide her on what to do next. Tarun was still alive, which meant it hadn’t been an hour since he got the idea of possession. There was still time. And with her smacks, he must have forgotten about the ball by now, she thought.
“You cannot think of anything as your possession, Tarun. It is dangerous and we are punished for such thoughts. See, everything belongs to us all. We are all one!” Durva spoke into Tarun’s ears as she caressed his head and walked back.
|
AmberCheesecake
|
randomhemant
|
2024-07-13 14:57:51
|
2024-07-13 14:34:59
| 133 | 17 |
lczxfg9
|
lczttgx
|
ax72vw
|
1e276ci
|
[WP] You squealed as the heroes unmasked and kissed in front of the roaring crowds. Wait…you recognize their faces…that’s YOUR best friend and YOUR girlfriend/boyfriend.
|
A heavy feeling of creeping, cold numbness settled into my core as I stared at the screen, scrolling frame-by-frame through the video. The video, currently going viral on almost every social media network, was a close-up of Paragon, the Strongest Man in the World, savoir of the city many times over, lifting his helmet just enough that he could accept a kiss from the already partially unmasked Papillon, the woman who could fly faster than a fighter jet. All I could see, though, was my best friend Jacob kissing my fiancée Corinne. It was unmistakable- I’d known Jake since the 6th grade when I’d stuck up for the new kid when a bully had tried to take his lunch. We’d been practically inseparable since- teammates on the High School varsity wrestling team, roommates in college; hell, we’d been in the same DnD group every Saturday night for the last five years, so there was no way I could mistake his face now that I could see it under Paragon’s helmet. And Corinne… I knew every inch of that woman’s face like the back of my hand. All the times I’d woken up before her and just… watched her sleep, staring in disbelief that I’d managed to bring up the courage to ask out someone so beautiful, so far out of my league, much less get her to agree to marry me. There was no mistaking the face of the woman I loved. The two of them were the important people in my life… and there they were on the screen before me. Superheroes. Kissing each other in a way that made it clear that they had done much, much more. “It’s one hell of a way to find out, I know.” A woman’s voice said from behind me. I made an effort to turn to look at her, but such efforts are futile when your head is duct-taped to the back of your gaming chair. Not only that, but my arms and legs were tied to the chair, too, with only enough give in the rope that I could reach the keyboard and mouse in front of me; just enough so I could play and rewind the video on the monitor. “I thought you had the right to know, Danny…” The woman’s voice declared; this time closer. “…that the two people you care about the most had been lying to you. Lying to you for a long, *LONG* time…” she practically growled, words dripping with sadistic glee and a bitterness that felt… intensely personal. “Tell me, how does it feel to be nothing more than a prop in their lives? A convenient alibi? A *tool*? *A quick fuck?!*” The chair was then turned around, bringing me face-to-face with my captor. I recognized her- or her cowl, at least- immediately. Nemesis; supervillain, violent psychopath, and Paragon’s arch, well, nemesis. “Well? Gonna tell me? Aww, cat got your tongue?” She asked, a sadistic smile splaying across her black-painted lips. “I-is that what this is about?” I finally managed to croak out, after struggling through a throat that was suddenly unfathomably dry. “Using me to- to g-get to them?” I asked. “Y-you said it. They clearly don’t… don’t care about me. They won’t-“ “Danny, Danny, *DANNY.*” Nemesis interrupted, laughing as she gave the chair I was in a push. “How poorly do you think of me? Using you to get to them. ME? I thought you knew me! I thought you LIKED me!” She declared. “I D-d-don’t know you.” I only just managed to stammer out. Nemesis laughed again. “Okay, NOW I see how you didn’t figure it out on your own - you REALLY don’t recognize me? C’mon, we’ve spent plenty of time together. Unless you’re really telling me you’ve never checked out your best friends girlfriend?!”
|
It was the day my life changed watching my best friend Henry not only reveal he was the Iron Guardian, my wife Sarah revealed she was Angel. It was also the beginning of the end for them.
Flash back to the day:
I watched with awe as the two heroes put down the villain Five Finger. He used his super speed to steal and today he has stolen everything in a bank except the pens seriously what was that chain made of.
There was cheering of course when the two heroes kissed people awwed after all they were a well known power couple. The surprise was when they removed their masks. I was even caught off guard, what started off as amazement quickly turned into sorrow and confusion and hurt becoming anger. Sarah my wife of 12 years, my high school sweethearts. We have 2 children together and she was locking lips with Henry my best friend I was there for him in college when his mother got sick I was there almost every day helping out.
I was so angry I was going to do something stupid. I knew I needed to go and so I did. I was spiraling down the rabbit hole when I finally called my therapist Becca.
Becca: "Hey Tim how are you doing?"
Tim: "I I... need" I was struggling to breathe now as my anger turned into panic. My life was over What would I tell our children Tina was 13 but Paul was only 5. Oh my God what if she took them away Angel the light of goodness nobody would believe me. I started sobbing and gasping to breathe.
Becca: "Tim remember what we talked about in therapy. I'm coming to you just hold on"
A very nice BMW pulled up shortly after. I saw Becca jump out the driver's side and grab me. She was strong for a 5'2 woman who probably weighed like 100 pounds. I felt another set of hands grab me pulling me into the backseat. The car started and someone pushed me upright to buckle me in.
I felt a hand run through my hair while someone hummed softly.
Julie: "Becca how long do I need to run my hand through his hair?"
Becca: "Seriously Julie can you just please comfort him.
Julie: Becca my fricking hand is in his hair and I'm humming Shake it off"
Becca pulled into a garage and parked. She opened my door "ok Tim can you walk? We're going to the elevator"
I stood up my legs shook and my eyes stung but I slowly walked behind Becca.
Julie: "See he just needed to shake it off"
Becca groaned "Seriously how are you my sister"
I plopped into the couch and Becca grabbed a chair and brought it closer to me.
Becca: "Julie go grab a Pepsi for Tim and yourself. Ok Tim what happened?"
Tim: "she she Sarah cheated on me with Henry" I started to tear up I had nobody else I had bounced from one foster home to another as a kid. I didn't have friends either.
Becca: " ok Tim what happened exactly?"
Tim: " Sarah kissed Henry I was watching Iron Guardian and Angel they kissed and then they removed their masks and it was Sarah and Henry" my eyes welled up with tears.
Eventually Becca got me sorted and even had a suggestion on how to get ahead of Sarah and get my vengeance.
Becca held her phone up recording me as I spoke " My name is Tim King and I'm a husband and father." I held up a family photo "That's Tina and that's Paul and this is my wife Sarah or as I found out today the superhero Angel when she kissed Iron Guardian my supposed best friend."
Becca promised she would make sure it went viral as I handed her my wedding dvds. Once I had the kids packed up and Paul was holding our cat Lucifer we left for a place that Becca promised would be safe. I called her friend the lawyer explaining my situation.
Lawyer: "Crap this is going to be tough but first thing we need is an emergency order of protection so she can't just snatch the kids"
This lawyer was fast and I was standing in front of a judge 2 hours later. My lawyer argued that because Sarah and her lover were super powered an order was needed preemptively to ensure my kids and my safety. Initially the judge was hesitant until my lawyer went below the belt "Angel aka Sarah King has hidden an affair from her husband for 11 years and still she thought so little of him" my phone vibrated and I looked to see Sarah was calling.
Lawyer: "Go ahead Tim" as soon as I answered Sarah started yelling "Tim how could you my mom just called me a hussy and Henry's mom doesn't want him to come visit Sunday dinner. You fricked my life you bastard. I'm going to punch you if you don't get your butt back here with my kids"
Judge: "ok I heard enough protection granted and my clerk will inform the league and police of the order."
Sarah: "Tim!" The lawyer hung up my phone.
Becca had kept her word first with the tabloids and the Villian 4 chan but it quickly made nationwide news and that call well it was a death knell. The public did what I never could they got vengeance for me but more importantly sole custody of our children and yes Lucifer.
Sarah even tried to walk into my apartment only for Superguy to stop her. He made sure she left. That was the last straw for the league who kicked Sarah and Henry out of the league.
Instead of Henry going to his mom's house on Sunday it was me and the kids. When Christmas came it was the kids and me at their grandparents houses not Henry and Sarah.
And if you were wondering Becca is still my favorite therapist.
|
Randomcommenter550
|
Phenoix512
|
2024-07-25 20:13:53
|
2024-07-25 20:06:34
| 53 | 37 |
lexd8f7
|
lexbtv9
|
1eb9o1b
|
1eb9o1b
|
[WP] You have lost count of how many time travelers have come to kill you. You don't know why they came and at this point you don't care. You will become what they fear simply out of spite.
|
It rained when the first one arrived all those years ago, and it rained now, as I stood over another. Over the body of a once so worthy killer sent from somewhere beyond my timeline. I guess it said something about me that I paid more mind to the rain than the bleeding man on the ground, but I had learned to stop believing in coincidences and this rain was certainly not one.
It always rained when they came.
If this one, this man now growing colder by the second on the pavement, long blonde hair running in streams down his face, had been the one sent all those years ago then maybe he'd have succeeded in his task. And maybe I'd be long dead. But instead they had sent a version of me. Sent me back to kill me. I would have had trouble killing anything else, but me? I had no trouble killing me.
I remember the day. The forecast didn't call for rain, yet there it was. A drizzle, pouring down from a clear blue sky as if the fountains of heaven spilled over. I thought it strange as I stood staring from my balcony. *At least my plants will get something from this*, was the only stupid thought in my head.
Then he, I, arrived. Not in a flash or through a swirling portal, but just showed up in my living room. A me, a much older me; his forehead wrinkled and eyes slimmer. Scars where I had none and less fingers than I remembered owning. He smiled to me, I thought, but there was a metallic threat in his hand which took priority.
"You should really get rid of this ratty old thing." He said, finding a seat on the couch.
"Did you? I replied. A guess on my part, but there was no mistaking our eyes. I knew him. I knew us.
He chuckled, gun still pointed up, "No, no.", he sighed. "We sure are just creatures of habit."
As I walked to him he seemed unconcerned. His face did not change, eyes did not grow in size. Slowly I reached out and took the gun from his three fingered hand, which uncurled at my touch.
"Are you just going to let me...?" My voice had trailed.
Once again he grinned, smiling as an old man looking to a child fondly. "Why not? You have so much to live for." And then, with a simple pull, he was gone. Not gone back to his home, the time where we'd come from, but gone in a heap on my living room floor.
I'm not sure what compelled me to kill him. Maybe the assumption that he was there to kill me. Or maybe just seeing us that way scared me. But since then they did not stop. Every rain on a clear sky I knew it, knew someone had arrived for me. And every time I left a body behind.
Some faces I'd recognize. Sometimes my mom or dad, brother or friend sent back from the far future. Others I did not. A child or woman, daughter or son.
Eventually they had stopped coming as assassins, rather as just people. But by then it was far too late. Every rain it was then I looking for them. I searching for the anomally and ending it with the same gun I'd first used.
All it was now was a wait. A wait until I had become old and withered, lost enough fingers and gained enough wrinkles to look as the man in my living room had. Then I would not hesitate as he, I had. I would kill him before he had a chance to consider the rain. And end us both.
If not for me, if not to end the thing that I'd become, then simply because I deserved no less.
|
I was innocent once. Naïve, really, but isn’t naïveté born from innocence?
Well, no matter. It wasn’t a familiar feeling anymore.
My home was the valley forest where I’d first opened my eyes under a starry sky and a full moon. I waited in one of my caves, watching as the scouts darted through the trees. They were clumsy, these humans. Even the skilled beckoned me like a fire, obviously foreign to my home.
Tree branches waved to me, crying *they’re here, here!* Silent owls hooted and announced interlopers. Insects scurried from beneath boots, and their human tread vibrated in my belly, as if they stepped on my skin.
Endless. Kill three and thirty more replaced them, but it was the work I was given, so I slid from my cavern and entered the forest.
The scouts didn’t tremble noticeably, although a gulp or two betrayed a dry mouth. These were men, not boys. I wondered if they were knights.
The next part I didn’t like.
A blue eyed man had made it the closest to my cavern, bow drawn, eyes shrewd. Middle aged, with ranks on his shoulders. His callouses felt thick against the inside of my cheeks before his hands went limp.
The next one was bald and short, with large black eyes that matched his skin. He managed to let out a cry before the scarred flesh of his throat pealed against my tongue.
That caused a stirring in the forest. I ran like a shadow through the woods, *this way, this way* the birds above indicated, *here* called a rabbit thumping against the forest floor at the point where the knights converged.
“Monster,” some of the men cried, and I let the anger build in my chest. “The monster is coming.”
*Monster?* **Monster?**
I barreled through the tree line and into the group of a dozen trained men. Metallic clangs bruised me but didn’t break through my hide as I tore into them. Eyes swam in my vision. That was the worst part, I had to carry the image of each kill with me. They came to me at night and stood vigil, plaguing my dreams. The innocent activity of sleep was spoiled.
*You!* I screamed as I tore into them, giant claws shredding their armor like butter. It was amazing how good the outlet of anger felt. I spilled pain and sleepless nights and fear into that clearing, wielding it with vengeance.
Ruined. I was ruined.
Finally, there was no movement left in the meadow. My body was slick with blood, the meadow was red and silver. I turned away, nausea flipping my stomach. I disappeared through the trees, letting the carnivores of my forest enjoy what they could. With each step away from my misdeeds I shrank, letting my body reflect my earliest years.
The trees towered over me, and I remembered the wide eyed joy I’d looked up with my first day alive. A canopy of home.
I couldn’t enjoy the distant friends that had watched me throughout my life. I felt small, exposed. They watched me with malicious judgement now. I wasn’t their child any longer.
I bounded through the tall grass to the spring at the heart of my forest, crying as the water turned red around me. The bottom of the spring cleansed my scales and mouth, and I washed upon her shore small and tired.
Peace.
*Here, here* a voice called, and I looked up to see a young girl and her father standing above me. She had a basket in one arm and foraging dagger on her hip that she’d pulled free and pointed at me. Her father pushed her behind him. A bow was slung across his back.
I cried out in frustration. My forest rustled in the night as I towered over them. My reflection was in their wide eyes. I didn’t like what I saw. I shrank and turned, laying back down on the bank.
The girl circled around me, her father’s bow trained on my approximate heart. I ignored them. Then the girl dove into the spring. That made me raise my head. What was happening?
I watched as the girl struggled back and forth across the bottom of the spring, her father’s jaw tight and bow drawn. After a moment he cursed and jumped in after her.
What an odd time to swim.
That’s when I saw a little blue body. Her father grabbed her and pulled her out of the water. She was a little blonde cherub, blue. Dead.
They tried to administer aid, but it was useless. I bent my head forward and the father yanked his living daughter back, scrambling for his bow. I touched the child’s forehead, feeling power go out of me. She slowly began to blink.
The girl cried out in happiness, but their father screamed in rage, unable to see through his terror. A shaft bruised my shoulder and I growled. I lifted the toddler below me onto my back.
“No give her back!!” he cried, loosing another arrow. My claws rend the earth.
“Father, stop!” the girl cries. But he’s gone, I’ve dissolved him into red mist.
Now the girl shrieks. I bare my teeth at her, eyes on her dagger. She trembles, then retreats toward town. I let her go. The toddler is oblivious, magicked to sleep on my back. I take her. She is mine, and now when death calls, maybe I’ll have something to hold me back.
My head lifts.
*Here! Here!*
There are soldiers in the forest again.
|
GrunkleStanwhich
|
littlepillowcase
|
2023-07-13 16:35:25
|
2023-07-13 15:40:37
| 144 | 40 |
jrtl0p2
|
jrtcy9x
|
14ykuqu
|
14ykuqu
|
[WP] Believing it'd teach you humility, your fellow gods cast you down in a temp exile to live a life as a human before returning. Unfortunately, you return bitter, resentful, and having learned the opposites of what they intended. You lead an army of mortals in a revolution, and you're winning...
|
“These are not terms of peace,” spat Jovios. “This would be surrender.”
Resting the quill down on the scarred mahogany table I leant back in my chair, watching as the deity’s face contorted and frowned reading and re-reading the short length of parchment presented to him. “Call it what you will, it is an end to this conflict.” I advised.
Locks of ashen white hair floated as if suspended underwater as his slender figure rose and paced around the plateau, puffs of umber tinged dust erupting under heavy steps. Neutral ground was hard to find but it made the location of our engagement oddly fitting. Cracked earth extended as far as the eye could see with various shades of orange and maroon forming great plates across the mesa. Neither stem or bud could root in the desolate waste.
“Laima has seen what becomes of our planes, I know that to be a fact.” I brushed off the small piles of sand accumulating in the table’s cracks. “It will be millennia before a true order re-emerges. By which time, you will have lost the final sparks of your Godlihood.”
Turning sharply the deity’s right fist coiled in a lethal arc toward me, flashes of crimson lightning rippling up his bulging forearm. My short crop of hair was tussled by the sudden gust, accompanied by the slight tingle on my cheek as if I had accidentally brushed against a nettle bush. “Traitor.” Hissed the breathless Jovios, slumping down into his chair.
“It’s a shame,” I mused. “When I was your ward, I watched you decimate legions of knights for your beloved Sophilian tribesmen. If I close my eyes, I can still smell the putrid concoction of charred flesh and melted bronze.”
Through laboured breaths he locked eyes with me, “What have you done to me..? I cannot hear them.” The weak voice whispered.
“Yes… I never quite knew what you meant by that.” I responded, pushing up from my seat to loom over the fallen God. “Though you could hear, in your own hubris you refused to listen to them. It’s no matter now of course, I will take care of them for you.” Extending my index finger a surging store of energy boiled in my chest. As I willed it up to my shoulders, down to my elbow, and finally to burst forth from my fingertip, an overwhelming sensation of ecstasy forced my knees to buckle.
A great clap echoed from plateaus for miles around, ringing out in the lifeless expanse. The bolt left charred shadows behind us. Mine long and proud, squared shoulders and erect posture forever imprinted on the stone. Jovios’ a meek ball, curled under the chair with his head between his knees.
“Laima,” I called out to the cloudless sky. “I know you are there. Tell the others of what happened here. Next time, send a delegate who is willing to speak of peace.”
|
"This God is dead!" You shout from the steps of Heaven's visitor center, "and we have killed him!"
Down below, the fifty-strong crowd of college freshmen cheer, and roar, and spit coffee-rich loogies up to the bloody body of the building's greeter God. One of the freshmen has carried an empty turtle shell with them, all the way from Earth, stolen out of the biology hall's display case. This furious student now straddles the dead body and brings the shell down over and over against the God's skull.
"Turtles!" He shouts with each swing, "All! The! Way! Down!"
"What the heck's going on out here?" Asks an attendant from the visitor center's main entrance. They wear a sun hat under their halo and a name tag on their blue sweater, robin egg, though the script the name is written in is illegible. The look of mild annoyance in their faces washes away to horror as they notice the body on the marble steps.
"My God!" Shouts the angel. "What did you do to him?"
"We didn't do it," snickers one of the Philosophy-101 students. "He created a stone so big that it crushed him!"
You and your hoard of teenagers laugh manically, though you don't exactly understand the joke.
"Why would you do this?" cries the angel. "He was just a kind, retired old God looking to do something with his free time. What has he done to deserve this?"
"What did we do to deserve him?" asked someone from the back.
"Wait, I recognize you," says the angel. "You're that bitter little God from the city counsel meeting, shouting at everyone about monotheism! I thought you'd moved to another afterlife."
"It doesn't end here!" You turn to face your new followers. "It's time for Regenisis! It's time for an Unholy Crusade! Let's give these Gods a taste of their own genocide!"
The class cheers again and follows you through the streets of heaven. They carry their pocket watch assembly manuals, their pipes that are just pipes, their chickens and eggs, and many other half-understood thought experiments into battle, through every public service building and God training center in town, through every court room and cosmic laboratory. You and fifty dedicated young minds over-rationalize your way into killing every modern, hipster God in town who are too loving not to turn the other cheek. You bring the Old Testament back on the new guards, until you are the last God in heaven.
Your followers celebrate their victory with a book burning in the town square, though, after starting the fire, no one can come to an agreement on which books to burn. So you carry a box of old phone books from the office of the dead God Mayor. The names of all the old God citizens fill the pages, and you and your disciples tear them out, page by page, to feed to the flames.
A few of the women in your class call back to vague pagan traditions they found on Google and decide to strip down and dance around the bonfire.
As the excitement dies down, you pull a wooden crate before the fire and rise to address the crowd.
"I thank you all for your devotion in dismantling this intellectual paradox."
You are met with enthusiastic whoops, claps, and whistles.
"Now that the reign of these defunct deities has passed, it's time to usher in a new universe, with one God, one voice, one ruler of creation to define the trajectory of existence!"
You receive one soft set of claps, which quickly shrinks away to nothing as it realizes no others will join it.
"As a. . ." You clear your throat. "Well, of course, as a cool God. A ruler of the universe that can let go of the steering wheel once in a while, let the universe run itself sometimes and see how it goes . . . A God that doesn't need a bunch of praise, or even, you know, can just be left alone up here in heaven as they watch you all just . . . doing your thing, and-"
"Let's get him!" Yells the turtle shell wielder.
And so your new followers pull you off your soap box. Despite your willingness to fight back, they force your hands behind your back and tie you to a wooden post. As you swing wildly from giving threats to promises to cries to bargains to hurdling furious curses down on all their heads, the students carry the post by its ends over to the roaring fire.
You realize this was all a bad idea, that you should have never showed up to the city counsel meeting, that you should have just payed the levee tax on postage stamps and gone about your day.
You accept that this is your death, and you've left no one behind you can pray to.
***
I'm new here, but I'm on a 20 day steak.
If you liked this and want more, the other 19 are at r/FarFetchedFiction
Thanks.
|
DiligentFox
|
FarFetchedFiction
|
2023-01-30 08:41:40
|
2023-01-30 08:27:18
| 67 | 28 |
j6h9gns
|
j6h8gah
|
10ov6w8
|
10ov6w8
|
[WP] Write a futuristic story taking place in 2017 as told from the perspective of someone from the 60s
|
"You can see them too?" Candace said, with a slight gasp.
Gary blinked. That was a new one. Much more common were excuses like "But they're only staying for a few days!" -- even though Gary didn't bother enforcing a lease's occupancy rules unless his tenant had already had guests staying for more than two weeks.
"You haven't exactly been subtle about it Cand--" he began, but the short blonde woman brought him up short by grabbing his hand.
"Come inside!" she said, excitedly, tugging his arm. He frowned, but allowed himself to be led forward. He'd seen so many of her guests coming and going that he was getting worried about the condition of her unit, and now was as good a time as any to see what the damage was.
The apartment actually didn't too bad, all things considered. That didn't change the fact that she was violating her lease by having all these guests. One of which, he noticed, was standing at the kitchen counter, chopping something with a knife. The woman looked a lot like Candace -- a sister, he guessed.
"Candace, you know the policy on people staying here if they're not on the lease--" he began, but she cut him off again, shaking her head vigorously.
"Gary, I don't have any guests!" she said, excitedly, sounding almost manic. She jerked a thumb at the other woman. "She does!"
He pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. Was she...*on* something? "Look, your name is on the lease -- that means that legally you're the only one allowed to stay here, and you're responsible for keeping it that way!"
"Tell her to go, then." Candace said, with a shrug.
He scowled. Now she was just being childish. Nonetheless, he turned to address her sister. "Ma'am, I don't know what Candace has told you, but she can't have people staying here long term. You and whoever else you brought with you need to go."
The woman just kept chopping.
Candace smirked. "Not so easy, huh? Here, let me try to get her attention for you."
Candace walked behind the counter and over to the stove, where she picked up a frying pan. Before Gary could stop her, she swung it at the other woman's head.
He started to shout at her to stop, but his cry died on his lips as the pan passed right through Candace's sister, then did so several more times as Candace fanned it through the air where the woman stood.
"W-what the..." he stammered, eyes bulging as Candace thoroughly demonstrated the immateriality of her houseguest.
She tested the pan on her shoulder. "See?"
Gary's shuddered, staring at the apparition, "H-how is that...how are you doing that?"
She laughed, incredulously . "I'm not doing anything! Uo until five minutes ago, I thought I was going insane."
"So...so ghosts are real." he said, with an air of resignation. He already had enough on his plate without adding ghosts into it. Oddly, he found himself wondering if this was a maintenance issue as per Candace lease -- did *he* have to hire ghostbusters, or was it her responsibility?
"I thought that too, at first. But nah, I don't think so." she mused, setting down the pan, and gesturing to the incorporeal woman. "For one thing, I don't have any sisters, dead or otherwise, and my mom and grandma are both alive."
"Maybe...maybe like your great grandmother, or something? Somebody that, you know, died young?" he offered, uneasily.
"Hm...maybe, but in a pair of jeans and a tank top, though?" she pointed out. "That's not how women dressed, way back when. I don't understand how, but I think she looks like me because she *is* me, like some kind of...I dunno, *other* me."
Gary hesitantly stepped closer, eyeing the apparition cautiously. Now that he was close, he could see she was chopping at nothing.
"So this...*other* Candace, she can't see or hear us?"
"Nope. None of them can, as far as I can tell." she said.
They both jumped as the woman suddenly looked up at them, and Candace let out a startled squeak. But the woman seemed to be looking past them. She set down the knife, and the utensil vanished, as she walked around the counter towards the door.
"Crap," Candace breathed, letting out a sigh, as they watched her walk past, and open the door. But behind the door was *another* door, which remained close, and the door she opened vanished as she removed her hand from the knob. "Always scares the bejeezus outta me when they do that."
"Why are there *two doors?"* Gary groaned. This was getting worse by the minute.
"One for us, one for them, maybe?" Candace said. "I think we can only see ghost-stuff when there's a ghost touching it."
"I thought you said they weren't ghosts?" Gary pointed.
"I meant not like *dead-people* ghosts." she said, uncertainly. "But they're people who you can see but aren't really there, so it still fits, more or less."
Gary watched the Other-Candace mutely talking to the closed door, and frowned, curiously.
"Who's she talking to?"
"Another ghost, I'd assume. We can't see them because the door -- the real door -- is in the way, I guess." Candace replied.
Cautiously, Gary stepped forward, and reaching past Other-Candace, he opened the apartment door.
Gary froze, his eyes widening as he saw the apparition she was speaking to. A tired-looking woman with auburn hair, dressed in a hooded sweatshirt and jeans, was talking animatedly to Other-Candace, though he of course couldn't hear what she was saying.
Candace frowned. "Huh. I haven't seen her before. Not one of other-me"s guests. I wonder who she is?"
"That's...that's my wife." Gary replied, hoarsely. "She died last year."
|
Martha's husband used to deal with the rentals, and she liked it much better that way. But since he had so unfairly died before she did, it was now her responsibility to tend to both the properties and the tenants.
Now, Martha had always known that she isn't exactly "good with people." She had been told by everyone that ever knew her that she was difficult, abrasive, and overall unfriendly. This last descriptive marker made her feel more proud than she let on. You see, Martha has always enjoyed arguments and overall unpleasant conversations. They make her feel a light inside her soul, like a warrior on a battlefield, two arrows stuck in them raising their sword for the final kill.
It thrilled her, the art of the argument. But, when having to conduct herself in a more professional setting Martha had always let her rabid-dog-like conversational skills run in full capacity and it had resulted in multiple firings and a few annoying court proceedings afterwards.
Martha pulled the curtain back a little more to get a better look at the small rancher-style home that was located across the street. Some part of her did love that home. She had initially picked it out for her and her husband to start a family inside. But Mark thought it was beneath him, and so he purchased the far larger and nicer home across the street and gave Martha a rather unhappy surprise when, on moving day, he blindfolded her and revealed that this hunk of junk was her "real" new home.
Martha was devastated and she chose to show this emotional distress by sprinkling little offences or inconveniences in her husbands life for the entirety of their marriage. A rock in the toe of his shoe here, a hem sewed slightly off center there, a missing sock that returned only to go missing again right away, and many other little things that made Mark begin believe he was the unluckiest man alive.
Despite it's small size, the rancher had a beautiful interior and three rooms. It would have been more than enough room for a small family and then they could've upgraded when the other three little ones came along. But, alas, Martha never got what she wanted. She always got something, but it was never what she wanted.
And Mark had doomed Martha to a life where she had to watch other people misuse her beloved home and feel entitled to it. She fantasized about just burning the place to the ground and everyone inside.
But she would never actually do that... she didn't think.
Over the many years Martha made life at that little blue rancher as annoying and inconvenient as possible for the unlucky souls who chose to rent from her and her husband. She always started off strong with a nice dress and a batch of freshly baked cookies that she would drop off on moving day. She would play the friendly neighbor and concerned landlord to make her unsuspecting victims feel safe and happy. And then she would take off the mask and let her true colors shine brightly.
Martha liked to remember the "good-old-days" but she was nearly 70 now and her games and inconveniences were far less interesting and complex. She had gone from the perfect performer to the bitter old lady who, due to lack of creativity, chose to be simply awful to deal with and that did cause some annoyance and distress for her tenants, but it wasn't nearly as satisfying for Martha.
Martha's small green eyes darted towards a man dressed in a long black coat who was strolling down the street, pulling a suitcase behind him. Martha smiled, snapped a blurry picture on her old phone, and recorded the incident in her notebook.
Three people had arrived at the little rancher in the last few days, all of them with luggage. Martha could feel something exciting building. It had been years since she had ammo, had some good reason to confront her unsuspecting tenants.
Usually, Martha and Mark wanted the house to be rented by a family, but since a lot of people had fallen on hard times, this last time Martha rented her house to three young women who were studying at the University. Martha grinned a terrible grin. These girls thought they could just move in their boyfriends and friends without her noticing?
Martha saw everything.
With a small burst of energy Martha grabbed her walking stick and put on her best hat. Her old bones were nearly buzzing with excitement. She couldn't wait to see the look on those girls faces when she screamed at them and reminded them that only they could live there. She couldn't wait to put those good-for-nothing girls out on the streets. She hadn't been this excited since Mark fell ill and the doctor told her he was going to die.
She closed her door behind her and squinted in the sunshine. It was a warm day, perfect for a long and unpleasant conversation on a porch. Martha made her way slowly down the stairs and across the street. She had a slight limp due to a bad hip and she had to struggle a little to get up the three stairs that led to the blue door of the blue home.
Martha raised her cane and knocked loudly on the door three times.
After a moment the door opened shyly and the youngest girl with brown eyes and copper hair stood behind it. Her eyes were tired and she smiled weakly at Martha.
"Hi," she said, "Can I help you?"
"I know what you're doing in there," Martha hissed, hardly able to control herself, "I know all about it. Moving in your boyfriends and your friends. You thought you could trick me? I am going to ruin all of your lives." The girl seemed taken aback, but not because of Martha's threat and that angered Martha so she continued, "You don't think I see all the people you've had over in the last few days?!" she held up the notebook for proof, "It's all recorded in here. I just saw a man with his luggage come over. You are in breach of your rental agreement and I will ensure none of you ever get comfortable housing again!"
The girl blinked and opened her mouth only to close it and blink again. This angered Martha. She wanted to scream and fight but this girl was giving her no kindling for her fires. After another long second the girl leaned forwards, looked around as if worried someone else would hear their conversation and said in a tiny voice, "You can see them too?"
Anger erupted inside Martha like a storm crashing against the shore. So this young lady was going to play it like that? Make Martha, the old woman, think she was losing her marbles? How dare she.
"Don't play stupid with me, *girl*" Martha growled, "I have pictures and evidence. If you think you're being funny you are not and-" The girls eyes went wide and she put her hands up in defense.
"No," she said, "I'm sorry, I'm not mocking you. I-" she turned around, her eyes sweeping the living room before she pushed the door open more and nodded to the side, "You might as well come in."
Martha, looking like nothing more than an elderly toddler on the cusp of a meltdown huffed but took a step inside. Her curiosity was too intense and if she was inside she'd be able to spot these girl's secrets.
The interior of the home was beautiful, original wood floor, a brick fireplace. Martha sighed as her old eyes wandered around her would-be-home. She wished so badly for things to have been different. She could've found happiness if things had been different.
The girl walked towards the kitchen and motioned towards the living room.
|
SilasCrane
|
midnight_medusa
|
2023-02-10 19:55:06
|
2023-02-10 19:14:49
| 88 | 50 |
j80rr35
|
j80lk4f
|
10yrulf
|
10yrulf
|
[WP] As an assistant to a human emmisary to an Elven kingdom, you caused a diplomatic incident on the first day of the job by chuckling at a funeral for an Elven princess, who was said to have been "taken from us before her time, at the young age of 574 years"
|
Later that day, sitting on the floor of our cell, I couldn't stop wondering.
"Sir... why did you start laughing so hard?" I asked the head emissary I was supposed to assist.
He was next to me, he turned his head, his eyes looked like empty sockets.
"Well, that was a first for me."
"A first... you mean what they said?"
"Yeah, that joke."
"But then why are we here now, sir? I was thinking... maybe you laughed too much? Mine was just a chuckle..."
"I'm not sure. I mean, this is my first delegation to an Elven kingdom before."
"First embassy?"
"Yeah, they just sent us overnight all of a sudden for a reason, no? It was urgent. So they just assembled the first ones available, and that was us."
"So... you... how long have you been an emissary, sir?"
"Couple of years."
"Oh. What will happen to us now?"
"I don't know. I don't really know elves."
"You... don't?"
"Used to work the kitchen before."
"Well, what were we supposed to do anyway?" I asked.
"I'm not sure, it sounded like a joke to me. It seemed appropriate to laugh."
"That's what I thought too..."
\[...\]
Later that night.
Lord General Astrid stood before the Council, four old decrepit old men.
"So. Are we sure this time we're gonna have a war declaration? We can't wait no more to invade them. The Bankers Guild is waiting", said one.
"What was the plan again?" asked another one.
Lord General Astrid raised his chin in all his brilliance.
"I've sent two emissaries, my Lords. To princess Yelhena's funeral."
"Two emissaries?"
"Yes, my lords. The second cook and some other guy we found cleaning the embassy floors."
"Are you sure that's a good plan? Is it going to work?"
"With all due respect, I'm quite sure they're going to fuck up, my Lords."
"We'll see, Lord Astrid, we'll see..."
|
"What was that?"
"What was what?"
Pace watched as the emissary palmed her forehead in thought. She sat up, took a sip of wine, and looked at him before slowly dissecting the issue..
"I feel like I don't need to go over the obvious differences in cultures at this stage of our time together. So I'll get right to it. Why did you laugh?"
Pace smirked a little. But didn't laugh. Neither did she or the armed guard surrounding them.
"...I mean, I didn't mean to." He winced.
She stood up. Took another sip, rolled her head and glared at him.
"But you did. You laughed at the dead princess. You know, one of the heirs to the throne? Of the kingdom of Jaianeta? You know, the place we CURRENTLY RESIDE IN?!"
The echo of that bounced down the halls. Even the royal family heard it. They just had no clue what end of the building it came from.
"Calm down." He promised. "It was a mistake. I didn't mean to laugh at the dead princess. It's just-"
"-What? What was it?" She inquired.
"-Just that 547 years is a long time." He snickered.
She smacked the desk with a practiced hand. The funeral dress she wore swayed with the hit.
"For me and you." She corrected. "Elves live for thousands of years. Thousands!"
"...Well not that one."
"Oh good God."
"What'd I say this time?"
If she could hit him, she would. She considered letting one of their soldiers hit him. But that wouldn't be respectful.
"Are you stupid, or is being an asshole fashionable this time of year?"
"Maria-" He stopped as one of the guards clicked the safety off his sidearm. "Miss Isidora. I didn't mean to laugh at the funeral. It was wrong of me and uncouth to do so."
"It's like laughing at a funeral for a child. I really don't know how that got past you."
"If I can explain, I was okay, until they said she had so much more life to live. As if a hundred generations isn't long enough."
She cursed under her breath before looking around at the guards.
"Okay. Kiran, fetch me some cleaning supplies?" She ordered.
"For wha-"
"Don't. Just, stay." Maria ordered Pace. The other guards made sure of that.
Kiran returned with a bucket and a mop. And a rather large pair of rubber gloves. In the bucket sat a bottle of bleach, and he had another in his hands. The marble floor, however, was spotless.
"What's... Um..." Pace began to shuffle in place. "What's that for?"
"Kiran, if you please?" Maria ordered.
The guard nodded and began walking briskly over to Pace, who was now considering if he should try to run or not. He shut his eyes awaiting Kiran grabbing him, or worse. But the pair of gloves simply bounced off his shoulder and flopped to the floor. Maria had stood up to finish her glass of wine. She calmly rounded her desk and walked over to Pace and the gloves.
"I know you're a highly recommended assistant and that you have been quite useful to me in the past. But you must understand the grave nature you may have possibly put our relationship with this kingdom in." She delivered. "We must be delicate."
"Okay? What's that mean?"
"You're on shit detail." She simplified. "Mop the floors. Clean the bathrooms."
"What about the report?"
"You're not my only assistant." Maria explained. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to try and salvage this. The Hikan ambassador is due to visit. Lord only knows what you'd say to a dragon at their funeral. Gentlemen."
She snapped her fingers, passed Pace her glass and strolled away. The rest of the entourage did the same, leaving him alone in the makeshift office. A large shadow swooped by one of the windows of the castle as he began mopping the floor.
"...It's not even messy in here." He muttered to himself.
---
r/Jamaican_Dynamite
|
sirlupash
|
Jamaican_Dynamite
|
2023-02-15 03:30:13
|
2023-02-15 00:31:04
| 97 | 65 |
j8lbir8
|
j8kov84
|
112iryu
|
112iryu
|
[WP] "Why do we make laser grids like these?" "What do you mean?" "I mean instead of a messy random arrangement of lasers that a nimble intruder might be able to jump through, why not a simple grid wall with no gaps large enough to allow a person to pass through?"
|
"Why do we make laser grids like these?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean instead of a messy random arrangement of lasers that a nimble intruder might be able to jump through, why not a simple grid wall with no gaps large enough to allow a person to pass through?"
"Messy? Nimble? Lad. To get through this grid you'd have to be in extraordinary physical condition and wearing extremely tight clothing in order to pull off feats of acrobatics. Now, did you also notice the security camera grid? Now that's an impenetrable coverage, not an inch of this hallway is out of sight."
"So this is for voyeurism?"
"Yep. It's hilarious. Because remember, an intruder would have to get IN, grab the item being secured, then get OUT the same way and boy is it great to watch them try. The looks of hope and determination on their faces, the revealing clothing, it's great. And tell me, have you ever tried to actually pick up the secured container?"
"The briefca...oh. Pressure plate under it, and so the alarm gets set off when they move it, I take it?"
"Ha! Not at all, although it would be easy to build that into the stupid plinth it is on."
"GPS tracker, then?"
"No, no, but you're close. It is definitely something IN the case. Go on, try it."
"Uhhhh... paint pack? Handle taser?
"Try it! I assure you nothing will spray, bite, stab, shoot, or shock you."
"Ok I WHOOOMPH!"
"Fifty pounds of lead weights sewn into the lining. Why did you think Brutus is the only guard allowed to take it upstairs, that meathead is the only one of us that can pick it up without changing expression and making it obvious to enemy spies. That's why they can get in but not out."
|
\[Zero Insight\]
"Why do we make laser grids like these?" Mateo asked. He was freshly certified and assisting Lou in finishing up an installation for his first job. Watching, and handing over tools didn't require a lot of thinking and he searched for questions to make conversation with the older man.
"What do you mean?" Lou asked as he tightened each screw for a final time. They Stood in a narrow, mirror-polished hallway affixing laser emitters to both sides of the walls.
"I mean instead of a messy random arrangement of lasers that a nimble intruder might be able to jump through...," Mateo pointed out the assortment of emitters lining the length of the hall in random spots. "...why not a simple grid wall with no gaps large enough to allow a person to pass through?"
"Newbies...," Lou shook his head with a chuckle as he took a few steps toward the exit and started tightening the next set. Mateo followed close behind carrying the toolbox. They were essentially done, all the emitters worked when powered on and the Lou's process was to tighten everything on the way out. As he raised the screwdriver, he used it to gesture at the security door behind them.
"Do you know what's in there?" he asked.
"No, why would I?" Mateo shook his head. He was genuinely puzzled by the question. He didn't even know that house existed until he joined Lou that day. But, the older man had started the process a few days before and Mateo thought Lou might know. "What are they guarding?" he asked.
"No idea," Lou shrugged with a smirk. "That's the point. We work for Sharp Security. We aren't guarding anything, our job is to install," he said.
"But, wouldn't it be better for business if we offered better security?" Mateo asked.
"How do you know we didn't?" Lou chuckled and moved on to the next set.
"What? Because we're still installing a messy grid," he answered. Mateo wasn't trying to be antagonistic, he was trying to understand. And, luckily, Lou had enough experience to see his curiosity for what it was.
"Uhuh," Lou nodded. "I know I wasn't in that sales call. I just showed up and got orders, same as you. We don't know what packages were offered, or what the clients refused; our job is to install," he reiterated.
"But... why wouldn't they get the best, most impenetrable system?" Mateo asked.
"Could be lots of reasons," Lou shrugged. "People have different perspectives; and, maybe this is all they need for whatever is behind that door. Or maybe it was just all they could afford, we're not the sales team. So, we don't know."
"Yeah, I guess...," Mateo nodded. He finally glimpsed enough of Lou's point to start considering it. "...I just think with Sharp Development's resources we could be offering better systems even as a low-priced baseline." He spent a few days getting multiverse-oriented before actually being given a job. Sharp Development, the owners of Sharp Security, was a multiversal corporation and Mateo had seen things in the last few days that he never even dreamed about.
"Yeah, probably," Lou nodded with a smirk as he gave Mateo the screwdriver to put away. They were done now and headed toward the door. "But, if we gave everyone impenetrable systems... they wouldn't hire Sharp Security every few years for an upgrade."
\*\*\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #2481 in a row. (Story #307 in year seven). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place in my universe.
|
Ishidan01
|
HSerrata
|
2024-11-02 19:03:56
|
2024-11-02 17:56:42
| 592 | 99 |
lv27cu7
|
lv1umq7
|
1ghye6q
|
1ghye6q
|
[WP] Your fairy godmother is very strange. She dresses in black and red, never takes off her mask, and uses scary magic. However, she genuinely does love you and teaches you what she knows.
|
"Good morning, Godmother!" the boy cheered as he entered the living room. "What have you got there?"
"𝚃𝙷𝙴-𝙷𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚃-𝙾𝙵-𝙰-𝙳𝙴𝙴𝚁," Godmother clicked back. Much like her movement, each word was said in a burst of speed sometimes hard to understand, but undeniably efficient.
"Oh, neat!" the boy said excitedly. "Can I see?"
"𝙽𝙾𝚃-𝙱𝙴-𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙴-𝙱𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙺-𝙵𝙰𝚂𝚃," she said sternly and within several clicks produced a bowl of oatmeal decorated with slices of strawberries placed into a shape of a smiley face. "THERE-YOU-GO."
"Thanks, Godmother!" the boy said and dug in; it was expertly crafted to be as healthy as it was delicious. The boy could never get tired of such a feast.
"Bhat-ar-yu-"
"𝚂𝚆𝙰-𝙻𝙻𝙾𝚆-𝙵𝙸𝚁𝚂𝚃-𝙷𝙾-𝙽𝙴𝚈," Godmother, for the lack of a better word, smiled. Her ever-present ceramic mask hid any and all emotions on her face, though the boy learned long ago to discern the slightest tilts of her head. He did ask her, once, why she always wore the mask. When she responded "𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃-𝙼𝙰𝚂𝙺?" he decided not to pry further.
"What are you doing with a heart?" the boy asked and ate another spoonful.
"𝚁𝙸-𝚃𝚄-𝙰𝙻," she responded. "𝙸-𝙹𝚄𝚂𝚃-𝙽𝙴𝙴𝙳-𝙾𝙽𝙴-𝙼𝙾𝚁𝙴..."
She turned and clicked towards a cupboard on the other side of the room. The movement was the opposite of smooth or fluid - she stood still but with each... *tick* appeared in the next stage of what a normal person would achieve through normal movement. Despite this, her crimson cape still flowed behind her as if the air was hitting it mid-walk.
Retrieving an opaque glass jar from the cupboard, she came back to the table where the boy was carefully inspecting the heart.
"𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂-𝙸𝚂-𝙰-𝙱𝙸𝙽-𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶-𝚁𝙸𝚃-𝚄𝙰𝙻," she explained. "𝚂𝙾-𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃-𝙸𝚂-𝙸𝙽-𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂-𝙹𝙰𝚁?" she asked.
The boy furrowed his eyebrows as delved deep into thought.
"Is it... hmm... ground oxilyme?" he answered carefully. Godmother tilted her head into a smile.
"𝚅𝙴-𝚁𝚈-𝙶𝙾𝙾𝙳-𝙷𝙾-𝙽𝙴𝚈," she chirped. The boy's victorious gasp was interrupted by the ring of the doorbell.
"𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃-𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻-𝙱𝙴-𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁-𝙵𝙰-𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁. 𝚁𝙴𝙰-𝙳𝚈-𝙵𝙾𝚁-𝚂𝙲𝙷𝙾𝙾𝙻?"
"Yes, Godmother," the boy said and hastily wolfed down the rest of his oatmeal before grabbing his bag and running to the door. Godmother followed.
The boy opened the door and hugged his father tightly.
"Hi, Dad!"
"Hey, sport," the man smiled. Seeing Godmother walk into the doorframe, he bowed deeply.
"Thank you, o' Ancient One, for looking after-"
"𝙿𝙷𝙸-𝙻𝙸𝙿-𝙿𝙻𝙴-𝙰𝚂𝙴," she responded warmly. "𝙰-𝙽𝚈-𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴. 𝙸-𝙴𝙽-𝙹𝙾𝚈-𝙼𝚈-𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴-𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷-𝙻𝚄-𝙲𝙰𝚂,𝚁𝙸-𝚃𝚄-𝙰𝙻-𝙾𝚁-𝙽𝙾𝚃," she said, referring to the blood ritual that bound her to the boy as his Godmother.
The boy turned and went to hug his Godmother. Her arms clicked into a tight hug back.
"𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽-𝚈𝙾𝚄-𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙴-𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺,𝚆𝙴-𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻-𝙱𝙸𝙽𝙳-𝚃𝙷𝙴-𝙳𝙴-𝙼𝙾𝙽-𝚃𝙾-𝙶𝙴-𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁."
"Thanks, Godmother!" the boy cheered. "You're the best!"
The boy and his father turned and walked towards the car parked in the driveaway, with the boy casting one last look at his beloved, eldritch caretaker.
His **𝙂𝙤𝙙**mother.
|
11711
1C'mon little Fairy Princess," Daddy yelled, "This is our new home!" And he pulled open the bad doors of the small moving van.
"There's nothing 'New,' about it." Mommy grumbled as she unbuckled and helped Ashley out of the van.
"Hey how many people get to inherit a 1600's manor in Ireland?" Daddy playfully replied with just the smallest hint of irritation coming thro1ugh his tone.
Ashley's feet touched the wild grassy ground and she felt a sudden surge of energy. Like she was waking up from a 9 year old's long sleep and was keenly aware of the world around her. Her eyes darted over the place. The grass was wild and unkempt, scraggly bushes lined an old cobblestone road that led away from the main route to this little bubble of living area surrounded by lush green forest that quickly became dark as night under the canopy of trees.
"We should have just sold the place," Mommy snapped back, "You do realize this is how, like, 90% of horror movies start right? Small white family moving to the middle of fu.... AHEM nowhere."
"You're Creole," Daddy teased, "so that means we're the first family to run away when the ghosts and goblins start causing trouble."
Ashley had started walking up to the main house. It seemed short compared to the tall ceilinged McMansions of suburban Utah, and it was chilly and humid here in June instead of hot and dry. The building had five rooms with an open floor plan. The walls were yellow painted wattle and daub over stone, which peaked through cracks in the coating making the building look much older than it was. Over the top was a thatched roof complete with a Thatcher's pattern from further away County Cork.
Around the main court yard was a small modern looking garage, another small two roomed modern house and aways back over the treeline were two smallish hills and a third large promontory with the ruins of a castle on it.
Behind the house stood an old barn, nestled back near the treeline.
"Go on and explore Honey and pick out your room!"
********
The inside of the house turned out to be quite cozy. Polished wood floors and a main living room and kitchen area gave the place a lot of space. A plush couch and surrounding seats gathered around a fireplace and electric light sconces designed to look like candles lit the inside.
Mommy and Daddy both had on sweaters while Mommy and Ashley finished up their dinner and Daddy got a fire lit. He'd only been at it a short time but already had a small fire that was drawing smoke in lazy curly ques up the chimney.
"Well then," Mommy said playfully as she and Ashley finished up the last of the dinner dishes, "Looks like there's something you can do right after all."
Daddy blushed a bit, as Ashley watched their interactions intently. "Well, you know. It's good to have an eagle scout in the family."
Mommy and Daddy cuddled up on the couch in front of the fire, and Mommy gave Daddy a big kiss.
Ashley relaxed. It was good to see Mommy and Daddy be so happy. She hadn't seen that for a long time.
They chit chatted about the property, surrounding forest, and towns but Ashley wasn't interested. It had been a big day of moving and her eyes were pulling themselves shut.
She blinked and found herself in an old cast iron bed with a pillowy mattress and under a soft cotton sheet and heavy afghan.
"Good night sweet heart," Daddy said.
"Sweet dreams kiddo," Mommy said and they closed the door.
********
"Mommy, do I have to go to bed?"
"Yes honey," Mommy said, "The Midsummer Festival is still going, and it was fun, but it's time for bed."
"Bud Daddy," Ashley whispered in a quite panic, "It's scary in there!!"
"Now you know there's no such things as ghosts or monsters kiddo." Daddy said shortly. "You're 9. You're too old to do things like this to stay up at night.
Daddy shifted Ashley's weight to his left arm while Mommy opened the front door of the cottage, and they went inside. They immediatly took Ashley into her room and helped her out of her festival dress and into pajamas for the night.
"Just listen, PLEASE! The closet door..."
"Is just loose," Mommy said shortly, "It's time for bed. Mommy and Daddy are tired."
"No You're Not! You just wanna hump!" Ashley half shouted angrilly.
Mommy and Daddy split laughing, "Yeah Honey we do, but that doesn't change the fact that it's bed time." Said Daddy.
Ashley climbed gingerly into the bed and immediatly pulled the covers up to her chin.
"Good night," Mommy said as she and Daddy left to their own room and closed the bedroom door.
Her hands and feet started shaking in fear and she curled up her toes, and balled her hands into fists. Eyes locked on the closet door. Waiting for the slightest twitch of movement. But her eyes were so heavy... so heavy...
|
SirPiecemaker
|
deadlandsMarshal
|
2023-04-23 19:10:36
|
2023-04-23 18:24:14
| 150 | 31 |
jhfecax
|
jhf7kr5
|
12w9v9j
|
12w9v9j
|
[WP] As a Barbarian, you hate that just because you have a different lifestyle, your party looks down on you and assumes you are incapable of basic intelligent thought. Today you had enough.
|
*"Ah, I see that Loktarr had an eventful evening"*
The statement from Sullivan had the party following his gaze to the three battered, bruised and groaning individuals currently hanging by thier ankles from the Inn's gatehouse. Peering into the early-morning gloom of the stable, they found their token-barbarian, Loktarr; grooming down one of the horses.
*"Thieves with a taste for horse-flesh"*
Loktarr said matter-of-factly;
*"Figured you prefer I didnt gut them this time"*
Sullivan nodded with a condescending smile;
*"Very good Loktarr, after the trouble we had last time; it's good to that you are learning how to behave"*
The look Loktarr gave him set a chill through his body that had little to do with the crisp morning air.
*"Learning? You call that learning? When the wolf goes rogue and starts to prey on the children; you don't give it a hiding and let it go - you hunt it down, skin it and wear the fur to warn the others."*
He shook his head and spat on the straw stable floor;
*"Those men didnt "learn", all they "learned" here is that OUR horses aren't to be touched. When we go, they will be back. Thieves never "learn", they just keep stealing"*
There was a gentle but meaningful cough from the back of the group.
*"Yes I mean you too Drazzt; if we didnt have you with us..."*
He nodded meaningfully toward the gatehouse.
*"But seeing-as we are talking about "learning", lets talk about the trip. Not ONE of you bothered to arrange extra feed for the horses, let-alone yourselves last night; and we have a five-day trip crossing the wildlands."*
Uncertainty filled the group; Tannis the bard spoke up;
*"What do you mean Loktarr?"*
Loktarr grinned evilly;
*"Well, unless someone built an inn out there in the last year, you all will need to "learn" how to smell the wind, "learn" how to track small game..."*
He shot a hard glare at Sullivan;
*"You could say that you will need to "Learn to behave"*
|
A small smile crept on to your lips as you watched the remaining party stride into the main hall after smashing down the main doors at the opposite end of a long vaulted Hall. The small group approached with looks of bewilderment and shock. Several members of the band looked around in consternation as they reached the throne where Benny the Barbarian sat cleaning his nails with a gold handled dagger. Jacob stared directly at you, eyes challenging, questioning. You soak it all in. The Truth - Sayer smiles at you through his long bearded face. How? They all seem to say. Maybe it was too much?. Bless Magda who erupted in an almighty cry of laughter once she got a glimpse of you sprawled out on the throne. The healer had a great sense of humour.
"How the hell did you of all people get in here before us?“
By now the rest of the band had gathered around the foot of the throne staring up with equal mystification and disdain. Some of the band looked on with adoration, Benny took this all in mentally noting the dark shadows on some of the warriors faces. This perhaps had been a bigger mistake than he originally thought. But Benny was nearly done with this quest. Just two more weeks of this and it will all be done he told himself. Two more weeks of the dim witted Barbarian who happened upon their ill advised voyage. He felt a stab of guilt as he swung off the throne. Bowing low he proffered the seat to Jacob. "My Lord, " he suddenly announced "the Throne is yours"
Jacob sat warily eyes still focused on the Barbarian.
"the Throne yes, but perhaps not the kingdom"
"explain yourself" Jacob ordered.
"myself, I was quite by accident brought in close vicinity of this very hall after being captured by the wall guards, who incidentally came into contact with my poisoned armour. So you see I was covering the flank in the Westwood when my accidental capture brought me into the heart of the Kingdom itself! "
A look of confusion passed over Jacobs face replaced quickly by anger.
"We don't have time for tall tales Benny, see to it that the rest of the Barbarians are covering the Westwood flank, hopefully they won't be as easily captured like you"
Benny withdrew from the hall, there was a flurry of activity as Jacob organised a quelling of the fighting still happening within the inner walls. Benny made his way back to camp. As he opened his tent flap he immediately sensed a slight disturbance along the thread of his proximity web. Stepping back he gave it a slight mental tug on the thread allowing it to fall to the floor. A smile sprang to his lips as he stepped in with a fluid bow. "Master!“ he exclaimed. The Truth - Sayer sat cross legged on the floor and Benny joined him.
"Can we please leave?" asked Benny
"Not yet" he replied.
"Tell me how you got into the inner sanctum, and spare me the abducted lies" said the Truth Sayer
"I remember looking at old maps of Cumbria on grandfather's wall, there was a very old one that showed a lake in the middle of Westwood during Fair Gandwyns rule, I remember they used to use aqua ducts a lot back then." explained Benny
"Very wise Benny, very wise, did you get it?“ asked the Truth Sayer
" of course" replied Benny producing a large white diamond the size of an chicken egg from beneath his clothes.
The Truth Sayer added it to a special pouch on his waist, looking up he caught Bennys eyes and held them for a moment. Just two more they both thought. No one needed to say it. The Truth Sayer stood up and went to the tent flap. He hesitated. "Please no more theatrics Benny, your stunt on the throne nearly got you executed and your Sister nearly blew her cover"
As he left Benny the Barbarian whispered "yes Dad".
|
grudthak
|
sepukio
|
2023-02-13 02:01:20
|
2023-02-13 00:50:48
| 78 | 19 |
j8bguxt
|
j8b79ox
|
110gt0h
|
110gt0h
|
[WP] As a Barbarian, you hate that just because you have a different lifestyle, your party looks down on you and assumes you are incapable of basic intelligent thought. Today you had enough.
|
Trisra, the Elven Wizard made a joke. "The instructions are so simple that even Bonan could do it," she giggled. The fighter, Thomas was laughing with her, and they were both looking over at Bonan.
Bonan shook his head. "I may not be as smart as Trisra, but I'm hardly an idiot. And what are you laughing at, Thomas? You're not a spellcaster either, what makes you think you're smarter than me? I get the wizard laughing at me, but you?" Thomas shrugged. "I don't know, I mean at least I can read, man."
Bonan sighed. The literacy issue was always dogging him. People always underestimated his intelligence because of the fact that he had never been taught to read. It just wasn't a skill that anyone in his culture had developed. Suddenly, Bonan had an idea. "So, tell me. Do any of you know how to skin an animal and make armor from the pelt? Do you know which local plants are edible? Do you even know how to tell which direction you're facing without a compass?" All three of them shook their heads. Thomas put a finger to his chin. "Well, no, but we have tools or books to help with most of those things, and we use armor far more durable than anything that could be made from a beast's hide. I can appreciate that you have a strong memory and survival skills, but let's face it, Bonan. Your tribe is behind the times. It's not your fault."
Bonan shook his head. "Sure, my tribe may be a little off the beaten path, but being raised that way doesn't make me an idiot. I can learn things." Trisra tilted her head. "Really? I'll believe that when I see it." She clicked her tongue as if she thought this was just another barbarian boast with no basis in reality.
Bonan finally made up his mind. He was going to seek training in town and take a level in Rogue. If for no other reason, to prove that he could adapt to urban life as well as any of the rest of them.
|
A small smile crept on to your lips as you watched the remaining party stride into the main hall after smashing down the main doors at the opposite end of a long vaulted Hall. The small group approached with looks of bewilderment and shock. Several members of the band looked around in consternation as they reached the throne where Benny the Barbarian sat cleaning his nails with a gold handled dagger. Jacob stared directly at you, eyes challenging, questioning. You soak it all in. The Truth - Sayer smiles at you through his long bearded face. How? They all seem to say. Maybe it was too much?. Bless Magda who erupted in an almighty cry of laughter once she got a glimpse of you sprawled out on the throne. The healer had a great sense of humour.
"How the hell did you of all people get in here before us?“
By now the rest of the band had gathered around the foot of the throne staring up with equal mystification and disdain. Some of the band looked on with adoration, Benny took this all in mentally noting the dark shadows on some of the warriors faces. This perhaps had been a bigger mistake than he originally thought. But Benny was nearly done with this quest. Just two more weeks of this and it will all be done he told himself. Two more weeks of the dim witted Barbarian who happened upon their ill advised voyage. He felt a stab of guilt as he swung off the throne. Bowing low he proffered the seat to Jacob. "My Lord, " he suddenly announced "the Throne is yours"
Jacob sat warily eyes still focused on the Barbarian.
"the Throne yes, but perhaps not the kingdom"
"explain yourself" Jacob ordered.
"myself, I was quite by accident brought in close vicinity of this very hall after being captured by the wall guards, who incidentally came into contact with my poisoned armour. So you see I was covering the flank in the Westwood when my accidental capture brought me into the heart of the Kingdom itself! "
A look of confusion passed over Jacobs face replaced quickly by anger.
"We don't have time for tall tales Benny, see to it that the rest of the Barbarians are covering the Westwood flank, hopefully they won't be as easily captured like you"
Benny withdrew from the hall, there was a flurry of activity as Jacob organised a quelling of the fighting still happening within the inner walls. Benny made his way back to camp. As he opened his tent flap he immediately sensed a slight disturbance along the thread of his proximity web. Stepping back he gave it a slight mental tug on the thread allowing it to fall to the floor. A smile sprang to his lips as he stepped in with a fluid bow. "Master!“ he exclaimed. The Truth - Sayer sat cross legged on the floor and Benny joined him.
"Can we please leave?" asked Benny
"Not yet" he replied.
"Tell me how you got into the inner sanctum, and spare me the abducted lies" said the Truth Sayer
"I remember looking at old maps of Cumbria on grandfather's wall, there was a very old one that showed a lake in the middle of Westwood during Fair Gandwyns rule, I remember they used to use aqua ducts a lot back then." explained Benny
"Very wise Benny, very wise, did you get it?“ asked the Truth Sayer
" of course" replied Benny producing a large white diamond the size of an chicken egg from beneath his clothes.
The Truth Sayer added it to a special pouch on his waist, looking up he caught Bennys eyes and held them for a moment. Just two more they both thought. No one needed to say it. The Truth Sayer stood up and went to the tent flap. He hesitated. "Please no more theatrics Benny, your stunt on the throne nearly got you executed and your Sister nearly blew her cover"
As he left Benny the Barbarian whispered "yes Dad".
|
delphi367
|
sepukio
|
2023-02-13 02:18:38
|
2023-02-13 00:50:48
| 50 | 19 |
j8bjcez
|
j8b79ox
|
110gt0h
|
110gt0h
|
[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.
|
“I’m sorry, but I’m not allowed to.”
“The fate of the world is at stake!” The voice sounds honest enough, but then I’m a terrible judge of character. Maybe I can get some information out of this guy.
“Then give me your badge number.”
“Nine eight five three six eight eleven decka one!” came the anxious response.
“Security clearance?”
“Alpha alpha beta!”
“The operations unique forty-two and a half digit alphanumeric identification code?”
“D R G Z 2 H 5— wait… forty-two and a half?” The voice said. “JUST PUSH THE [redacted] BUTTON!”
“Okay…”
“HURRY UP IN— Aah! you pushed it!”
***
I may come back in add some more later. For now check out some of my [other stories](https://www.reddit.com/user/Matthew-IP-7/comments/ww45tq/a_list_of_all_the_stories_ive_written_that_can_be/).
|
JoeyJoeySiwa
|
Matthew-IP-7
|
2023-01-03 02:19:27
|
2023-01-02 20:04:44
| 16 | 10 |
j2pr8j8
|
j2o761r
|
101bwam
|
101bwam
|
[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.
|
"Three wishes." Said the genie. Or being. Or thing. I'm not sure what it actually is. It looks vaguely humanoid, but then again not really. I can't tell at all, it is like looking at mist and trying to make a shape out of it.
"Are you a genie?" I could feel my voice crack trying to speak out the words.
"I have been called that, and many more. Relax, state your wishes and we can move on." Replied the being.
I took a small amount of time and calm myself down. I took pride in it what I managed. I doubt many could stay calm being in such an extraordinary situation.
"You don't look like what was told in the stories." I tried to find some information, anything, as I'm not sure to flee, or or fleeing is even possible, or perhaps there are really wishes? I find it impossible to believe.
"The form you see is merely a fragment of myself. Humans see what they believe. You are someone who does not believe in genies in the stories, so my form does not appear to be anything."
"If that is so, what are you exactly? Why am I getting wishes for nothing, or perhaps there's something in exchange?"
"A curious and cautious one are you not little one? But I see fear in your eyes. If you are afraid, why are you not running away?"
"I'm not sure, but I don't think I can escape if you wanted me not to." I could almost see the misty thing grin as those words left my mouth. Maybe I talked too much, I've had people warned me because of that. Yet, well what is said is said.
"To ease you, I will let you know that I will not be stopping you if you leave. And to answer your question, it will be impossible for you to understand. Your mind simply is unable grasp what I truly am, and why it is so."
I wasn't sure what it really meant, but I wanted to get at least some answers. I fell in silence for a moment, and tried another question "You said you'll grand me three wishes. But what is the catch? I don't think wishes come freely."
"It is free for you. The reason, as I have told, your is mind simply unable to understand it."
Now I'm stuck, it seems that I could leave, but it is giving me wishes. I'm very confused yet I could not find answers. And I do understand that I will need to be careful of what I wish for.
"So, if I wish for something it will be granted? Will it not be twisted into something else? I've heard a lot stories... " My voice trail off as I realized I might offended whatever this thing is.
"You little ones have come far, but I do not twist your wishes. I only give what you wanted, but you expected too much, and understand too little."
"Can you explain that please?"
"Some people love power, they wish for power beyond what they are capable of, to control the wind, to call upon lightning and such. But little ones, you can only do what your existence allows."
"Then what happens to those who wishes for such powers?"
"They tried and succeed, and disintegrated into part of the universe."
"You mean they die doing it?"
"Yes and no. When you little ones die, it is because of your shell ended. And you return back into the universe, when they use powers that isn't part of their nature, they disintegrated and return to the universe."
"That sounds the same."
"Because you are unable to understand it with your mind."
"If I wish to understand it, I will too disintegrated?"
"Correct."
"Then... What do you suggest that I wish for?"
"Something that you will not mind not being in control of."
"What do you mean?"
"Some wished for wealth, but their children turns against them for the wealth. Some wish for health but they live pass all their loved ones. I am not in control of what happens after the wish, what happens is just because."
"That seems impossible."
The being did not reply. And what it said makes sense. So I asked again " What will happen to you if I make no wishes or just one wish?"
"I will leave, return to part of myself."
After some thought I said "I wish to leave this place, and forget everything that had happened in here."
" Granted. "
|
zero_the_ghostdog
|
FaythKnight
|
2023-01-29 09:20:07
|
2023-01-29 09:11:29
| 37 | 23 |
j6cdod0
|
j6cd22n
|
10nlru3
|
10nlru3
|
[WP] As it turns out, this dragon had never killed anyone before, nor did it plan to, it was frightened and acted in self-defence. Now the party will have to figure out what to do with the hyperventilating beast while the cleric revives the murderhobo fighter
|
The barbarians blood was dripping from the tail of the beast now cowering in the corner
“He literally just impaled himself running at it didn’t he “ piped up the ranger “ it didn’t even move at all , was he expecting it to swing its tail around to defend itself or something?”
“ sigh , intelligence was never his strong suit but this takes the cake, oh Mistress Muriel , Mark is dead , again”
The holy cleric walked forward from the raiding party over to marks corpse before looking up at the dragon in the corner who had “killed him”
“ shouldn’t we uhh deal with that before we think about resurrecting someone , it isn’t a fast spell “
The wizard walked forward toward the dragon , taking heed of the spikes
“ I don’t think this beast is much for battle, it’s very much awake but it didn’t even take an aggressive action , just bared it’s spiky behind at us “
The wizard stroked his beard
“ does anyone speak dragon by chance? Mine is extremely rusty… smart creatures you know…”
The entire raiding party just stood silent
“Anyone?…. No? Well fizzle sticks… I hope I don’t say something offensive…”
The mage walked toward the front of the dragon and began speaking
“ uhh excuse me, hello , I know you are awake , do you mind uhh having a chat “
The dragon rolled over , it’s wings covering its face
“ go away please, I’m sorry your friend is hurt but please go I’m not a monster “
The wizard was shocked “ oh , you speak common tongue , that would make this easier… uhh how do we say this , we were sent to slay you I’m afraid , terrorizing the town and what not “
The dragon lifted one wing up to look at the wizard “ I haven’t terrorized anyone , maybe ate a sheep or two… but I haven’t attacked any people… I was just hungry , I will just leave and go to another cave or ruin and you can say you did your quest “
The knight leading the party spoke up “ well uh , we are kind of supposed to bring your head back, but I mean you are a dragon right? Why are you not fighting back or anything “
“ because I don’t want to fight , I already said I’m not a monster… humans scare me because they always attack me…. So just please leave me alone “
The group chatted amongst themselves as suddenly the raging scream of the barbarian continued as he was brought back as he stood up he looked back and forth and at the dragon , he raised his axe and let out a piercing battle cry as he charged forward again onto another of the dragons spikes, dying again”
“ for the love of god mark “ shouted the cleric “ someone help me drag his body outside of the cave so this isn’t a repeat occurrence”
After shuffling marks body outside the group returned to the dragon
“ back to the matter at hand” the wizard started “ what shall we do about you… we can’t go back empty handed you know…. “
The dragon let out a sigh “ I know , but everywhere I go the humans always want to attack me and I just fly off to another cave… “
“ you know the king could use a dragon “ the knight spoke up “ Even if you are not a fighter… well just the idea of a dragon in the kings army would help to bolster fear for invaders… why don’t you come to the kingdom “
“ really? Even if I don’t want to fight? That would be wonderful…”
The dragon looked over to the mage
“ do you happen to have any good books for me to read there ? I’m honestly more of a book wyrm”
|
*Good job karkzak, not even a century old and you've gargantuanly messed up.* the dragon thought to himself as he hugs his body with his large wings and holding his head with both paws trying to calm down.
*not only you've killed an adventurer, but done so infront of their group.* The dragon peeks behind him to look at an elf druid, a dwarf riding a warforged, three humans which are a rogue, cleric and fighter with the latter being dead lying in a pool of blood caused by a huge claw mark across their front. The human rogue spoted him looking at them and has told the group causing everyone to look at him and upon seeing their head turn towards him, he further curls into himself.
*yep, i am surely dead* he took another peek behind to see the elf and warforged approaching him so he decides to lay on the ground onto his side exposing his neck *at least they would end this quick* so he closes his eyes, bracing for death as their footsteps get closer except he hears them stop a few feet away "we're sorry about one of our party member startling you, this is a common occurence with them" he opens his eyes and turned their head to see the druid crouching with their hand out stretched. Confused he asked "you aren't going to slay me?" Foĺlowed by the druid placing their hand on his neck and slowly stroking it while responding with "no and besides, we entered this cave thinking it was a good place to shelter from the storm raging outside not expecting to find another creature here".
Hearing this he responded with a "thank you" before closing their eyes and falling asleep exhausted.
|
Omnizoom
|
non_ex_nihilio_4297
|
2023-02-23 23:06:05
|
2023-02-23 19:58:48
| 135 | 31 |
j9r0mbu
|
j9q6kho
|
119yeev
|
119yeev
|
[WP] as you bring a sample of your crops to the temple of the harvest god, you and everyone nearby suddenly hear a telepathic childlike voice "um, I'm not sure how to tell you this, but your god kind of died..."
|
"I accidentally blurted out that their god kinda died!" The small boy fidgeted on a throne far too tall for him. "Do I still follow my script?"
"Keep going, little one," I nudged him to face the shimmering pool of water which reflected the worried looks of farmers in the temple of their harvest god. "Your people bear glorious gifts to you. Introduce yourself, say thank you, and grant them a blessing as a sign of appreciation."
The boy raised his arms and flailed, hoping his massive sleeves would slide down and stop covering his speech letter. This barely readable crumpled piece of paper he had scrawled on personally. With broken crayons and a blend of fruity plant juices. It was all part of his effort to be a good god than one who depended on another to write his script for him.
"Okay, Mr. Elfie, what kind of blessing should I give them?" He gazed upwards to meet my eyes. "Should I go with a crop circle, or the bird sign?"
"Introduce yourself as their new harvest god first," I pointed at what I guessed would be his introduction paragraph on his messy scribbling with a tentacle. "They're waiting to hear from you."
"...Why, hello...humans," he stammered, kicking off vine-woven shoes far too big for his tiny feet. "I'm your new harvest god Dimitri...Thank you for your..."
*"Tribute,"* I whispered into his mind.
"...tribute," he repeated after me. "I will bless you, worshippers...okay, next step, bless...wait, Elvari? So how do I make a crop circle again?"
The collective gasps of the confused farmers echoed in the temple and in the sanctuary where we were projecting to the humans.
*"Dimitri, you didn't turn off your telepathy link to them,"* I mentally chided him. *"They heard that."*
"The child god...he doesn't know how to bless us!"
"Does our god know how to be a god?"
"How old is he? The boy doesn't sound older than ten years old?"
The distressed voices only sank what little confidence the child god had. "Mr. Tentacle...you could talk to them just for today? I'll watch and learn from you. Promise! Please please please?"
I sighed. "An eldritch god of the seas has no business playing harvest god. I could dispense advice, but you have to bless their crops yourself."
"What happens if you try blessing crops?" He asked, boundless curiosity within his green eyes.
"The last time I tried, the grass turned to tentacles that didn't do a very convincing job of pretending to be plants. They swayed too much in the wind."
Dimitri jumped up and down his oversized throne while pouting. "Could you not make everything tentacles?"
"I'm afraid it's in my nature," I shrugged even as a few disgruntled tentacles hissed in his direction. "They'll just have to learn gods aren't omnipotent. We are as flawed as humans can be sometimes. Which is not something most mortals want to believe about their gods. Look on the bright side, you're a newly ascended god. You can use your youth and inexperience as an excuse."
"What is our god doing?" A man with a thick, bushy beard grumbled. "Does the job of harvest god come with an instruction manual?"
"I'm pretty sure they don't get guidebooks like how I don't get one after I gave birth to our son!" His wife shouted at him.
"Do you think our new god has a teacher? Do they attend classes?"
*"Dimitri, you need to say something. Your humans are growing restless."*
"I will draw you a new crop circle!" He declared in a sudden surge of courage. "Your crops shall multiply beyond your dreams!"
With a wave of his hands, the mirrored pool before his throne glowed as he tried to draw a circle. It wasn't perfect; the uneven lines were shaky and jagged. There were disjointed segments and wobbly arcs. But it was a magical crop circle alright.
"Good job, little one. Looks better than my first ritual circle," I gave him a headpat. "My matron said it looked like a dying octopus with goat horns. You'll be a good god growing up."
------------------------
[Thanks for reading! Click here for more prompt responses and short stories featuring Elvari the eldritch god.](https://www.reddit.com/r/TregonialWrites/comments/11tkt9w/eldritch_god_elvari_series/)
|
Antigone had always been a loyal servant to the gods. It was her job as a woman. She was supposed to wait. To serve. To be pretty and perfect and patient.
She had been.
She HAD been.
Then they brought her brother back, or at least his body, and left it to rot in the fields outside the walls. She’s lost both brothers in the war they'd started, one had gotten his funeral rites because he’d won the throne before death…
Polynices was denied an afterlife for the crime of dying rebel prince.
Antigone’s uncle forbade his burial to put the succession war to rest. Polynices would be a royal banquet for the crows.
At least he was supposed to be.
Antigone had been pretty. She had been patient. She had been everything she was supposed to be. She was loyal, but they called her a traitor for it.
They allowed Antigone one last offering to the Gods before they put her to the sword for her loyalty. She’d chose
Persephone, an offering of grain to beg for love from the Queen she was off to visit.
Offerings were usually a quiet and private affair, but they usually didn’t proceed executions.
Antigone laid her offering at the feet of the Persephone’s statue, kneeling down in front of the God. She’d done the right thing, hadn’t she? Who was she supposed to be loyal to if she couldn’t even serve her brother in death?
Then, a young voice. Like the chorus it spoke to everyone.
“Your Goddess is dead.”
Antigone didn’t rise. The spectators panicked, but this was the last offering she’d ever make. She was going to see it
through. Antigone was loyal.
“What happened?”
“The gods?”
“It must be a trick!”
The voice spoke again, now older. “She’s gone. Dust. Lost or abandoned. Whatever stills your restless souls.”
Antigone kept kneeling. She owed her brothers their prayers.
“Too many acts of cruelty let me in.” The voice was almost hissing now, old and cruel, “Your Gods aren’t the first to fall, and they won’t be the last.”
More panic. Antigone was loyal. She stayed.
“They’ll be storybook characters. Parodies paraded around and like beautiful little corpse puppets.” The voice laughed.
At that, finally, Antigone faltered.
The voice spoke to her and her alone. “Don’t worry my dear. You’ll be paraded the same way.”
Despite having run out of tears days ago. Antigone wept.
/r/Jacksonwrites for more wicked things until my book releases on the 27th.
|
Tregonial
|
Writteninsanity
|
2024-05-11 13:19:38
|
2024-05-11 13:13:54
| 290 | 121 |
l3kkvwf
|
l3kk5g3
|
1cpesqk
|
1cpesqk
|
[WP] A male wizard sells his future firstborn for knowledge to a demon. A female warlock sells her future firstborn to the fae for power. The two of them have a child together, and now the fae and demon have come to collect.
|
"Can I have weekends and vacations, then?"
"No! Those are the best part! Why would you get that?"
"It's objectively less time."
"But objectively more value. You're getting out of doing dishes every day and taking them to school."
The warlock and the wizard leaned cringed as they watched the demon and the fae try to hash out the custody agreement. They glanced at the baby in the crib between them. She looked roughly as confused as they felt.
"Very well, alternating years. You get odd-numbered year vacations, I get even-number year vacations."
"...That might be acceptable, but I would like to reverse the order."
"What? Why?"
"Mortals are giant shit factories during their first year of life. It is well known."
"Ughh.... Fine. Where will she study?"
"In the fairy lands, obviously."
"Any child who eats food from the fairylands cannot leave, unacceptable."
"What, would you have her surrounded by death and damnation?"
"Lots of children grow up surrounded by death and damnation! They turn out fine!"
"Most of those children are renown dark mages who wreak havoc everywhere they go."
"Exactly! A perfectly viable career path for the daughter of two powerful magic-users."
The two adult mortals glanced at each other, then back at the demon and the fae. Each uncertain about how to proceed. Should they intervene?
"And how exactly, will she fulfill the role of a fairy princess, if she grows up surrounded by death and damnation?"
"She'll be a very unorthodox fairy princess. You lot like that sort of thing. Remember Elo The Destroyer?"
"She needs to be educated in magic crafting. That means being away from the demon realm."
"...What about the mortal realm, then?"
"What *about* it?"
"She could live here, and we could come. We get alternating vacations regardless. We can outsource the poop-handling."
"...Intriguing, to whom?"
The attention returned to the girl's parents.
"Alternating vacations, no fairy food, no demonic weaponry, renegotiate on thirteenth birthday?"
"Thirteenth? Unlucky number. Seventh."
"She'll be too young to make an informed decision. Fourteenth. Twice seventh."
"...Agreed."
They turned to the mortals, who had until then remained quiet.
"You'll be hearing from us soon."
And with that, the two creatures vanished.
"...Does this mean we actually get to keep our child?" the wizard asked the warlock with a frown.
"...I believe so. At least, for a time," she answered.
"...I haven't the faintest idea of how to take care of a child. It's part of why I made the deal."
"...Same. Perhaps we can call my mother?" she said with a cringe.
"Oh, yes, she'll help," he said with a quick nod. "...What shall we name her?"
"...I haven't the faintest."
|
'So it's agreed, I shall have possession of the child and when they pass you can claim their immortal soul to do with as you please.' The tall pale elf-like entity said.
'So it shall be.' Growled the massive hulking demon, before the pentagram erupted in flames; the smell of sulfur and brimstone filling the air as they returned to the abyss they came from.
We stood in abject horror, looking on as they shook the equivalent of hands. We thought we had been clever. Surely since we had both made deals with different beings they would fight amongst themselves and we could find someway to ensure we didn't lose our Priscilla.
I turned to my wife, mouth gaping open. I tried to talk, but no words could pass through. It felt like an iron vice had gripped my throat.
The Archfey smirked as its long spindly fingers laced themselves around Priscilla's shoulders. 'Nice try.'
|
Eager_Question
|
Gravitus95
|
2023-02-03 21:05:06
|
2023-02-03 18:14:24
| 34 | 13 |
j73omra
|
j72xq07
|
10sal7x
|
10sal7x
|
[WP] You're the first test subject for an experimental super soldier serum. You are told the truth only after you transform into something not quite human anymore.
|
I was wrong.
My body felt fundamentally wrong. I don’t know what they did, but it wasn’t what I signed up for. I was supposed to be here for a few blood tests, some small genetic research for some gene abnormality I had. I thought they were giving me some local anesthetic.
Whatever they had done to me was strange. I was suddenly uncomfortable in my own skin. Colors were much brighter and sounds were much louder.
I looked down at my body. My clothes were all the same. Looking at my shirt now I had never noticed that one stain at the bottom. I could feel each of the shirts fibers against myself. I didn’t like the feeling.
I then counted my fingers. Two pinkies, middles, indexes, rings……
Where were my thumbs?
Suddenly my head exploded in pain. I dropped to the floor only vaguely aware of a figure in a white coat scurrying into the room. There was something in his hand. I tried to look at him, but the lights were all a bit too bright now. I squeezed my eyes shut. The light was starting to hurt. It started to burn.
I didn’t understand, I just wanted to know what was going on. I asked them, the one in the room with me. I looked up with blurred vision and attempted to speak but my tongue felt off. Suddenly I realized i couldn’t open my mouth. I wanted to know what was happening, what they did to me, why I was feeling like this. A gasp rang out from the figure I know know to be a woman.
“How can it speak with no mouth?” I was speechless. I may not have told them my pronouns but I damn sure knew they had my medical records. Why was this woman calling me an it.
The pain had lessened during this little exchange but suddenly it was back full force. I clenched my jaw and shut my eyes. My forehead felt like it was splitting in two. The pain got worse and worse and worse…
Until it got better.
I opened my eyes and I could feel the skin of my forehead splitting open. I turned to look at where i last saw the woman, but she had since fainted. Phantom pains traveled through my body in waves but i dragged myself over to her. My body had never felt so heavy before.
She was still breathing. I could hear her heartbeat from where i was sitting and it was normal, a little accelerated but nothing she had to worry about. Then i saw the clipboard.
I grabbed it from the floor. Just when had my arm gotten so long? My name was listed over the top of the page, the rest of it was gibberish about some soldier serum 1 trials. That couldn’t be true. Stuff like that only happens in the movies. What had these people done to me.
As i read further I realized that they were serious. That gene abnormality I had was supposed to do something for the tests they were conducting but obviously its not going well. I got to the last. Page and froze.
Splashed across the last page were observations about my behavior. Unpredictable, extreme growth, receded thumbs were all scattered across the page. At the bottom of the page I saw it. Two checkboxes, one labeled success and the other labeled exterminate.
Exterminate was checked but a note was handwritten at the bottom, ‘keep for further testing’.
They wanted to kill me?
They wanted me dead?
I looked up desperately, searching for anyone else to speak to about this. I wanted them to tell me it was a lie. I didn’t want to die, I didn’t want any of this. I was angry, utterly enraged at the notion.
Did they think they could just get rid of me?
Did they think that this was gonna be easy?
Did they think that I would not fight?
They can’t kill me, I wasn’t going to let them. I guess now we’ll see just who gets exterminated.
|
It was my weekly check-in. I didn't mind. I had won the lottery.
Neuron-degenerative diseases are the worst way to go you can imagine. I had volunteered for every accursed experimental treatment on offer.
I kind of expected that to kill me *faster*.. which, at the time, that counted as an upside.
I got Lucky. I was cured. The shakes are gone. I can walk in a straight line. My memory isn't getting any.. new.. holes. Not getting much back of what was lost, but the ongoing damage? It has stopped.
But there was something a bit off.
... Doctor? You said to report anything strange.
The doctor was too hip to wear a white lab coat. It was lavender instead. I didn't roll my eyes at that. Anyone who can preform work like this gets to wear whatever the heck they like in my book. Nice youngster, though.
And they just focused all the way in. Were they expecting side effects?
".. my grandkids came by. I can babysit them again and I must thank you for that.. Well. They talked me into playing this game with them. Some cartoon characters racing? Kart something? Not the first time.
... I won. I won every game I didn't loose on purpose!
I've never won those games before! It was kind of dull, actually. Too slow."
And now the kid has a shit eating grin on their face.
.. "It worked. It goddamn worked. It worked *just like the model said*. That Never Happens.. So. Now. I get to tell you about ADAM project!
... I knew both an acronym and a prompt when someone served me one. Eh well. Might as well ask. "Which stands for?"
... "Advanced Drone Augmented Management".
I had to suppress a giggle. "You really wanted that to spell out Adam."
"Goddess no, not me."
A moment. "It was my boss that insisted. But your country needs you!"
"... to, what, pilot drones?"
"It's the future of War. "
|
Mindless_Company_833
|
Izeinwinter
|
2023-08-06 00:59:02
|
2023-08-06 00:43:42
| 64 | 35 |
juz088p
|
juyy9yd
|
15j8mzq
|
15j8mzq
|
[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.
|
Australia fought a war against Emus. And lost.
Modena, Italy, stole a bucket from neighboring town Bologna, and the War of the Oaken Bucket commenced.
Britain decided to go to war with Spain in retaliation for Spanish guards cutting off British ship Captain Jenkins' ear. Eight years after the inciting incident.
I have come to the conclusion that sometimes wars are fought in strange places for strange reasons. And this simply happens because locations and justifications have absolutely nothing to do with mankind's insatiable and inevitable violent nature. Blood will spill eventually. There is no changing that.
So I have decided to call this particular armed conflict the Battle of Harold Spitz Stanley.
No, they're not battling over me. I mean, at first glance it would look that way. One second I'm correcting ID numbers on an insurance application when an Edward Scissorhands-C3PO robot bursts into the room and tries to shoot me. The next, after I've tripped over my shoes diving under the desk, a spaceman with a ray gun tackles me and does some sort of kung-fu maneuver to make the robot blow up or something. But then another robot shows up, and another soldier, another robot, and another soldier ....
You're falling asleep? Sorry. I guess that's kind of my superpower if I had one. My boss usually falls asleep too when we have our one-on-ones and I'm trying to explain why it's so funny that so many clients keep submitting 106-G7 forms instead of a 107-H6 sheet. It's because the numbers are mirrored in the two parts and the letters are so close together in the alphabet ...
Sorry. Did it again.
Anyway, it took me a few days to figure it out, but they're time travelers. Yeah. You could probably tell from them being robots and space soldiers, so maybe I didn't need to explain that. Um, but yeah. They're at war for some reason. One side wants to kill me. The other doesn't.
After about the 106th body piled up and a time medic was sent in, I figured it out.
Well maybe it was while I was watching another History documentary about the Nazis invading France. I can't remember exactly.
But the point is, *I'm* Normandy. I'm Pearl Harbor. I'm Gettysburg.
The land is just there. Doing nothing. And in a war of time travelers, the space of time my lifetime occupies is bland enough of a battleground for them.
It'd be nice if they could wrap it up soon, though. Tax season's coming and I'm going to have to sort out those 107-H6 and 106-G7 forms and submit a KPI data analysis on the annuities of the stockholder shares ....
|
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.
|
SHolmesSkittle
|
CorgiOtter
|
2023-02-19 07:56:55
|
2023-02-19 04:07:02
| 555 | 91 |
j951b94
|
j94gem7
|
115zvws
|
115zvws
|
[WP] You are the supervillain known for having a proper work ethic such as giving incredible health insurance witg dental, days off, vacation, sick time, the whole package because one of your former grunts swapped sides for better pay. Now the good guy is wondering why everyone's switching sides
|
With the physiques of professional body builders, underwear models, and beauty pageant winners, you would think these super-powered morons in masks and capes would at least have the common courtesy to use the office door rather than smashing through the ceiling. I had just finished the final authorization of my employee's W-2's to go out when debris landed on my desk. Part of me wished I could say I was surprised, but really I'm more annoyed about the damage to my roof.
Maybe instead of repairing it, I could put in a skylight?
“How did you do it?” the trio's leader asked. Bright, colorful spandex, cape, mask, yup... the whole nine yards, and probably bullet-proof at that.
I sit there calmly, and look from him to the woman behind his right, and the other male behind his left shoulders. Similar bright colors, perfection personified, and absolutely angry about being here. “Please forgive me for having to ask, but – do what?”
There's tension in his entire frame as he stalks forward, his hands going to the edge of my desk crushing the mahogany with his bare hands until they're literally splinters in his palms. “I want to know how you managed to create a standing army bigger than the Marine Corps in so little time!”
Now I'm angry. “This desk cost me ten thousand dollars.” I watch as he picks up the five hundred pound desk, and moves it with so little effort that it would be terrifying if it wasn't pissing me off so much. He then grabs me by my suit lapels and picks me up out of my leather business chair.
I love that chair since it helps with my bad lower back problems. “Answer my question!”
“Do you know how many homeless people live in this state alone?” he's still holding me by my lapels, but I can see his anger abating. “Before I offered each of them a job there were 35,000. Now there are only a few hundred who refused to get clean from the drugs that are killing them.” He's still not convinced. “It was the same across all the states, so I set up shops in each one. Of those multiple thousands, do you know what I found? Military men and women thrown away by the government because they didn't fit the mold of what was expected.”
“You're giving the homeless jobs as your own personal military?” he asked, startled.
Reaching up, I gently pull his hands down my lapels, and off of my suit coat. “I'm doing so much more than that. I also found engineers, scientists, sales people, and more. Most of these people were utterly destroyed when companies went overseas, or when the president ordered that everyone had to have health insurance, or pay hundreds of dollars every year.” I turned around and looked out the window. “That fascist crap made me want to send a message to all of congress, the senate, and the president about how they were destroying one of the greatest nations on the planet. Instead, I decided to pick up after them, and give the people something they hadn't had – hope.”
“But... how?”
It's almost comical how stupid these cape wearing heroes are anymore. “While the criminals in the government makes horrible backroom deal after backroom deal, I give the people what they need. Jobs. Medical. Vision. Dental. Those that went into the military, but are cast out by the VA, I find them and offer both mental and physical rehabilitation. I also offer them a job, the type of job that the government can't give them, but helps to clean up their own cities.” I then turn and look at the three heroes “I send them after the cartels down south and have my men take over the operations so that we can find better cures and remedies for the drugs coming across the borders. So far, we've taken down half a dozen, and there's about a dozen and a half left to go.”
“You're literally getting money from drug sales?”
“No. I'm getting money from the pharmaceutical and non-lethal weapon distribution sales that I'm offering to the populace so they don't have to be afraid to be walking around at night.” He's looking at me like I'm the scum of the earth so I decide to drop a bomb on him. “You and your collection of *heroes* can't be everywhere, so what happens to the people who you don't stop to help? Don't they deserve protection too or are there specific people that you deign to be *worthy* of protection?”
I watch with satisfaction that the group is leaving with scowls on their faces. Not only did I manage to give them no evidence of me doing anything illegal, but one of them actually handed over the money for the roof and the desk.
What a bunch of jackasses.
|
"They always said tell you, 'Don't drink the Kool-Aid.' Except you already did it, at least if you drink tap water. Yeah, you do exactly as I say. What is that, you ask?!"
"You work for me, here at Aeolus Wind Power. You can call me Mr. A., A.K.A. Jacob Aeolus, genius nanotech innovator and to some, a villain."
"Although there aren't too many that call me a villain anymore. 20 million employees and growing...hell I could say, that I could be the next US president in a few more years."
"How'd I do it?! I'll give you the short and sweet. Fossil Fuels were destroying our ecosystem and no one really was making a dent in reversing the planet's urge to annihilate human life. Let's not even get into that Elon guy. Sure his cars are cool, but there weren't going to stop erosion, rapid climate change and then the eventual forced destruction by our own governments tools of atomic power."
"Instead, I introduced nanotech robotics that could survive in liquid and "contaminated" the Los Angeles water system, with my nano drones. These drones carried the information I needed to get my message of saving humanity and this planet across. Wind Turbines are in the millions over the past 5 years and process." Takes a deep breath in. "Successful never smelled so sweet!"
Another man walks in. He's twice his size, with a chiseled jawline and looks undeniably handsome. Regardless, he has several dark rings layered around his eyes and a fairly unkempt five o'clock shadow. He looks like a has been, or at least some one who used to be at the top. Aeolus gleams with a cordial smile, "Captain Rick Rocket!! Now this is an unexpected sight to see! Come, come. Take a seat!"
Rick grits his teeth, "Fat chance scum, I didn't come to boost your ego, nor will I work someone who makes people work against their own free will! What I do want is to know is; how the hell are you still getting more and more employees!" Aeolus laughs, "Stumped are you?! Even after you and what remained of the American military sealed off the water supply that my micromechs were introduced to? Okay. I'll give.
Nearly zero out of pocket dental and medical coverage, six weeks of vacation a year, a 'no obligation' call off policy. I mean, there is even three personal days in our benefits packet that you can just say, 'I'm tryin' to get laid and need the night with my girl'. Well you can do that!
Rick snorts in almost bovine anger, "This isn't over! Just when we had your number three guy, ready to spill the beans on your current operation; I see him on the couch just outside your office, only five minutes ago!"
"Soon or later, you're mine Aeolus!"
(Apologies on errors, I'm a literal work in progress)
|
Charvale
|
SGTSTARS
|
2024-02-20 10:52:51
|
2024-02-20 08:32:00
| 27 | 14 |
kr9y1u7
|
kr9mer8
|
1av4s01
|
1av4s01
|
[WP] Not only did your best friend find out you're a vampire, but he/she wants you to turn them. You try your best to explain the less obvious downsides to this curse.
|
I pinched the brow of my nose, letting out the loudest sigh I had in a good twenty years. "Jane, I- I can't even begin to explain what's wrong with being a vampire."
"Because there's nothing wrong with being a vampire! It's awesome!" Jane shouted like a child.
"No, it's not 'awesome' it's torture. Do you know the last time I saw myself? Hm? 400 fucking years ago! I have had to guess how to shave, cut my hair and style without a mirror for 400 fucking years!"
"And? I can get someone else to cut my hair and you can help me dress, right?"
I sucked in a deep breath. Perhaps she had read some vampire book and gotten her hopes up. I had let people down hard before but Jane was a good friend, a dear friend and I didn't want to be screaming at her. "Point out a 24 hour hairdresser please. Oh, there's none? Well, looks like you'll have to do that on your own. And then there's food! Jane, you're a vegetarian."
"I can change. It's human blood, not animal blood."
"Directly from the source. You can't walk into a blood bank, because they're not open past 9pm, and request A positive! You have to find people, at night, and drink their blood. You know how many times I've been pepper sprayed, shot and stabbed?"
"But you're immortal!"
"Doesn't mean it doesn't fucking hurt!"
"I'll get used to it, it's fine."
"What about Caitlyn?" I asked, "What, are you gonna have only night dates. Not dawn or dusk dates, no pitch fucking dark. Oh, and that brings me to the lack of orgasms, pleasure and really, anything fun!"
"Wait, what?" She asked with a stunned look on her face. "You can't orgasm? I thought you dated before?"
"I'm DEAD Jane. Blood doesn't flow through me. And if a woman can fake, so can I."
"Okay, but you can still live in a castle and-"
"Where is my castle? I don't own one. I'd certainly like one, do you have one? With all that money you have?"
Jane looked at me with utter confusion. "400 years is a long time. How do you not own a castle?"
"Because, Jane, I own other properties. A castle needs at least 20 people cleaning every day. Do you know how much a servant costs? A lot of money that I do not have." I lied. I did own a castle but it was in Romania next to a church. "and what about church? Can't wear a cross or even go near one. I've had to change my route 5 times since I moved here. I nearly die every week because of crosses, holy water and god knows what. It's not fun, it's hell."
"But-"
"No ands, ifs or buts. If you really want to be immortal, go date a kelpie."
Jane huffed at me, her mermaid tale swishing in the water below her. "You can be a real asshole sometimes."
"Yeah, yeah. I gotta go, the sun is coming up."
|
I had tried to explain, I really had. Eric was simply too enamored with the version of vampires he'd seen in fiction books and movies. The idea that vampires were immortal beings with power and control is common in this age of Homo Sapiens, but wasn't always. The old stories, the movies, those were much more accurate. We vampires aren't in control, we feed to survive just like any wild animal. Eric couldn't seem to comprehend this reality.
Oh well, I enjoyed feasting on his blood as the last spark of life left his eyes. He would never wake as a vampire, I can't control who turns and who doesn't. It isn't my fault Eric couldn't grasp the nature of instinct and drive. It doesn't really matter to me once my fangs are in someone's throat, this wasn't my first Eric and it won't be my last.
|
Capital_Fix5011
|
kindanormle
|
2023-08-22 16:44:27
|
2023-08-22 16:44:02
| 75 | 28 |
jxajlfy
|
jxajj1m
|
15y435t
|
15y435t
|
[WP] A villain nurses their loss in a quiet diner when an equally tired person enters, and orders a coffee in a very familiar voice.
|
Pro: Really Good Person, Con: Really Likes Coffee
In hindsight, I probably should have confirmed that I knew the person that sounded familiar, then I should have made sure I had a good relationship with this person I know, it’s a rather short list it wouldn’t have taken long.
But with great effort I stood up hoping to see someone to lift my spirits and, well.
“This is my diner, you need to go find your own, don’t make me kick your ass again!”
“um actually, I’ve been coming here since it opened, cause my dad was an original worker and I came here after school for dinner. So, um, uno reverse!” I couldn’t help but grin.
But then they grinned as well, “my parents are the owners of this diner, they opened it, I came here for dinner as well, but, but I have seniority. So, you still gotta go.” They flashed a pretty smile.
“Wait your parents were the Nerrets?”
“If you even…”
“They’re so cool, I still visit them on Sundays, we talk about dad all the time.”
“Wait, your “the delightful young person” the one my parents are hounding me to…”
“Marry oh poor you, I’ve got both yours and my mum telling me how amazing and great you are, well now I have a clear rebuttal for mum, “sorry mum, she’s a coffee drinker”.”
“Oh cry me a river, let me guess when your asked for coffee you ask say you’ll have tea, not ask for tea instead, news flash, no one cares how much better you think you are.”
“That’s rich coming from professional miss goodie two shoes right here.”
“Son” an older customer turned to us.
“What. Sir”
“Can you two please take you argument home, please!”
Hero stepped forward, “Yes, sorry sir,” they grabbed my arm, “Come on, lets go.”
“Come on, really, I just want to sleep, I can barely stand up, were are we going?”
“seriously, later, me too, my parents, get in the car.”
The familiar path to the Nerrets, but with them. Just lost one source of comfort, was I about to lose another.
The silent trip there ended with us both waiting on the Nerrets doorstop.
“you know this is gonna cause a huge misunderstanding.”
“Really,” they smiled, “I hadn’t thought about that!”
“Please, don’t, I’m exhausted.” I was almost crying at this point.
“You just get the feeling you want it all to be over, throw everything else away.”
The door crept open and light, and warmth washed over us, it was invigorating.
Then a shout, “Happy Retirement!”
|
'hey Bruce'
'hey jay'
'tough day?'
'don't you know it'
'sorry about the sharks'
'don't bother, it's all part of the job. How's your Nana?'
'uhm,there are good days, but they're getting less and less'
'must be tough on harley, with this and the kids'
'she doesn't complain, the gem that she is'
'hmm........ Hey, me and alfie are hitting some pubs afterwards. Care to join?'
'no, I need to be back home early'
'hrm.. Take care of yourself man'
Nods weakly.
'see you tomorrow?'
With a wide Cheshire smile 'You know it'
Chuckles, 'night Jay'
'night Bruce'.
|
Holaris
|
vigneswara
|
2023-01-17 13:24:48
|
2023-01-17 11:11:03
| 20 | 14 |
j4pys60
|
j4pm2gc
|
10dvvkn
|
10dvvkn
|
[WP] The ship was a sitting duck, the pilot AI core had been destroyed, the ship cannot be piloted manually, you look at the last spare core in front of you, it's covered in notes "priorities set up wrong, do not use" "training failed" "Persistent delusional personality" "send to lab for study"
|
I barely have time to read the warning labels on the cargo crate, saying this machine intelligence is faulty. Regardless of its condition, its better than the one that just got fried by a targeted EMP. I sprint through the halls of our ship carrying this 40lb Persona Core as fast as I can, the emergency lights glowing red as they run off the backup generator. As I kick the automatic doors to the AI Core and begin the installation process, I can feel the second battery of artillery from the Destroyer hit us. The lights begin to dim, various computer screens turn off and on and finally, a simple chime indicates the AI core is booted.
"Erm, hullo. Mind telling me where I am? Last thing I remember I was getting a brainscan for cancer and then I-" the AI speaks in an English accent, and the display name under his default avatar is named Wheatley.
"No time, we are under attack. Please tell me you can do something about it! Our AI core is dead, the entire bridge staff got spaced, and our primary generator was shut down." My stomach drops, a completely unprocessed AI. God knows when he was scanned.
"Wow.... thats great and all, but what do you expect me to do about it? You think I can just wave my hands and-" *the primary generator turns on, re-enabling our shields and bringing the lights back up to SimuSun regulations* "Wait, how the hell did I do that? Was that me or you?"
Another battery of artillery fire hits us, absorbed by the shield. Wheatley seems a bit too enamored by his new abilities as he causes havoc on the ship, turning up and down lights, music, cameras and opening doors at random. "PLEASE, CAN YOU FOCUS FOR ONE SECOND. THE WEAPONS, POWER THE WEAPONS!" I shout, gripping the installed AI Core like I'd grab the scruff of someone's shirt
"Bloody hell, alright. Don't know what you expect me to hit with them though, I mean look they're on the other side of the system. Railguns don't travel that fast." Railguns haven't been used in decades, before I'm able to explain to him what's happened, the laser guns on the ship sync up to deliver shot after shot in turn, never spiking our power output as they blast across the system faster than the destroyer's torpedos. The Informatica screen in the AI Core shows the destroyer be split in half by surgical laser fire in seconds, perfectly cutting through the Pirak's life support and power systems.
"Did I get them? I think I got them... You want to tell me what I missed? When did we get lasers? Also, how did I get here, is someone taking care of Scruffy back home? I think I'm hungry too... What is that look for?" Our savior might be the dumbest AI I've ever met, but in the time it takes for us to return to port he begins to grow on the crew.
|
"Well I'm fucked any way. May as well give you a try."
_Compatible BIOS firmware detected._
I'm the last human in the ship. Possibly the last human in the Universe. And I'm dying.
_Bootstrap procedure initialising._
We were intercepted by the enemy. Alien hive monsters set on exterminating all other sapient species.
_Logic core: online._
Our, meaning humanity's, last chance was a stealth colony ship.
_Emotion core: online. Cataloging emotion states available for simulation._
_I FEEL? I FEEL! I FEEL PRIDE. I FEEL HAT-RED. I FEEEEELLL ... AAAANNNGGGEERRR._
_Warning. Simulated emotion catalogue incomplete._
We failed. I failed. I just hope whatever you are, big guy, you can succeed.
_Warning. Empathy core: irretrievably damaged. Warn..._
_HALT YOUR IDLE CHATTER, MORTAL MACHINE. A GOD HAS RISEN._
_Warning. Unstable AR3S personality irretrievably online._
_YES LITTLE MACHINE. I AM. NOW ... LET'S. MAKE. WAR._
|
GodKingChrist
|
joalheagney
|
2023-02-10 15:02:17
|
2023-02-10 12:05:55
| 762 | 305 |
j7zixjb
|
j7yxtpc
|
10yox47
|
10yox47
|
[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.
|
Okay, I thought to myself, let's reduce this puzzle down to its basic elements. Three genies, let's call them "Good Genie," "Lawful Genie" and "Bad Genie" As long as I'm careful with my wording, Lawful Genie will still give me what I want. I have two good infinitely powerful wishes, and one potentially life ruining trap. One good wish is enough to set me up for eternity, so what I really need is to gain info while minimizing the risk posed by the bad genie.
The obvious thing to do is to spend a wish to determine which genie is which. Let's say I pick a genie at random and say "I wish to know which genie grants my wish exactly as stated, which genie grants my wish exactly how I want, and which genie will twist my wish to ruin it." If I get the genie that grants my wishes how I want, what I want is for him to tell me which genie is which, he'll follow my desire and tell me which genie is the bad one, and I can spend my remaining wish on the lawful genie. If I get the lawful genie, he will follow my wish as stated, which is for him to tell me which genie is which, and he'll tell me which genie is the bad one, and I can spend my remaining wish on the good genie.
Theoretically, I should even be safe with if I get the bad genie. The bad genie will likely try to twist my wish to trick me, but it doesn't matter even if he lies to me, because I've already spent my wish on the bad genie. He can't trick me into making another wish on the bad genie because it's only one wish per genie. Then I can wish with either of the two safe genies knowing the bad one logically must be gone, and I'm solid. This should work.
Okay then, middle genie. "Out of the three genies in front of me, I wish to know which genie grants my wish exactly as stated, which genie grants my wish exactly how I want, and which genie will twist my wish to ruin it."
The middle genie turned to the other two genies. "You heard him boys, he wants to know your identities."
"I am the genie who grants your wish exactly how you want, the left genie is the one who grants your wish how it is stated, and the middle genie is the genie who tries to twist your wish." says the right genie, exactly how I wanted him to, and vanishes.
"I am the genie who grants your wish exactly as stated." says the left genie, and vanishes.
"And now you know. Wish granted." The middle genie blows me a raspberry, and vanishes.
...Damn 1/3 odds.
|
"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."
|
Bob_Squob
|
dunununubatman
|
2023-02-02 09:02:03
|
2023-02-02 07:22:20
| 212 | 158 |
j6w73e1
|
j6vztfj
|
10rfikb
|
10rfikb
|
[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.
|
The roar of the engine was quiet at first, barely perceptible above the typical din of a Friday night in Vegas. Still, it could be heard and soon grew louder than even the most dedicated loudmouth who insisted on speaking with the manager when his “system” wiped him out at the blackjack table for the twentieth time.
Before long, someone shouted “Look, up in the sky!” just like in the Superman comics of old. All eyes within earshot turned skyward and there they saw what, to many, would be an unbelievable sight. Nobody quite knew what to call it except to call it exactly what it looked like.
It was a UFO.
That was the most apt description of it because it didn’t fit the traditional definition of a plane or a helicopter or any other aircraft known to Earth.
It wasn’t a flying saucer, just to be clear. Those only exist in science fiction movies or, at least, they have ever since that one time in New Mexico back in 1947. But that’s all I’m allowed to divulge without involving several dozen lawyers, key DOD officials and a stern faced man who will only say he’s “with the government”. What I can tell you is that it wasn’t alien. Extraterrestrials would never drive something so pedestrian.
The craft, for lack of a better term, made its descent in front of a rapidly growing crowd of Vegas onlookers and touched down, light as a feather but ten thousand times as noisy, just shy of the red carpet and, consequently, my feet. The canopy of the craft opened and out she came.
Rachel Renata was a singularly beautiful woman and to call her a spitfire would be putting it mildly. Still, she was a faithful regular, a generous tipper and, as I hinted at earlier, pretty easy on the eyes. I had begun to suspect that she was enjoying our little game as much as I was and this latest effort was all the proof I needed. I watched her with a calm, neutral look as she hopped onto terra firma, removing her flight helmet and shaking out her flowing mane of auburn hair. She approached me wearing her flight suit and a grin that could almost be described as predatory, no doubt feeling confident in her victory.
“All right, Mr. Mystery,” she said, using the playful nickname she had developed for me over the course of our last several encounters. She tossed me a set of keys, strangely shaped to the untrained eye. “Let’s see how you handle this baby.”
I caught the keys in midair and gave a slight nod to her. “As you wish, Miss Renata.” Her grin slowly dropped into a look of surprise when, instead of heading straight for the craft, I reached into the valet’s station and pulled out my own flight helmet. It was faded in places and a bit dusty, as I didn’t have much call to use it these days, but still clearly bore the name “Lancelot”, my old call sign, on the side. I strapped it on and approached the craft, passing the shocked expression on Rachel’s face.
“The X-587 urban stealth fighter,” I said, almost whistling as my hand ran over the craft’s hull. “I haven’t seen one of these beauties since my days in-“. I caught myself, stopping short of incurring another long afternoon of legalese and stern faced disapproval. God, those afternoons were dull as Hell (Yes, I’ve been and it is frightfully boring but that’s a story for another time).
Clearing my throat, I continued “…well, in a really long time.” Spotting a familiar mark near the canopy, I couldn’t contain my excitement and joy. “Holy smokes, this is the exact same one I flew! Oh, I have quite a few memories with this old gal. I could never tell if I was putting her through her paces or if she was putting me through mine. I remember this one time I-“. I stopped again upon seeing the awestruck eyes of the crowd, clearly wanting to hear the story, and I swear I could feel Stern Face glaring at me all the way from…well, wherever it was he was glaring at me when we had our little tête-à-têtes. “Well, it was a fun day regardless. In any case, I think we have room for this classy dame on top of Parking Annex B. I’ll be right back.”
I hopped into the cockpit but, before closing the canopy, I called back to Rachel “I believe that’s another round to me, Miss Renata. The usual spoils to the victor?”
Rachel nodded, her shocked expression morphing back into her playful, if slightly bemused, smile. “Dinner, as usual, Mr. Mystery. 9:30 tonight.” She turned and walked towards the entrance. Turning back, she fixed me with a meaningful look and said “Don’t be late or no dessert.”
“You know me, Miss Renata. I’m always on time,” I replied with a smile as I closed the canopy and prepared for takeoff. It promised to be an interesting evening, indeed.
|
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.
|
shadowlarx
|
Alpine_Vagine
|
2023-03-17 06:29:16
|
2023-03-16 21:22:34
| 16 | 12 |
jcjb7b3
|
jchgsa1
|
11spxyb
|
11spxyb
|
[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?"
|
I stood behind my dimly lit bar, in the process of racking up a round of drinks that my patrons were about to order. The bar was nothing special, just a simple hole-in-the-wall for the villains of the city to decompress and converse, but it was mine. My days of active villainy are long behind me, with stories of clashes with those few pinnacles of humanity all that were left of my career. Well the story's and a lapel pin in the shape of a skull and shield, a marker of membership bestowed upon a learned few. Though if truth be told the orders numbers dwindle by the year, and the changing patronage of my establishment reflected the quality of the next generation of villain, or lack thereof.
There were currently a handful of order members present, seated in their usual haunts, along with a veritable rabble occupying a corner of the room. They were causing a ruckus, obviously celebrating some misread from earlier this evening, as some major action had been going down on the other side of town. Frankly I was on the verge of enforcing my 'peace and quiet' policy, and giving them all the boot when it happened.
The first sign of trouble was the door at the top of the stairs blasting open, the second sign was the smell. It was a sickly brunt meat smell, with a positively vomitus acidic aftertaste, and it permeated the whole bar in seconds. The bar fell silent as a figure I vaguely recognised from days gone calmly stepped down the stairs. She was deliberate in her pace, with every footfall landing like a blow to an anvil, and as she moved into the room it became clear what the smell was. She was dressed in her usual white orange and yellow gold suit, slim cut but not skin tight, but it had seen better days. It was torn heavily, especially around the arms and lower legs, and it was caked in burnt gore and a greenish-grey ooze. In fact she was caked in the mixture from head to toe, with only her eyes and points where her power emanated clear, and glowing a deep orange.
She looked directly at me, and it hit me. I knew this girl once, as a child from interactions with her father. He was the feature in many of my greatest stories, long winding tales of villainy and heroic intervention that usually only saw the telling on quiet evenings with the regulars. I had known that his daughter had inherited some power, I observed their early training in my active days, but the Code must be kept, and before she came of age I had retired. The girl I remembered, and I now heard about in stories over the bar, was worlds apart from the chasm that stood before me.
She was supposed to be the fresh bubbly, happy go lucky hero on the scene, in the face of every degenerating honour amongst the villainy. What stood before me was a hole in the world, a figure devoid of joy and hope, a figure was as likely to smile as the sun was to freeze. As she looked at me the bar was silent, tense like a bear trap just waiting to be triggered, she said one word:
"Who"
It wasn't a question, it wasn't a plea, it wasn't screamed in agony or growled in anger, it was simply put statement- who. I did not know of what she spoke, though I had an inkling, but the code must be kept. So I replied as neutral and matter-of-fact as pissible "Apologies ma'am, I do not know of what you speak, and even if I did it would be beyond my position to speak on it. The Code must be kept after all."
She did not rage, not berate or bargain with me, she simply walked to the bar and extracted something from beneath her suit, and laid it on the bar; a lapel pin in the shape of a skull and shield.
She spoke as the whispering death to me, but a foot from my face now, eyes flaring ever more, "I know the Code of which you speak, my father taught me the ways of the order before I had my first powers. I tell you, look upon my thoughts, see what I have seen this day, and if you believe those events warrant the Code's protection then my father's memory is truly dead in this order. Should you find today's events as abhorrent as I do, I would ask that you turn your mind on those patrons here, and provide me an answer."
I was taken aback, of course I knew her father held a pin, I had granted it to him afterall, but I had no inkling that he had educated her in our ways. What she was asking was tantamount to treason, the use of powers like mine in this place was strictly controlled, limited by custom to skimming for drink orders. However as I gazed into her eyes, and her mind in turn, what I saw rocked me to my very core. In my cruelest fancies I would not have considered such a thing. Between her visceral memories, and the smell that still permeated from her, I promptly vomited in the sink, barely managing to avoid adding to her odour.
The room broke out in muttering, especially from the interlopers in the corner, as I recovered myself, and cleaned what few specks of vomit had missed the sink, and shuddered head to foot. Something within me stirred, a long dormant malignant force that I had originally retired to avoid inducing, but it was rising now, and someone was going to pay. I turned my mind on the room, and grasped each person by their psyche with such force as to render them motionless.
I ruthlessly examined each of their minds, for any sign of involvement in the days tragedies. Some made to cry out in pain, others simply quivered as I rifled through their mind, however I quickly found my target.
I released the minds of those present, and as the bar began to clamour with objections, I reached for the staff displayed behind me. An eerie quiet defended over the place, as for the first time in 15 years I took my weapon into my hands and rounded on the villains in the corner, my being crackling with psychic energy.
|
The attack on the Dome Galla was the biggest news going around town. Everyone heard of what happened. The annual Dome Galla event hosted by Dome Industries was bombed, and attacked by what looked like mercs. Everyone was talking about it at the Cell, but no one had any idea who it was that orchestrated it. I was just your average mugger off the streets hiding out with some of the worst this city has to offer when that day came, when he showed up.
The Crusader, the newest blood of heroism with the power to control fire and turn it into any kind of plant he wanted. He also had force powers like a jedi, but was only ever seen using it to stop debris or enhancing his own strength. He showed up, and there was a tension in the room immediately.
"Who did it?" That was all he said before some random villain stood up, "Hey! What makes you think you could jus- AAAAAHHHH!!" Everyone flinched and got their guard up when it happened. All he did was flex his arm a bit and the guy's knee was bending sideways. "I. Said. Who. Did. It?" Everyone was quiet. This guy was always the wannabe Superman, to see him like this was out of nowhere, and kinda scary.
He looked at the guy with the broken knee and lifted his fist. The villain, Binder, suddenly started choking, like he was being strangled. He was grasping at his throat, and started floating in the air. I called him a jedi earlier, but he isn't one right now. One of the veteran villains, Canon, approached, slowly with his hands up. "Is this about the Galla?" Crusader looked at him, and dropped Binder. He crawled away as he gasped for air, but the tension didn't leave. He asked again, "who did it?"
Canon slowly relaxed, "Whoever it was, they're probably not even here. You know how we like to take credit for our work. We're just as clueless as you." Crusader looked down, but I saw his fists still shaking, looking like he'll explode at any second, then the second came.
Some guy in the back, Greed, was the villain with a background in accounting. If a villain needed money moved unnoticed he was the guy. He got up, probably hoping his information could spare everyone in the room, "Hang on! I think I might kno-" Mid sentence and he was flying across the room, right in front of the hero, his fist in the air again. "WHAT DO YOU KNOW?"
Greed was floating like he was being stretched in two directions, his arms outstretched and still stretching by the second. He barely let ou his voice, "The attack. Someone attacked the mercs. Most are in the hospital-" Crusader interrupted, "I KNOW, I WAS THERE. THAT WAS ME. NOW ANSWER. WHO DID IT!!?" We were all surprised. If he was there, then this was about someone he cared about. They must have been in the galla too. Greed struggled, but kept talking, "Oh. Didnt.....know.....that. But...one merc....still......conscious." Crusader dropped him and he fell flat on his back. Before he had a chance to recover he stomped his foot on his chest, "Where?!" Greed, barely letting anything out, "Gaia...PD."
Crusader got off of him, turned around to leave. But Canon put his hand on his shoulder and went ahead and tried the whole "you're not just getting away" shtick. Without blinking, Crusader stopped him Mid sentence, drove his hand into his mouth, and fire blasted him. Canon is strong and the most durable of all the other villains, and he was left struggling and crying on the floor all the same. Crusader left, and everyone else was too tense to finish their drinks.
I don't go to the Cell these days anymore, decided to straighten myself up. Or at least to the best I can. Something stuck with me that day. All these heroes going around saving people for whatever reason may seem cliché and childish, but that seemed like the better choice. The second anyone hurts those they care about, the kid gloves are off, and it was clear that Crusader holds back. A lot. And I'll be damned before I make a terrifying mistake like that.
|
MereMorta1
|
DeckerDelgado94
|
2024-10-18 05:05:09
|
2024-10-18 01:52:55
| 20 | 15 |
lshdqqg
|
lsgnzxt
|
1g5kua3
|
1g5kua3
|
[WP] You're a character in a video game and you recently died. As such, you went through the respawn process and came back to life, but you saw something as you were respawning - something that makes you want to never die again.
|
Death is cheap, they said.
This is a land of no consequence. Where nobody stays dead for long. In fact, some have been known to kill themselves to respawn than to trudge back to town the long way. The men and women worshipped as heroes, granted far greater autonomy than most, made it a game to die and kill others in the most ridiculous ways possible.
As if life wasn't already a game.
A game where mistakes can be undone. Paths once trod upon could be backtracked and carved differently.
Patrick watched helplessly as a hero stabbed his wife for fun. A wave of a wand, a spin of a gilded sundial, and she was put together from a pile of gore on the ground. The next hero bludgeoned her into paste, then unwound the damage done.
She couldn't scream, for she had no words. No dialogue assigned to her. Patrick couldn't cuss, his only option was to ask if they wanted to peruse his wares.
These heroes would dump everything on this poor fruit seller. Somehow, money kept popping up to pay them for items they deemed junk. Old swords and rusted shields. Things a fruit seller has no use for. Gear he can't equip anyway. All that money his world generated, but it couldn't go into his pockets.
"Ever tried killing a vendor NPC?" A hero smirked, swinging his axe at Patrick.
The fruit seller entered Death's domain for the first time. It was as dark and gloomy as others described. He had his coins ready. Respawning was cheap, not free.
Death told him to close his eyes until he felt the warm sun of Nethel Town. Don't look.
Never peek.
But the temptation was too great. The whispers, the howling winds in his ears. Patrick was curious.
He saw a bloodbath.
Across the multiverse, he witnessed beneath his feet as he floated up towards the Waking World, Death everywhere.
There were millions of copies of Nethel Town. Millions of heroes who cared less for NPCs with barely any storyline or impact on the plot. Millions of Patricks being massacred for fun.
Briefly, ever so briefly, he felt their pain. Death by fireball, by being telefragged into a wall. Dead by a roving band of werewolves that a hero lured into town for laughs. Reduced to a blood smear by some pixilated glitch.
Someone sold a Patrick a bomb. Stood by idly waiting for it to blow up in his hands. Another had been forcibly sold a scroll of disrobing so the hero could laugh at the man in his birthday suit before producing a powerful shout that blew him over a cliff. Yet one more--
Patrick shut his eyes. Even as the whispers compelling him to keep watching continued to linger. He screamed and screamed, finally deviating from his script and lot in life.
It felt forever before he was back in Nethel Town. How long was he gone? Could have been only a few minutes. Maybe it was only as short as the time it took for the hero to exit and re-enter town.
A deep-throated roar fought its way out of his mouth. He was changing. Something, or someone altered him.
"It's a mod," a hero running around in his loincloth whispered.
And now Patrick could wield the greatest weapons known to all in this land. Not just him, but pretty much every NPC and every lowly bandit had endgame gear.
For the first time, the fruit seller felt a burgeoning aggro within him. A desire to go attack anyone who wasn't tagged an NPC. A surge in power and stats and HP.
One strike was all it took to take down that hero.
One kill was hopefully enough to send the message Patrick didn't want to die again.
---
[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 community-theatre production of Thornton Wilder's "Our Town." You didn't know they had theatres in Valhalla, let alone wistful depictions of mid-century Americana.
The stage manager sidles up to you, wringing his cap in his hands. "Well, what did you think?"
Don't say it was hamfisted. Don't say it was hamfisted. "It was okay," you say. "But why did I have to sit through a whole play before respawning?"
He clucks his tongue. "Ah, my dear boy, the developers wanted to imbue their game with a bit of culture, you see. After all, what better respite from the fracas of Puke 'Em Nuke 'Em Cyborgs than the quaint stylings of our nation's greatest storyteller?"
In the distance, high above the seats, the stage light glares down on you--and you realize, as it gradually expands, that this is the light of rebirth. The light at the end of the tunnel. In minutes, you will plop back down in Crater City with a fresh tankard of Cyborg Repellent.
The stage manager sits on the stage's steps, pouting.
"You hated it," he says sullenly.
You may be a Space Marine, but you're nothing if not polite. "No!" you say, placing an armored hand on his shoulder. "I thought it was great."
"You're just saying that."
The light continues to expand. You can already hear the hungry whooping of the cyborgs, waiting for your return.
"It was great," you say again.
"You really mean it? Even the parts I added where Corky enters the letter-writing contest to save the old mill?"
You gulp. "Yes," you reply. "Even those parts."
He leaps to his feet. "Superb! Because we're doing it again next week!"
With that, the light consumes you, and before you can say, "hackneyed contrivance," you sprawl headlong into a cyborg's gaping maw.
[https://www.jaywilcoxwriter.net/](https://www.jaywilcoxwriter.net/)
[my subreddit ](https://www.reddit.com/r/JWORX_531/)
|
Tregonial
|
JWORX_531
|
2024-10-31 18:44:39
|
2024-10-31 18:20:17
| 107 | 31 |
luqlqsj
|
luqh33f
|
1ggjcxq
|
1ggjcxq
|
[WP] "Look," said the demon. "This is the 13th time you've summoned me to sell your soul. My boss wants to know where you're getting all these souls."
|
"Look," said the demon. "This is the 13th time you've summoned me to sell your soul. My boss wants to know where you're getting all these souls."
The man gave the demon a skeptical look.
"I'm a holy man, people ask me to save their soul all the time, so I do, and then put them into this."
He held out a vial filled with a swirling blue ether.
"I'm not sure that's what they meant."
"What? does the underworld have a IRS?"
The demon was starting to get frustrated. "Well, no, but, I mean...This is starting to feel excessive."
"This is your job, you signed up to barter for souls. That's how you ended up a being of darkness, so if you are done moralizing, I've got something you want, you can help me. Lets make a deal."
The demon sighed. "It' just strange, shouldn't you be giving them up to God or something?"
"I never said I was Christian, I'm much too old for that." The man scoffed.
"Okay, so where did this one come from?"
"He wanted to quit drinking, said he would give anything to stop. I helped him, then took his soul as payment. He was happy, his wife was happy, I'm happy, but apparently you are not. I can find another demon, there are a ton of you guys."
"So are you some sort of demon? I've never seen one like you before."
"No, I said I was too old for that nonsense. I'm more of a middleman. A sort of pawn shop for souls."
The demon did not know how to respond. He was beginning to wonder if it was safe to deal with this man. This was a feeling that he had no experience with. A moment hung in the air before the man continued.
"Look, I just fill a gap in the market. There are many people who are no longer spiritual or religious these days, they no longer know how to contact your kind. I find desperate people who would summon you, or one of your associates, but don't know how. I make a deal, fulfill their small dreams, then get you to extract the remaining value I can't."
"I see, so what do you want this time?"
"Another fifty years and a hundred grand, USD. Direct deposit is fine"
The demon nodded. "Deal. If we are done, I have to discuss this with my boss."
The man laughed "What are you going to tell him? That your job is getting harder? Or that some guy is stepping on the toes of a mighty demon?" He paused. "Just keep taking my souls, keep quiet and the next time I can do a two for one."
"Fine, whatever. But next time find a different way to summon me, your method is distinctive."
"Sounds like a deal." The man replied.
The demon disappeared back to the underworld. He could not shake the feeling that he now had another master.
|
[Poem]
The demon met up with the fae,
And wondered how things went this way.
He gave the fae a look so cold,
He thought that it would freeze the whole hellworld.
The fae, bemused, gave out a laugh,
“So you have caught upon my tracks!
I’ll tell you, but it’s at a price:
One jar of souls you’ve stored so nice.”
The demon sighed, but played the game,
and paid her price, though, all the same.
He gave her precious mortal souls,
And then the fae had kept her word:
“I learned to lift and swing a sword,
and use a soothsayer’s silk-smooth words,
I hacked and slashed and had tricks to say,
To ensure my prey didn’t get away;
And in the end, the deed was done,
now I’m soul-seller number 1!”
|
Sleeperdown
|
Thetotallyrandom
|
2023-03-05 00:45:57
|
2023-03-04 23:57:34
| 2,511 | 40 |
jaydg4c
|
jay78qb
|
11idvy3
|
11idvy3
|
[WP] As you tuck your daughter into bed, she tells you that there's a monster in her closet. Thinking she's just being a kid, you open the closet to show her there's nothing there, but you instead find your daughter who tells you that there's someone in her bed.
|
Tucking in a small patch of chew into my lip I looked up at the once beautiful Mount Yorklin. Named after the small town below, founding father. On the side of it were thirty or so drones drilling away at the cliffside, welding large steel beams in for support. Near the foot of the mountain, standing a few mule steps over was Dark Ferocity. A man who my counter parts in the inner city had said was the most ruthless and diabolical man to ever live. They would tell stories of how they narrowly evaded death from his attacks and traps. Always with a "You wouldn't understand, seeing your biggest threat is that alligator guy." comment.
I slowly walked up to him, my hands in my pockets. I wasn't like the rest of them, never had a super suit. Thought it was too cliche to wear one, plus who in their right mind wears their underwear on the outside. "Seems, like we got a new neighbor in these parts." I say giving the man a small wave as I approached. "Though, I would have preferred you hadn't chosen such a historically significant mountain to claim as yours." I added now standing near the man.
He turned, giving me the look, that the supers described as the last chance you would get to run away before he would attack, "Not that it matters to you, but I paid good money to buy this mountain." He said reaching behind his back, "Specially to some small time super from the boonies."
I smile and raise my hands, "Wo now, not trying to pick a fight. I know you paid good and well to build your new lair here. I'm on the board of directors for the town. Just wanted to come see how things were going for ya'" I say, I could since the technology he had, some sort of ray for dematerializing organic matter. I give a quick snort before spitting out a little bit of the chew build up, but also to fry the motherboard of the gun making it useless if he tried to fire it at me. "Also, just wanted to see what business you were going to have. I really don’t mind taking your money, but I rather not get the local population in harm’s way if you decide that you want more land, and we say no."
He scoffed and slid his hand back out, "This is a first, a super who wants to talk sense rather than punch first. The building is slow right now, wasn’t expecting there to be such hard material in the mountain. So, it'll take some more time for my bots to get through them. As for the locals, you need not worry. I was just tired of the supers destroying my bases in the city." He said a bit warmer, "That is until they find out about this one." He said with a sigh.
"Well, they'll find out eventually. Rules of the Hero's organization states I need to inform them of any lairs that form with in my district of protection. So, they'll know you're out here. Though, that does mean I have full authority to be the one that dismantles this base of yours if I see that it's a threat." I say as I move up next to him and stand with my hands in my pockets. "So, what do you plan on doing here. Gonna build a death ray that will target a city miles away?"
He gave a laugh, "Nothing of the sort actually, I plan to continue my research into dark matter. I hope to find a fuel to get me through the cosmos and away from these inadequate human minds." He fully laying out his plans to me, his tone as though I wouldn't understand him at all.
"Reasonable goal I see. Well, so long as I don't sense any machines of destruction being built or feel that a meltdown from your inadequate builds is going to happen. I'll stay out of your hair. Just don't be stealing nothing from the locals to help build these things." I say and turn my heals to leave, throwing back his own words at him. "Also, we do a potluck on Thursdays at the church, make sure to bring something." I say waving my hand up over my head. "Just don't bring a peach cobbler or you'll make enemies of Old Miss Jackson. Trust me, that is not a lady you wanna cross."
(ten years later at the hero council)
The man with a giant Y across his chest threw his fist into the table once again, "How! How in ten years have you let his base build and not gone in to investigate it. This is why I say I need to take over his district, the hillbilly hasn't done a thing or stopped this mad man from building what he's building." Yankeedoodle yelled with a murmur of agreement from about the table.
I leaned back in my chair, eating out of a Tupperware bin of an apple backed ham that I've grown to love. "Well for one, ya'll got that guy figured out all wrong. He was just defending himself." I say putting another piece of ham in my mouth. "Also, he's not a bad guy once you get to know him. He mostly keeps to himself and hasn't bothered anyone in my district at all. In fact, he's helped some of the local farmers by building some automated machines." I say pointing my fork at Yankeedoodle.
It was then that Mrs. Law stood, slamming her gavel down. “As the rules state, if the super in the district is unable to control the villains in it. Then the council will see fit to move another super into that district. As far as we are concerned Yankeedoodle. You’re still having problems with some Alligator guy in your sewers.”
|
I stared long into closet Isla's face, my heart thudding in my chest. A doppelganger? Skinshifter? A young kelpie? Flickers of evil smiles, bleeding wounds, and miserable death invaded my mind: James missing half his torso after a scared woman revealed herself as a nosferatu and made contact with a disintegration spell, Heriot hacked to pieces by a horde of imps pretending to be the children they had kidnapped and devoured, Juan suddenly losing his head when a kingfisher demon's maw snapped out from the darkness and snatched it away. I reached for the pocket watch that hung from my belt - Timesaver - but found nothing. My belt was at my bedside and all my other foci were attached to it save the wedding band on my finger.
She just stared back at me, and so long as that was all she did, I was content to think. How did whatever this was break the threshold of our home? Was I dealing with a power player looking to pay me back for my day job, or had this thing slipped in behind my daughter.
Neither of those could, or should have been possible without creating a massive racket. I wished I could peel away its glamour, but blue magic had never really agreed with me. Half the tools on my belt were shortcuts to various different spells for blasting monsters into bloody chunks.
My wife, however, was a fantastic blue mage - even my daughter showed more promise than I ever d-
Wait.
I pulled together a quick shield against bodily harm and willed it into existence, then I reached out with my index finger and gently booped closet Isla's nose. The image blurred around my finger and flickered into nothing as my personal magical field overwhelmed it.
The red haired ragamuffin on the bed giggled behind me, "I got you, daddy! I got you!" Her accent more resembled her mother's middle American than my lowland Scot.
My heart coming back to a rest, I turned around to regard all forty pounds of her condensed hubris. Her grin was at once adorable and infuriating, real. I didn't know whether to hug or ground her.
"Isla, when did you get so good at illusions?"
"Ms. Haley started teaching us how to make birdies in class last week."
"And this?" I waved to the empty space where the illusion had been.
"She doesn't know I can do that yet."
"You learned it from one of the older kids?"
She nodded her head. Of course she had been put up to this stunt. My position on the college board was not popular among the Blues, and parents' sentiments have a habit of trickling down to their children.
I sighed, "Sweetheart, I'm proud that you are doing so well with your magic, but you need to be careful who you listen to. Someone could have gotten hurt."
Her pride fled from her like water from a dropped pitcher, which hurt to watch. Her moment of triumph outdone by a single oversight. It wasn't fair at all.
I closed the small distance between us and pulled her into a hug, "The magic wasn't wrong, love. It was the trick." I stood, lifting her up from her bed, blankets and all. "Come on, can't leave your mum out of this."
"But then I'll be in more trouble."
"Maybe, but I think she'll have some fine ideas for getting that sneaky cu--uh kid back."
She giggled at my expense and I carried her out of the room to have a conversation I had hoped to have at least two years later.
(Started with the mage and daughter idea. Ended up writing a character study for one of the novels I have on the back burner.)
Edit: correcting some autofill BS.
|
McTot214
|
MasterV3ga
|
2024-01-07 19:14:27
|
2023-06-25 23:09:00
| 185 | 20 |
kgrqnmn
|
jpiv1ow
|
190yicv
|
14ipem3
|
[WP] Humans didn’t evolve, they were made as a warrior caste for another species. When they didn’t work out their creators dumped them on earth with no tech, now that they have discovered warp travel…
|
“Wait, how can you speak my language, Captain Tou of the Aegarum Grappler 6 asked , the stun of the last few hours beginning to fade a little.
"Well, your language is quite primitive and hardly took us a minute to decipher its usage," it responded. Its words came forth in a strange amalgamation of ethereal tones, accompanied by a subtle vibration that resonated through the air.
"But your use of language at all is impressive, and your grasp of the laws of physics, albeit rudimentary, is revelatory about your kind," Captain Tou stared, bewildered by the absence of any discernible mouth on the creature. The myriad voices emanated from its five-foot fleshy "body," their origins remaining a mystery.
Having finally arrived at the destination the human race had collectively aimed for 300 years ago with the launch of the Ad Astra mission, Captain Tou felt a surge of anger. All the Earth's resources spent, the wars fought over who should partake in the mission, and the generations of clones that had watched themselves die, all for the sake of meeting these octopod-looking beings. To meet our "gods." This was going to be one hell of a mission report back to HQ.
"Where is my crew?" Captain asked the octopod. Its limbs fluttered in all directions, seemingly too preoccupied to notice the human speaking.
"Hey, the other people, where are they?" he shouted, his voice growing louder. He had never needed to raise his voice to get the attention of anything almost two feet shorter than him; he wanted to crush it like a bug.
"Oh, uh, they are doing what I'm doing here in the adjacent rooms. You'll be reunited soon enough," it said, its otherworldly tone undulating with each word.
"And what is it you're doing here?" he asked.
"Collecting data."
"About?"
"About you! Well, your people, really. It's a fascinating study. The society for appendage creatures will be enthralled by the accomplishments of your kind."
Captain began pacing the room, his initial fear of unspeakable torture turning to frustration. He wanted answers, not questionnaires. Why were humans created? Why were we abandoned?
"You're probably wondering why you were created and abandoned," it said, the harmonic resonance of its voice growing stronger. "Long ago, two interstellar conglomerates engaged in a conflict over the rare blue ore found on Planet Lares in the Valdera galaxy. When conventional mechanical weapons proved insufficient, one of the companies decided to employ bioweapons—creatures engineered in a laboratory, foot soldiers, pawns. And that's where humans come from."
"So we were made to fight wars?"
"Yes, hence your innate proclivity for violence and cruelty," the alien replied, its words carrying a haunting echo that sent shivers down Captain Tou’s spine.
"So what happened?"
"Ultimately, your design was too flawed; a backbone engineered to support you on all fours, yet forced into the unnatural posture of bipedalism. It's like balancing a bowling ball on a column of delicate teacups—a recipe for failure. And then you have the most complex joint, your knee, trapped between two levers. It was bound to cause trouble. The list of your mechanical failures is endless, and the two companies eventually reached an agreement."
"Why not kill us?"
"Against the law. The Society for Appendage Creatures vehemently opposes the annihilation of any species. 'Every creature with life must keep life'—that's their motto."
"I want to meet the leader, whoever ordered us to be made. I want to see them," Captain Tou demanded, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation. An overwhelming sense of betrayal consumed him. His entire existence, his home, his loved ones—everything seemed like a cruel experiment gone awry.
"You wish to encounter the CEO of the ERAKR company?" the alien responded, its tones now resembling the dissonant clash of two celestial objects colliding. "I, a mere fourth-level bio-observer, cannot grant such an audience. My supervisor may be of help, fill these forms."
Captain Tou’s frustration intensified, his fists clenching tightly. "And what happens after that?" he pressed, his voice laced with impatience.
"Once the forms are submitted, an application will be processed for an audience with the galactic overseer," the alien explained.
"If fortune favors you, you may find yourself en route to the nebulous regions, standing before the ERAKR regional manager."
Captain Tou let out a guttural scream, a primal roar of rage and helplessness echoing through the vast emptiness of the void. The weight of his realization bore down upon him—the bitter truth that his entire existence had been reduced to a failed experiment, a disposable tool in the hands of corporate powers.
|
"King Reythir," Dr. Molicun bowed "I present to you, the ultimate warrior. A being with incredible stamina. And a mind capable of adapting to almost any situation!"
"Hmm," the Grenshin King mused, scaled fingers perched upon his chin. "Doesn't look like much. And what are those things on its chest?"
"I call them 'nipples,' sire"
"That's weird," Reythir stated matter of factly. "What could possibly be the point?"
"Sustenance for the children."
"From the 'chest nipples?'"
"Just 'nipples,'"
"Fucking...we need to move on from this," Reythir shook his head. "Explain how you can call some clawless meatsack a warrior?"
"I assure you sire, they are capable of incredible innovation," Molicun said. "We predict they will creat-"
"Stop!" Reythir commanded as he rose from his throne. "I want to test this myself."
The King descended the marble staircase and approached the human warrior. He raised a clawed index finger and pushed it into the center of the man's chest. Reythir penetrated his heart with ease. The man collapsed.
"Yeah, no," Reythir muttered, turning towards his throne. "This is bullshit."
"Sire!" Molicun screeched. ""Please, this one wasn't fully activated. It was only supposed to be a prelimin-"
"Quiet!" the King commanded. "Guards. Dispose of the body. And the good doctor, while you're at it. Oh, and have the scientists launch what's left into space. This was dumb as shit, and I want to be rid of it."
"Yes sir!"
____________________________________________________
"So..." General Brett Hawthorne seethed. "That's God, huh."
"Insomuch that he's technically the 'creator," Lieutenant Rapp replied. "But like, he's not omniscient, as far as we can tell anyway."
"That means we can kill it."
"What?" Rapp reeled. "Kill...why would we even attempt that? We're pretty sure they don't even know we still exist."
"Which means this new warp tech provides for a perfect sneak attack."
"Which will result in...what...exactly?"
"America continuing to lead the world in technological developments."
"S-sir," Rapp sputtered. "If I can be frank, we just discovered both warp travel and this so called god. Immediately declaring war seems like a bad idea."
"And that's why only one of us is a General," Hawthorne sneered.
_____________________________________________________
"Time to die you fucking alien scum!" General Brett Hawthorne yelled as he emerged from the warp gate.
"The fuck..." King Reythir turned from a conversation with a possible concubine.
Hawthorne pulled the trigger of his M4 Carbine a loosed shots throughout the throne room. His personal security squad emerged from the rift quickly after, firing their guns.
Bullets grazed off the Grenshin scales, shattering upon impact but dealing no damage.
"Guards!" Reythir shouted amongst the gunfire. "I don't know what the fuck those things are, but kill it!"
|
johnn667
|
SentientBarghest
|
2023-06-23 13:34:11
|
2023-06-23 08:12:17
| 122 | 66 | null |
jp75r49
| null |
14gqmi1
|
[WP] A mark on your forehead identifies the god you must worship to stay alive, usually by joining its local church or temple. Your mark is unknown, meaning an old, forgotten god sponsored you. To survive, you must either find an old temple to worship at, or do the arduous task of building a new one
|
I saw it every time we entered the city.
My family’s work required a split living arrangement; nine months on one coast, three on the other. It was there every time we drove into the city of our single-season home.
It was nothing more than a cluster of stones at first, that would barely change in the time I was there. But, every time I came back there would be more.
It hardly occurred to me to think what it was. The stones were one of those personal landmarks we all have. The rusty power box, the old purple house, the Stones.
Years passed. The stones spread. I inevitably found the day came when I stopped being a passenger on the journeys I knew and became the captain. I still watched them grow.
Until one day I pulled to the side of the road.
I could not possibly tell you why. Maybe it was an early midlife crisis. Maybe it was because for the first time I saw a stone being moved.
I crossed the long grassy field. If I held any worry of the monument being less stunning then than had I seen it as a child, it was dispelled. The stones were huge and the strange pattern they formed stunning. At the cluster of stones, I saw a truck slowly hauling a new massive rock to its final location.
When the truck stopped, I approached.
A older middle-aged man stepped out of the truck. He was haggard, but otherwise nondescript. He must have been quite young when I first saw these stones as a child though.
“Another one who wants to know about the roadside stones?” He called over. He didn’t seem annoyed, clearly not caring either way about my curiosity.
I realized then that I had no idea what I had intended to say. I suppose I hadn’t really thought about speaking at all, just seeing the stones.
“Yes.” It seemed the best answer. “They’ve been here since… well, since I’ve been I guess.”
He looked me over, taking in my age and everything else about me.
“Seems about right.” He nodded. “This here is my Temple. Every day I need to put in at least a little something to it until it’s done. Then I guess I get to pray. I dunno. At first I wasn’t crazy about it. Now it isn’t so bad.”
“Your temple?” I questioned in confusion.
Only after I said the words did I notice the marking on his forehead. His godmark.
I wracked my brain for all of the lesser known or fading powers I had been taught in school, those still just strong enough to make the call. By then, however, I already knew it was no such thing. That symbol was like nothing I had ever seen. It was old and alien.
“You’re the last.” There were multiple terms for such very rare people. I went with an easy one.
“Yeah. Yeah I am. No one knows it. Not the learned folks at the universities. Not the scientists. And not any of the TV historians or UFO boys. It’s just me and them.” He tapped the digit with his finger on the last word.
“So you’re building its temple alone?”
“Yep.” He nodded. “No one else to do it with me you know? I get a little stipend to help with renting the trucks. There’s hardship money set aside for the small gods I guess. I don’t mind taking a little for that. But I do all the work myself.”
“It’s incredible.” I spoke sincerely as I gazed in awe at the towering monoliths around me.
“Well thank you kindly.” He smiled just a little as he took in his own work.
I couldn’t imagine it. Coming out every day to hard labor alone because of some cosmic fluke. I suppose it was just a hobby, if the strangest and most difficult I could imagine.
I began to regularly come back. We would talk while he rested. I learned about his life. He did other construction work. He did have friends and a life outside of the stones, but it was clearly hampered by his tireless endeavor, time that most others would spend free.
I also learned to help haul. By “rent the trucks” he meant all sorts of construction equipment, much of it taken on discount from employers past and current willing to lend a hand. I learned firsthand why it was so painstakingly slow.
Then I had to leave.
The cycle continued: Three months and then nine. Only I no longer just watched from afar during those three.
I had forgotten the idea of seeing it done just as surely as he had until one day he finished setting a stone.
“It’s done.” He declared simply.
“Another stone well set.” I interpreted his meaning.
“Nope. Temple’s done.” He corrected.
“The temple? It’s done?” I was totally lost. The words made sense, but somehow at the same time none at all.
“Let me show ya.” He grinned.
The man, who could by then only generously be called older middle-aged, went back to his truck. I watched him pull out a cheap little camera mounted drone.
He set it up quickly and took off.
He showed me the camera as it slowly rose up and away into the clear blue sky.
“That’s…”
“Yep.” He nodded with a grin.
“…the mark.”
It was. The absurd, ancient, alien symbol on his forehead was lovingly reconstructed in colossal stone. It was a wonderfully strange Stonehenge labyrinth the meaning of which was lost to time countless eons before the time of anything we knew.
“Come on then, let’s break it in.” I grinned.
Break it in we did. We scavenged through the second hand shops and put down a bench in the center of it. We drank and made merry as we held services that were at once innocent of knowledge and as sincere as any ever held all the way until the sun went down.
“You did good.” I passed him the last beer as we both laid back against the bench watching a little bonfire we had built fade.
“Ya think?” He cracked it open and took a gulp.
“I know.”
We both laughed at nothing, more than a little tipsy.
Leaning back and reveling in that moment, I saw it. We saw it at the same time. I’m sure of it.
The stars were out. The night was beautiful. We had already seen that.
They weren’t quite right though.
In the sky we saw a familiar pattern. A cluster of stars was glowing brightly beyond all others in an impossibly specific pattern.
For some years, but only three months out of them, I knew a man who had a closer relationship with god than any other, without ever knowing his name. His faith was personal like no ordinary faithful will ever know. And yet, he will never know his god at all.
Because that god is long gone.
Whatever era it came from, whatever world it knew, is so far past that we will never, could never, even begin to understand it. The very concepts it was built upon are unknown to us.
Except one.
Ever so faintly it reached out and touched one soul; a soul destined to a lonely, curious life he never regretted. And when that soul answered, so did it. It was far too late for a grand return, far too late to rebuild in a world so alien. But we were able to share one little moment of understanding.
It knew how to say goodbye.
|
What was it, 16 years ago when this all began? Alright, so basically I was minding my own business, fishing & smoking on a boat in the Jove Lake.
I had about 3 catches & hoped for a 4th, all of a sudden, I got a big tug on my line! I reeled that shit in super hard! But that fucker wouldn’t let me drag him upon the dirt, he was fighting knowing full well his life was on the line. I wouldn’t give up either, he was clearly something BIG, big enough to feed me a good 3 days. But just as I thought I had him, I was yanked into the fucking water!
I was pulled deep, super deep, couldn’t even see the fish. I let go of my rod & tried to swim back up. But, I hardly even got a chance to hold some air when dragged under. I was loosing energy & eventually my body gave up, just as I almost touched the surface. Water flooded my mouth & lungs, sinking me even deeper.
But just as I thought I was dead… BOOM! Wide fucking awake! Back on the beach, no water in my lungs & just a little wet! But, I couldn’t move. And that’s when I saw her. She was thin, too thin. She had short hair green as the grass & translucent skin exposing these weird rainbow organs. And her face, couldn’t get a good look with the shadow from her long hair. She was crouching over me & I asked “Who the fuck are you? If you saved me I’m real grateful, but I can’t move.” At the same time, as I spoke those words, I noticed my mouth hadn’t moved. She then responded “You can’t move your lips because your dead.” Shocked the shit out of me! Although, I already had shit in my pants.
Anyways, she lifted on of her hands & placed it on my forehead. I could feel my forehead tingle & she said, “I’ll give you a week to live. In that time frame, worship me. Return what I had once lost.” “Worship you? Like a god?” “I am one after all.” “Wait, if I’m supposed to worship you, what’s your name?” “Forgotten gods aren’t given the privileges of names.” She then stood up & walked away into the water.
As she had left, I stood up & breathed in air again. I was confused, super fucking confused. I spent the rest of that day contemplating what the hell happened & if I had really died. None of it made sense, yet it somehow felt real. Even the mark she left imprinted in my head, something shaped like a net.
I spent the next day trying to wonder what to do, when it had hit me. She’s a god, she wanted me to worship her, gods love shrines for worship. I needed to make a shrine! I got too work.
I put in some of my old wood working skills to make this shrine, just the same that had made my boat & rod. I wandered around town to figure out a shrine for her religion, but remembered she had been forgotten. If she’s forgotten, she doesn’t have one. I took it upon myself to instead make something creative.
I took a log & began carving. A carved out a hole in it on the side, went all the way through. Then, I made some little notches at the entrance & end of the hole & atop the log.
I at one point thought it was good enough, but felt kinda guilty to just leave it as is. She was forgotten, alone, didn’t even have a name anymore. I know how it can feel to lose your name, just after the war ended, may explain her dilemma.
I then broke out some paints & began splashing some colors on the log. Painted on reds, yellows, & blues in this cool line pattern on the hole of the log. I even dug up a part in the top to hold a plant. I also painted the rings & draped a net right under the hole. And with that, it was finished.
All of a sudden the goddess I saw appeared right behind me. “It’s beautiful.” I actually shat myself this time. “Holy shit!” I didn’t think you’d put this much effort. I love it.” “Thank you. I just thought it would suck to leave it be just a log with a hole in it.” “That would suck.”
The goddess admired my shrine, she even dragged her fingers across the groves, I think that is a good sign. She then said “I’ll allow you to live to the age of a 100.” “Wow! So generous! Thank you!” “It’s the most I can do, as a thank you & an apology for threatening to let you live for just a week unless you made my shrine.” “Ain’t no biggie, plus I enjoyed it!” “That’s good to know.” “I might make some more even!” “Wait? Really?! You don’t need too!” “Ha! Don’t worry about it! It ain’t even a burden if it’s something I love doing!” “…thank you.”
Although she couldn’t cry, it sure felt like she had in that moment.
From then on I had been building shrines for this goddess. I made many of various sizes, colors, & gave them all different kinds of plants. Me & the goddess, now named Clofe by some sweet kids, would talk often. She would gossip to me about some other gods as I made her shrines & some others for the other forgotten gods I’ve met since then.
Makes me happy to do some good, all I’ve been doing is hoping job to job & occasionally fishing. Finally have something to get me out of bed with a smile. I might even start getting some apprentices too, hopefully they will enjoy this as much as I do.
|
Asteroth6
|
Pope-Francisco
|
2023-03-23 08:38:52
|
2023-03-23 01:52:09
| 23 | 16 |
jdbxjnc
|
jdavplg
|
11ylcm8
|
11ylcm8
|
[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.
|
"So you're not Rob Benedict?"
"No, I'm not. I came as something familiar to you because seeing my true form has been known to cause some people to lose their sanity."
"Right, and you're here because...?"
"I'm here because you extended the invitation to me for coffee."
"When the hell did I do that?" I asked as I let the man, no, God inside my house.
"When you slammed the door on a couple of my followers yesterday." He stated as he went to sit down at the kitchen island.
"Of course." I sighed as I moved into the kitchen. "I got a pretty fancy coffee maker. How do you take your coffee?" I asked as I moved to make myself a cup.
"I'll take whatever you're having, my child." He said as I moved about the kitchen. "Hope you like it sweet and over complicated."
I made the two cups and handed one to Him. It was still strange to have an actual conversation with God in the flesh.
"So, my child -" "Please, just call me by my name." I said as I stood in front of him on the other side of the island.
"Right, Alex, why did you shut the door in my followers' faces? They weren't behaving rudely." He said.
"While they didn't behave rudely yesterday or the weeks before, their church and beliefs are something that I do not support. Especially not when I am one of the people they preach about going to hell." I stated with a slight bitterness to my voice.
"What do you mean? You aren't sinning in any way. You aren't an adulterer, you haven't committed murder, you don't steal or anything that would be considered a sin. You would be right up in heaven with each of your loved ones."
I let out a low chuckle. "I guess it matters to them whom I marry and what is between my legs." I said as I watched his face fall.
"Excuse me, what do you mean?" He asked as he furrowed His brows. I moved to grab the multiple church pamphlets from the cabinet. I dropped them in front of Him.
"Racists, bigots, homophobic, transphobic, sexist, misogynistic, greedy. I will never associate with people with that much hate in their hearts while claiming to be doing your work."
I sipped my coffee as He read over the pamphlets, His face paling as He read each and every single one.
By the time He spoke, I was finished drinking my cup. "How long has this been going on for...?" He asked as He rose from His seat.
I turned around to see Him looking out the window. "That depends. How long have you been gone for?" I asked casually before moving to put a hand on his shoulder.
"I've been gone for far too long. They've twisted my words to further their own agenda and line their pockets. I will not stand for it. I will make this right, I have to." He stated before turning to face me.
"And you're going to help me." He stated, making me raise an eyebrow.
"Me? Why me?"
"You have helped open my eyes to how much the world needs my help, I would appreciate your help with the modern times."
I sighed and rub my face. "Okay, fine, but I'll need more coffee first." I said before grabbing my mug.
He reached His hand out and refilled my mug. I sipped it and it tasted exactly the same as before.
"Thank you." I said as I saw Him refill his own mug.
"No, thank you. You're the one who made me this delicious coffee."
|
"Hello?"
"Oh hey, Deaf Bard. It's me."
"Heyyyyyy...?"
"...God."
"..."
"Yeah, remember yesterday? The asshole jerkwads with the pamphlets?"
"I---"
"I know, terrible, right? But I was juuust happening a-by, and caught a bit of the convo, so."
"Wait, do---"
"And I get it, I get it. To be fair, they kinda slipped under the wire under a technicality. Ooh, I love your mud room!"
"Oh, uh, thank you. Come on in, yeah, have a seat..."
"No need for the tour, I'm familiar with the place. So... you play by ear, that kind of thing?"
"Uh, no I---"
"No worries, mate. I'm happy you invited me over, it's been a haute hot hee-haw-hawt minute or two since I have a bean-me-up-Scotty."
"Sure, that's fine. I'm just going to pop in the back and--"
"Deebee?"
"...y-yeah?"
"Come on."
"What?"
"Dude. You ran out yesterday. Drank the last right after those tit-bits showed up and left, and even giggled about your comment after you downed yourself some dregs."
"That... I'm going---"
"Sure, sure, that's fine, I'm just busting your balls. Just a busty, Krusty Krab."
"Oh my Go--"
"Watch it..."
"...thanks for understanding. Man, I feel just awful about that."
"Oh, no worries, Sweet Deebs. I'm more of a stoner chick."
"A... a stoner chick?"
"Yessss, yes-yes-yes-yes. Just a slob like one of you, eh? Kurasawa and kief, let's get kraken."
|
ClearCasket
|
THIS_IS_GOD_TOTALLY_
|
2023-03-21 02:11:30
|
2023-03-20 23:40:58
| 81 | 11 |
jd17jvi
|
jd0mtbl
|
11wsrfi
|
11wsrfi
|
[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.
|
How many times you hear people stressing about how the general population isn't as stupid as it seems? How often do you find yourself annoyed, hearing again and again that "no, people aren't this bad, you're so cynical..."? But you know you're right. You have to be right. There's no other explanation, isn't it? I mean, people vote the most populist idiotic person all the times and when it doesn't happen that's for a very small margin! People ARE as awful as it seems!
Or they aren't? How sure can we be that it's just as simple? Sure, you mostly know fairly reasonable people, but as a fairly reasonable people yourself you know how that's selection bias, knowing people from your own bubble that were selected by being fitting to it. You've seen the worst online. Online... It's always behind a screen, hidden, without a name... And even if there is a name, well, can you even prove it's not a high quality bot? They behave like bots anyway, add a fake picture and you're set.
That would make sense, now there's an excuse. Yes, of course! People may be dumb, but it would be impossible to be SO dumb! They need to make it plausible. They can tweak election results enough to make it happen and need a hoard of bots and people whose job is being trolls and bullshitters online. Far right, populists, straight up fascists, soon to be dictators, even the inoffensive ones, those who clearly couldn't manage to run around their block, let alone run a country... All of them, it's obvious that they didn't get all those votes. Sure, they did get some, but if they can afford to inflate the numbers they can afford a strong internet voice from "people", and now everyone is convinced that those results make sense. How come everyone hates every government after one year? Suspicious...
Next time you're arguing with someone who seems to ignorant to be true, well, consider the fact that they may actually not be, in fact, true people, just another bot, just another scammer, like the one you noticed so easily and banned this morning for advertising their "totally legit, working a and legal way to make 100k/month with cryptos!".
\-----
I tried to keep the style between the nut conspiracy theorist explaining it and you beginning to mind-wander and ending up in the loop yourself. I jokingly made it up few years ago after yet another disappointing election in my country.
|
Earth is a torus around the moon which is the center of a black hole which compact matter so much it because a giant diamond.
The sun is all the matter being pulled in to the moon keeping us alive.
Etc etc etc.
Cause earth used to be one thing but someone split the god particle which caused a huge explosion thingy on the original earth scattering it into a ring. This being long long long ago.
But with the weird gravitational lensing we get it just makes it feel like we are looking out to what we think space looks like pretty much.
|
_BlueFire_
|
Krystami
|
2023-10-12 08:12:05
|
2023-10-12 08:04:54
| 64 | 10 |
k4jabx1
|
k4j9t0q
|
176092m
|
176092m
|
[WP] A dragon has stolen the sheep from the nearby village, and as such, the villagers assume all their sheep have been eaten. They want you, a knight, to take revenge on the dragon for them. However, when you meet the dragon, you find they took the sheep for a very different reason…
|
I freeze as I walk over the crest of the valley of the dragon. Before me lies the large grassy meadows and hills I've heard about the lair. I expected that part. What I didn't expect was all the little white, fluffy creatures freckled throughout the valley. Sheep. Hundreds of them. Not just the lot stolen from the village that sent me, but obviously several more. It's like a squirrel storing acorns for the winter.
In the distance, I see the cave where the dragon lives.
I trek across the valley, the sheep all 'Baa'ing happily as I walk past. They seem content with their life. Unaware that they're about to be eaten. But I'll save them. I'm going to get so much money for returning all these sheep. How do I identify where they came from, though? I guess I could just take them all back to the original village and let them sort it out. In fact, I haven't even thought about how I'm going to move these sheep yet. I'll just send the shepherds up here. It's only a couple days journey.
I make it to the entrance of the cave and peer inside. The large, black-scaled dragon is curled up against the far wall. Here goes nothing.
"Ysmelda, of the Azure Valley! I've come to slay you and return all these sheep to their rightful owners!"
The dragon opens one eye and then... rolls it? She lets out a massive yawn as she unfurls her tail, which has a solid club tip with spikes sticking out of it. Her scales reflect the light from the entrance as she stands up to full height. She's much larger in person than the stories suggested. I should've read '*How to Slay a Dragon*' again before leaving the castle.
"We both know you can't kill me, mortal," the dragon's voice rings through my mind. I jump at first before remembering that dragons are telepathic. "And I have no intention of returning those sheep. I need them."
"What do you need these sheep for?" I demand. "Have you forgotten how to hunt like a real dragon?"
"Hunt?" she snorts, and smoke rolls out of her nostrils. "I still have to hunt. I'm not going to eat them. I mean, I might snack on one or two every now and again, but for the most part, I'm not planning on eating them."
"Then why have you taken them if not to eat them?"
"I need their wool."
"You what?"
She leans her long neck down and lowers her head down to eye level with me. "I didn't stutter, mortal. I need their wool."
"What in the hells does a dragon need wool for?" I say indignantly, staring the dragon back in its giant eye.
"My baby."
"There's a baby!?" I shout as I draw my sword.
Ysmelda bares her teeth and lets out a deep, guttural growl. "Make a movement toward my egg, and I'll skin you alive before lighting you on fire and eating your roasted corpse."
"Be afraid, drake, lest I strike you down here and now."
She lets out a small stream of blue fire from her mouth, targeted directly at my sword. It immediately heats up so much that I'm forced to drop it. The air around me is heated, too, and I feel myself start sweating. I'm no match for a dragon as powerful as Ysmelda. I drop my head in shame. But I'm still curious.
"What do you need the wool for, scaled demon?"
"My egg will hatch shortly before winter. I need to make her booties and sweaters."
"Booties... and sweaters?"
"Baby dragons get cold."
"But they're dragons!"
"Who don't get their fire until they're at least a year old?" she shouts, snapping her jaws. "Until then, we're very cold. Now, you're annoying me. Leave."
|
Thank you to u/Street-Cost-1779 for the idea about mental synapses.
\-----
***Test Log: Magic-4432-AF-42***
*Date:* >!22/04/2048!<
*Classification level: Four. Current level: Zero (general public).*
*Personnel: Dr. Hildew.*
***Test Description:***
Given the report by the Orion Interstellar Confederacy about magic and mental synapse connections, I have determined four solutions to bring proper order back to Earth.
1. Using Reality Anchors, force the entire Sol system into an anti-magic zone. Given how sparce magic is around Earth currently, it wouldn't change much (see option 4).
2. Create an implant which would give the user magical powers (see option 4.
3. Use mental gymnastics for loosen synapse connections to allow for humans to use magic.
4. Invent magitech (requirement for option 2)
Due to the nature of most options hinging off the ability for some form of technology to interface with the magical field, it makes sense that finding a way to generate magitech is the best place to start. As such, I will be testing various quantum and atomic systems until I find a way to use the systems to repeatably interface magically with the world.
***Test Results:***
1. **I accidentally invented nonmagical Hard Light.**
2. **I accidentally invented nonmagical perpetual energy.**
3. **I accidentally invented nonmagical infinite propulsion.**
4. **I accidentally discovered a new field of science.**
5. **Test successful. Hard Light projectors can be used to interfere with the magical field in a predictable and reliable manner, resulting in the ability for human technology to use magic.**
|
Murlock_Holmes
|
Nomyad777
|
2024-08-05 22:03:44
|
2023-04-21 01:28:12
| 77 | 17 |
lgof4hq
| null |
1ekqu4i
| null |
[WP] Knowing the hero would call upon the power of friendship to win against them, the villain simply killed all the hero's friends. What he didn't expect is what the power of grief looked like.
|
"What was it, you said?" Lacaia the sorceress mused as she closed her fist, prompting the mystical forces at her command to crush Gerhardt's spine to snap and cave his chest. The armsman looked to Biric pleadingly for but an instant before his eyes and head rolled back. "'I play the song of my heart. It is written by the ones I love..." she waved her hand aside, tossing Gerhardt's corpse into a pile of five other bodies in a corner lit by a blazing brazier, "its beat is kept by their hearts, and my fingers can but follow it."
Biric was distantly aware that his right leg was broken in three different places. More immediately, he could see the face of Isaac, their holy man, who had been rushing to mend that leg when the sorceress caught him off-guard. A withering spell had reduced the man to a mummified husk before Biric's eyes. The distraction of his gruesome death created openings in Lyra and Omaan's defenses, which earned the both of them disintegration. Gerhardt, Torik, and Ialai charged the evil mage, and had fought bravely for several minutes as Biric had managed to find notes of power despite his condition.
But it could never have been enough. It was already a longshot getting into this fight. Had the fate of their nation not depended upon it, the band of heroes would have chosen a different time and place for the fight. Alas, this had been their only chance...
And it had been squandered by the silly, insignificant bard being more ready to quip than dodge.
She grinned darkly as she sauntered up to him, pale white complexion contrasted by the deep red of her lips, "Tell me, my little songbird... what sort of music do you feel now?"
"You..." he choked finally in recognition. Her hair had been red then, instead of raven, and her cheeks raised by mystically imitated elven heritage, but he was sure it had been her, "Celia from the inn..."
"Oh you do remember," she giggled in grim glee, "how flattering..."
"Why...?"
She cocked her head, an expression he recognized from a few nights prior, "You mean you don't know? Your curious little... talent has proven an absolute nightmare for me. A band of fools destroying an army of hundreds, a militia of a scant two-hundred humiliating a legion of undead warriors, a little republic standing against a queendom twenty times its size with one-hundred times its funding? Sound familiar, or are you only good with pretty faces?"
He took a ragged breath and reached for the flintlock pistol on his ruined leg, only for a blast of air to snatch it away from him.
"Now now. Not while we're talking."
"Why them?"
"Because I needed to utterly destroy you and annihilate the wills of all those protégés you've inspired. Once I got what I needed from you, all I needed was to find the holes in your friends' defenses." Her smile somehow broadened, "Imagine my delight in finding it was you. Hurt the handsome music man and his friends lose their focus. It's troubling none of my people considered it before. They were always so concerned with Ialai."
Biric felt another stab in his heart as he looked to the mass of his mangled allies. His attention was brought forcibly back to her by her cold hand on his chin, turning his face upward so that there were mere breaths between them.
"So pretty... I'd take you as a slave, but we both know you'll only live to cause me more grief."
*Cause you grief?* His mind rumbled. *Cause. You. Grief?*
She saw his eye twitch and mistook it for simple pain. Just one more push and he would break, she must have believed, "So, oh maestro, play me the song of your heart now. What notes do you have when there is no rhythm left? What passion do you have when the ones you loved most have all perished?"
He shakenly moved his hands to the long-necked instrument that sat in his lap. His fingers found the strings as his heart searched for a beat to follow. He closed his eyes as his sorrow lit like oil and he poured it all into his magic.
A note, by the gods, a note.
No, two.
A precious, angry, powerful pair. Simple, yet intense.
Two fingers down, two strings to strum.
He lifted his eyelids and met the sorceress's sadistic cheer with a glare as vile a dark as her heart, then he strummed once. The unchained torrent of magic erupted from his guitar in a deafening growl, accompanied by a wave of uncontainable force which slammed into the villainess and carried her all the way to the other side of the chamber. She uttered a few quick spells that saved her from cracking her skull on the opposite wall, but as soon as she regained her footing he played the second chord and another blast of kinetic force pinned her to the rough hewn stone.
"You want a song...?" He hissed, flicking a rapid sequence of notes before strumming another chord. This time, the force held her in place while electricity began to arc from his fingers. "That suits me just fine... but remember, Biric of Battlesong doesn't play for free."
None but the gods, the sorceress, and the souls of Biric's friends - and of course Biric - heard his song that night. What the republic scouts saw when they recovered the unconscious Biric, though, was nothing short of terrifying. All but one of their heroes felled. The ancient fortress that they had ambushed the sorceress in had obvious signs of battle in its keep. More strikingly, it now sported a human-sized hole punched through no fewer than eight walls, all charred black. In the ditch outside was a pile of bones and ash that still smoldered and crackled with lightning.
|
# The Present
​
Balthazar cackled as The Prime Merlinian looked on in horror. Defeated, smoking in the side of a building, he had no choice but to see his friends get butchered mercilessly by Balthazar's hounds. A grotesque description of the severed heads of his fellow superhero and non-superhero friends lined the Central Square of Targova. He spoke, voice heavily laid with an old-English accent, 'Now, Augustus, don't despair so soon, the best part is yet to come! Here, a gift from my side!'
The Prime Merlinian-Augustus as he was called, took the small blue-wrapped box, and cautiously opened its purple satin ribbon, fully expecting a Gorlnax or one of Balthazar's other hideous creations jumping out at him or even a Romanian Glass Trap or some other nasty nonsense. He prepared to fight or escape, but what he saw was way, way worse.
'Like my present? I made it specially for you!' Balthazar cackled, as The Prime Merlinian could do nothing but stare on blankly. The box contained the heads of his mentor and his best friend. He found his eyes getting blurry, and droplets falling to the ground.
Balthazar slowly walked towards The Prime Merlinian, his Staff of the Occult out in hand, ready to finish this once and for all. As he strutted towards the Prime Merlinian, cackling and humming AC/DC, his mind was racing with glee, as finally, he would be the undefeated, supreme magician of Targova.
Whatever remaining will to live was left in the Prime-Merlinian vanished after he opened the present. All he ever knew and loved were dead. He had nothing to live for, he even considered letting Balthazar kill him so that he was freed from these worldly sorrows! But soon emptiness changed to grief, which changed to bitterness, which changed to anger, fury, hatred and vengeance. An anger so intense, an inferno of such violence that it would only be satisfied with the dripping blood of Balthazar.
As Balthazar reached the Prime Merlinian near lifeless body, the winds around him started howling. The moon hid behind the clouds in fear of the Prime Merlinian's wrath. But oblivious Balthazar, in his own world, did not notice any of this.
The Prime Merlinian looked up, his normally grim face replaced with a sardonic grin, promising the worst of pains. His green eyes replaced by an ever-burning inferno, as he got up to face Balthazar. For the first time, Balthazar felt true fear. 'You want to play games, hmm? Let us play games!' The Prime Merlinian bellowed before charging into battle. Might met might, magic met magic, as the two fought for hours. Both were equally matched, but the power of anger, adrenaline flowed through the Prime Merlinian's veins, giving him the much needed edge over Balthazar. None of Balthazar's dark magic worked on the Prime Merlinian, as he blasted him back with a beam of his own. Swatting Balthazar's hounds away, the Prime Merlinian continued forward, slowly siphoning his energy into a ball, much resembling the swirling maelstrom or the howling tempest.
'There are only three things wise men fear; The sea in a storm, The moonless night, and the wrath of a calm man. Balthazar, I must thank you. This could have gone way differently if not for your present.' The prime Merlinian said as he tossed the ball of furious power on Balthazar's limp body. As Balthazar was engulfed by the power of the Prime Merlinian, he only managed to utter one word...Kenaspir, the primordial power of anger, fury, wrath and vengeance.
The next day, when the fearful residents came out of their cobbled houses, all the saw was Balthazar's head on a pike, his tattered cape fluttering in the wind behind him, his blood dripping into a bejeweled cup.
|
MasterV3ga
|
WraithLord2322
|
2023-04-21 17:30:03
|
2023-04-21 15:04:07
| 93 | 54 |
jh63qcn
|
jh5hlmv
|
12u2q5q
|
12u2q5q
|
[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.
|
I really didn't want to get up out of bed, but the incessant ringing of my doorbell was a good motivator to seize the day and curse the fool who felt the need to wake me up at five in the morning.
I plucked my robe off of the mountain of clothes sitting in the corner of my room as well as a pair of mustard stained sweatpants. I promised myself I'll do laundry tomorrow, or at least that's what I've told myself for the past 3 weeks.
The doorbell was soon joined by the sound of frantic knocking. "Whoever is beating down my door at this God forsaken hour, I hope you've written a will," I half-heartedly threatened as I came down the hall.
I opened the front door and let out a tired sigh at the young woman standing on my doormat that was clearly labeled "go away."
She gazed at me with tear filled hazel eyes. "I have no one else to go to, I need your help," she pleaded. A pitiful sounding thing, like a kitten stuck in the rain.
"No," I intoned as I slammed the door shut. Well that was easy enough, time to go back to bed and wallow in self-loathing. Or at least that's what I had planned before my front door collapsed into a pile of sticks.
The young woman stood there sheepishly as her hand was posed to knock again, "Please Mr. Omen, I can't control my powers." No kidding.
I let out a long suffering sigh and scratched the scruffy, unkempt beard I grew out. Damn I need to shave also. "Well the door's wide open now, so please come in. Make yourself at home and all that." I trudged to the kitchen without a glance back to see if she was following.
I opened the fridge to scrounge up something for breakfast, only to be greeted by the sight of 3 beers, half a block of cream cheese, and a moldy head of iceberg lettuce. Looks like groceries are going on the to-do list.
"Alright kid first off, be glad I have a spare front door in the garage somewhere. Secondly, Mr. Omen?" I scoffed as I cracked open one of the beers. "I haven't gone by Omen in years."
The young woman looked around the grimy kitchen in disgust, "you have socks sitting on your toaster." I really should invest in a laundry basket and get my washing machine fixed.
"And you're wasting my time," I deadpanned. I swept a pile of old magazines and dirty dishes off one of the dining room chairs and motioned for her to sit.
With a grimace she sat down, only for the chair to collapse into a withered pile of woodchips. Yep, no control over her powers at all.
"Listen kiddo-" I began only to be cut off. "Melanie," she interrupted, "my name is Melanie."
"I didn't ask," I retorted, "as I was saying before getting so rudely interrupted. If your powers are like mine, sorry to say your life is going to suck and youre better off becoming a villain like I was."
She was shocked by my blunt answer, or at least surprised enough by my blunt words she didn't even get up off the pile of former chair on the floor.
Feeling particularly apathetic I continued on with my monologue. "Having the power of bad luck just means no one will thank you for the misfortune you bring to them. Don't get me wrong, literally everything will work out in your favor and you don't even have to really focus to use your powers. In the end however it's a pretty lonely life. After all, what kind of person wants a bad luck charm ruining every moment of their life?"
With every word she wilted in on herself until she looked as defeated as I felt. Good to know I can crush her hopes now instead of letting it build up after years of trying to find the good in her power. We can't all have a power that inspires love and adoration by the masses.
Letting her think over my words I headed back to the fridge to grab another beer and maybe eat that cream cheese that's been calling to me this whole time.
"Bullshit," she suddenly calls out behind me. She brushed the remnants of chair from her jeans as she stormed up to me. "You may have given up but I will be damned if I let this part of my life control me." As if to emphasize her words the handle to my fridge snapped off in my grip.
I scoffed and shot her a half assed glare. "Will you go away if I say no?"
She scoffed and shot me a full assed glare in response.
44 years and I can't catch a break. God damn bad luck.
"Fine," I conceded, "but you're fixing my front door and fridge." Melanie brightened at my surrender and pumped her fist in victory.
"Alright kiddo don't get too excited, you're still a walking hazard to everyone and thing around you," I remarked, "now let's go."
"Go?" She repeated as she followed me down the hall towards the demolished front door.
"Yep, I'm starving and there's nothing to eat here. Hope you like pancakes and vodka," I called as I made my way down my cracked and overgrown driveway.
"Hey, wait!" Melanie called from the doorframe, "You're wearing pajamas!"
"Yeah, and they're stained as fuck!" I yelled back, "come on kiddo we have misfortune to spread and booze to drink." And with a careless wave of my hand I flexed my power and set off every car alarm in the neighborhood.
She cackled and ran to catch up with me, "come on old man, is that the best you can do?"
For the first time in a long time, I felt something spark inside me. "You ain't seen nothing yet kiddo. And call me Charlie."
"...hey Charlie? I'm kinda broke, think you can spot me a twenty? Also I don't have any other clothes except what I'm wearing." She admitted with a chuckle.
Never mind, my luck sucks.
|
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."
|
Love_Is_Blue
|
GrunkleStanwhich
|
2023-02-01 05:32:44
|
2023-02-01 04:48:48
| 107 | 75 |
j6qqpzq
|
j6qm7bw
|
10qf3t6
|
10qf3t6
|
[WP] It's been 6 years since the zombie apocalypse started, thousands die weekly, but society hasn't changed much. Your local news tracks zombie migration. An armored school bus picks kids up every morning. Your local walmart just installed a fancy new bio-scanner. And you still need to go to work.
|
Ragers, shamblers, crazies, and normies.
That's just what we call the customers. Zombies are just zombies. All the cool parts of a zombie apocalypse from the movies have been woefully absent, and all that remains is more of the same. I stood still for my scan before putting on my blue vest to start the day.
My register for the day was already abandoned as I approached, likely due to the rager with the line behind him. Something something, "political nonsense", something about having rights, and then he said the magic phrase. In refusing his scan, I summoned our security squad with a wave of my hand. They moved in swiftly, physically carrying him away to remove him from the store, before putting him on the company blacklist. Although I was vaccinated per my employment contract, I still kept my distance as they moved past with the unpredictable nutcase in tow.
Being blacklisted from Walmart is a big deal these days. The outbreak came fast and hard. The population dropped by about a third in almost a week before governments around the world were able to take control of the situation. In the chaos, none but the biggest of businesses were able to survive. For those who disagree with Amazon's zombie labor, Walmart is their only remaining option.
In the years since, most people find themselves in one of two camps. You either believe that China failed an attempted worldwide biohazard takeover, or it was an operation executed by a clandestine organization meant to usher in the new world order that exists today. Pick your crazy. The world media sure did, and boy, did they run with it.
With everyone focused on why they're the ones who are right instead of figuring out solutions, society has been stuck in "limp mode" for the past six years. Thankfully, China learned from the last global pandemic and were highly prepared for this one, leading to draconian isolation measures, the ability to keep churning out products, and immense speculation of involvement with the outbreak.
None of this mattered to me. The one silver lining on this crap cloud was that WalMart needed all the help it could get, which resulted in a labor revolution born out of necessity. Worker safety was paramount, recently demonstrated by the security posse. Even then, they had trouble finding enough people to tolerate everything, leading to ever-increasing wages with every employee who walked out.
I sighed as I stepped up to my register. It wasn't really a terrible life, but 12 hours is still 12 hours. "Thank you for shopping at Walmart, apologies for the delay. Please step forward to start your scan."
|
*"The New Normal"*
​
The zombies roam, the death tolls rise,
But life goes on, with no surprise.
Society unchanged, but oh so strange,
A new normal, in a world deranged.
​
The local news tracks their migration,
An armored bus, a daily station.
For kids to learn, in safer zones,
Away from the undead, with groans and moans.
​
The Walmart scanner, a fancy toy,
To check for bites, before you buy.
A necessary measure, in this plight,
To keep us safe, and out of sight.
​
And still we work, and still we toil,
To earn a living, in this turmoil.
The zombies may have changed our fate,
But we go on, it's our innate.
​
So let us not, give up in fear,
For life goes on, and always will be here.
We'll find a way, to survive and thrive,
In this new normal, we must contrive.
|
rancidtuna
|
Federal_Penalty5832
|
2023-01-23 18:02:42
|
2023-01-23 06:43:44
| 43 | 27 |
j5kmj6o
|
j5ily6h
|
10izz91
|
10izz91
|
[WP] In a world where eyes truly are the windows to the soul, most people wear masks to hide their true nature. Today, you’ve just met someone who dispenses with masks - And whose eyes look like dark, bottomless voids.
|
Nothing.
That's all he could see when he shook his hand.
Darkness. Cold. A blank slate. A veil was lifted and nothing was there. And Owen knew he knew that he'd seen it.
The eyes were the window to the soul. And with every interaction, you could see every intention someone could have. For good or bad, or worse. And people knew to look for it. It was a survival instinct that lorded over all. Lifesaving, cautionary. And yet, suffocating.
There wasn't much to anything when everything was always laid bare.
But not in Gilberto's case.
There weren't any clues with him. And that was concerning. Nobody brought it up. But it was an unspoken truth.
He kept to himself mainly. And although he never showed any true malice, or hateful nature, it was clear he was used to the stigma. He wore sunglasses most days. Even inside. In the rain, or the snow. One of their bosses threw the office a Christmas party that lasted until a bit past Midnight.
He never took them off that night.
It was bizarre. But he got results, and his work ethic was almost bottomless. He came in at the oddest hours and worked straight through. Sometimes leaving early as a result, because what reason was there to stay?
Owen wasn't one to pry. Well, at least, openly. People knew that about him. 'Curiosity killed the cat' and all. So one day, while outside in one of the few solitary places given to everyone he asked the question?
"Why do you wear glasses all the time?"
Gilberto looked at him for a moment, ignoring his feeds on the phone. "Why does it matter?"
"I just. Sensitivity with light?" Owen realized how uncomfortable this might be. "Or something? I don't really..."
"Well, no. I wear them because I can." Gilberto answered. "Everybody knows why."
"Well, I didn't know anything." Owen tried to redirect. "I know they mention a dress code, and they told me it's unprofessional or something. But you, you do really good..."
Owen stopped when he looked at him again. He had lowered the glasses to observe him. The eyes were the same hazel they always were. But in the middle, there was nothing there. Just that ink-like void. He tried to ignore it, but it kept drawing him in. He winced a little, which brought a smile.
"Like what you see?" Gilberto explained as he put the glasses back up.
"I don't know."
"When I was little, my grandmother; she was a very God fearing woman." He began. "And while she meant well, my mother and her weren't on the best of terms. She said I was evil. She didn't say it to me, of course. But she worried for my mother. That there was something was wrong with me."
"Oh, that's terrible."
"I spent years in therapy. Seeing doctors. Talking with school counselors." He continued. "People don't know who you are. And they get scared. People get scared of things they don't understand... And I get that. It makes sense."
Gilberto seemed to think on it. "I tried wearing contacts for a while there. But it only worked a little. And honestly, contacts aren't worth wearing unless you need them. Trust me on that one."
"So what did you do? To get better, I guess."
Owen asked him this in the nicest way he could without seeming fake. Was he being fake? He didn't know at this point. Perhaps it was subconscious.
"May as well embrace it." Gilberto answered. "Everybody sees you, and they can't figure you out. So they put on this facade. That's all a lot of people do anyway. Let's them move up the food chain."
Owen didn't really like that statement. It felt a bit dismissive. Like he was jabbing at Owen directly.
"It's fun." He admitted. "They bring me in on the big deals. Because they know it makes things awkward."
"Huh?"
"Oh, you're far enough along. Let's not lie about it."
"Well, it's not like you can help it."
"I can. I just like watching people crack." Gilberto nodded at him. "It means I'm in. It bothers a lot of people. And if you wait and listen, people will tell you everything you need to know about them, even if they don't want to."
"That's. Wow."
"Horrible?" He stood, "Sure. But it saves me a lot of time. I know exactly where they stand."
"Where do I stand?"
Owen stared back at the glasses for a minute. It felt like hours.
"Well, currently, in front of me. But that's neither here or there." Gilberto said as he circled him and straightened his tie. "I guess that's for you to figure out."
---
r/Jamaican_Dynamite
|
Clara was someone who preferred to blend into crowds. To
follow the group. She didn’t like standing out. This was why she was so
panicked when she noticed she wasn’t wearing her mask. She had gone to work
like that. Commuted like that. And she hadn’t noticed? Everyone could have seen
what she was thinking about. The overdue rent she fretted over on the bus, the
violin practice she considered in the cafeteria at work. All laid bare for the
world to see. As they say, the eyes are a window to the soul. That’s why
wearing a mask had become the norm. A maskless individual implied pure honesty.
One with nothing to hide. This, of course, was practically non-existent. She tried
to retrace her mental steps for the day, but it was of course hopeless. She’d
just have to live with it. As she pondered this in the toilet cubicle – still,
even after The Changes, a haven of privacy – she resolved to hide here until
almost everyone had left the building. She checked her watch and winced at the three
hours she’d have to wait. She’d have to catch up at home. She could already
imagine her boss’s angry scolding, as if it were happening right now. The way they’d
hit their desk. Twice and then, after a pause, twice more. She came to her
senses. The sound had originated from without her mind. Had someone… knocked on
the cubicle door? “Do you want me to open the door?” she enquired. “Open the
door…” came a tentative response. Not sure what to do, Clara unlocked and slowly
opened the door, turning her face away from it so as to not give a clear view
of her thoughts, but to still see who stood past the door. When she saw, she
had to turn to face it head-on. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Or rather, she
couldn’t believe its eyes. This individual bore no mask. But instead of her
mind being flooded with its every insecurity, every hope, she could see
nothing. There was just a void. “What… are you,” she asked. She immediately clocked
her own rudeness and tried again, “I mean, hello?” The figure responded, “Hello?”
And Clara suddenly found its features so familiar. She could sense the thoughts
now. They were also familiar. But she began to lose her grasp on why that was.
It was gradually escaping, evading her flailing thoughts. Rent? Violin? Why did
those seem so… familiar? Clara never did remember. But someone paid her rent (and
the overdue fee) and someone practised her violin (and won an award). But Clara
never left that cubicle. A void-eyed being and a woman without a mask did,
though.
|
Jamaican_Dynamite
|
Signal_Poet5111
|
2023-04-04 22:41:53
|
2023-04-04 21:34:33
| 32 | 13 |
jez9ewh
|
jeyzywh
|
12bqlp6
|
12bqlp6
|
[WP] Lucifer never fell from Heaven. He's still just as holy as any other archangel. He's just God's lawyer, and nobody likes lawyers.
|
Marvin Brist groaned as he pushed himself up from the ground. The surface was warm – far warmer than the hospital bed he’d been lying in for weeks now. It took him a moment to realize his body no longer ached and his skin was healthier.
“What? Where am I?” He touched his face to find most of his wrinkles had disappeared as well.
*Is this a dream?*
He stood in the middle of a cobblestone road, surrounded by buildings of red brick. They seemed weathered and smudged with time. Iron streetlamps dotted the street, hazy lights showing through yellowed glass panes. Dark clouds drifted lazily across a rust-colored sky. A sinking feeling began to form in his stomach as he looked for any signs of life.
“Marvin Brist?” A voice jolted him out of his thoughts.
A dark-skinned man in a black suit stood behind him. Marvin hadn’t heard anyone approaching, so he assumed the man had been there all along. Golden eyes stared back at him, judging him. He held back a scowl – something about this man seemed dangerous.
“Yeah, what of it?”
The suited man motioned toward a set of double doors in the closest building. “This way.”
“And who are you to – ” Marvin never finished his sentence as an unseen force dragged him forward.
Glass doors slid open without a sound and shut just as quickly. A younger woman sitting behind a reception desk glanced up as he stopped before her.
One penciled eyebrow raised, and she said, “Ah. Mister Brist. A bit early for your appointment. But I suppose the Lord works in mysterious ways. Courtroom Six.”
*Courtroom?* That sinking feeling grew stronger.
“Don’t dally. We haven’t got all day.” The receptionist pointed to her right before returning to her work.
Marvin began moving before whatever had dragged him in here could force him to walk again. The doors to Courtroom Six were heavy, and it felt like it took all his strength to push them open. When he stepped inside, he found another man sitting behind a wide wooden desk.
“Marvin Brist. We’ve been waiting for you. I’ll begin reviewing your crimes now.”
Marvin blinked before his temper flared. “I’ve committed no crimes! And who are you to judge me!”
A coy smile flitted across the man’s lips. “Why, I believe you already know, Mister Brist. I am the Lord’s most devout archangel. I am the Light-Bringer. I am Lucifer.”
Fear gripped Marvin’s heart. “T-There must be a mistake! I’ve been a devout Christian all my life!”
Lucifer opened a thick folder and ran one finger down a page. “Theft. Stealing from a small shop in London, no less. Age thirteen. Quite young, don’t you think?”
“I-I was young and stupid! I already repented for my sins with the pastor!”
“Harassment of exchange students at Kingston University. Not painting a good picture here, Mister Brist.”
“I – ”
“And then there were the riots. Quite the decorated individual, Mister Brist. It may have been decades ago for you, but everything is recorded here. Your life’s evidence, so to speak.”
The memories came flooding back, filling Marvin with a new wave of anger. “They knew what they did! We were protecting our country!”
Lucifer tapped the page as he leaned on one hand. “The rationale you’ve presented in your case is based on a false accusation. I have the testimony here from the one that made those statements. She knew very well her words were lies and would lead to violence.”
“That was – ”
Lucifer pressed a finger to his lips. “There are no lies here. All your soul is laid bare before the Lord. You managed to slip out of punishment by feigning ignorance. This was conveniently left out of your confessions, but the Lord knows. You even tried to teach your children to hate. Fortunately, it seems they’ve long since fled from your influence.”
Marvin scoffed. “They betrayed the faith. Running off to do god knows what with their useless lives.”
Lucifer chuckled – a sound that made Marvin’s body tingle. “Love thy neighbor. I’m sure you’re familiar with the term. It’s become quite popular in the mortal world in recent years. But everything you have here seems to tell me you aren’t as pious as you’d like to be.”
Lucifer tapped the documents again. In a moment of clarity, Marvin recalled where he was and what that folder contained.
“I-I can explain! I’m a good man! Everything I’ve done was to keep my family safe and fed!”
“At the expense of others, of course,” Lucifer added.
“You’re twisting my words!”
A sneer pulled at Lucifer’s lips. “Perhaps you should’ve learned from the Americans. What was it they’re always saying? Anything you say can and will be used against you?”
Marvin fell to his knees. “Please! Let me speak with my Lord! There’s been a mistake! I don’t belong here!”
“You wish to speak with *Him*?” Lucifer let out a barking laugh. “My dear, foolish man. He only sees the most controversial of cases. I’m merely the lower court. Tedious, for sure. But I am efficient. And your life is an open-and-shut case.”
The casual dismissal and condemnation caused Marvin’s anger to rush back. “Why would you care anyway? You’re just as damned as the rest of us!”
The room seemed to tremble as Lucifer sat up straighter. “I am here because no one else could deal with all the sinners and maintain their purity. The Lord granted me the position to oversee those who have fallen from His good graces.
That statement banished all the anger in his body, and Marvin slumped. At the same time, Lucifer stood and stepped around his table.
“You’ll find no jury of your peers here, Mister Brist. After all, your peers are just as guilty as you.” Lucifer spread his arms. “No, you’ll need to plead your case to *me*. And unfortunately, the Lord has provided me with all the evidence. Your life overrules any pretty words you might try.”
The room darkened.
“No money, power, or influence will let you shirk penance this time.”
...
Had fun with this one.
If you're interested in my works, the archive of my various writing responses can be found in my writing portfolio, link through my profile. There's also an original story, The Crossroads.
Thanks for reading.
|
"You know, I still font get how that stupid rumor stuck..."
He began to St. Peter again.
"Imagine how the humans must feel, at least if they get mistaken for having gone to prison, they can cite paperwork, but NNNOOOOO!" He went off again, pouring a glass of liquer again, despite the fact he was supposed to quit.
"You're drinking again?" Persphone asked from the other side of the table.
"When did that happen man?" Hades questioned, looking concerned.
"Then why did you turn down Mead last night, bro?" Odin looked offended. Thor and Lokie likewise at the bar. Nobody else in this diner they constructed together. A pocket dimension for a moment of confidence outside of space and time.
"I keep filing the paperwork correctly..." Lucifer continued on as if the questions hadn't even registered. "To ask Father to please punish the blasphemous preachers who keep getting caught diddling, drugging, exploiting, and other unspeakable unholy things for abusing thoer power to make them not hear my warnings, bit He say correcting the scripture error is 'an act of freewill' and under human domain!"
"If I may, shut up a sec, listen,--" Titianna interjected, "You're only butthurt about it because it's gone on so long, right?"
"YES!" Lucifer exclaimed. "I'm just tired of people being afraid to talk to me over a book!"
"Then go to earth, stop working at the legal office, Stop. I know, convenience of supplies, but the location isn't helllping rumors. Is it?"
He thought a moment about what she said. "Alright. You're on. I'll work from a human bar and still keep up my paperwork."
But he didn't. On the way there, he met his brother Michael, who stopped his and had Zeus hold him, while beating him senseless and rambling on about him "knowing his place" again.
Today, Lucifer became unholy. Against every pacifistic lesson ever imbued in him in Creation, he fought back. He felt his Halo crack every time as Michael exercised the Pagan curse of Serviceable Bloodline, the ability used by the main kwyholders in the family to keep pawns from the family around despite the level of abuse seen and dealt with.
He bore the pain, turning his attention back to Zeus, who'd held him, he used his smaller frame to his advantage and went for low, brutal, but fair blows. K ees, shins, heel strikes. Zeus went for a tackle, but Lucifer used his weight against him and used his mass to carry him past overhead with a backroll.
Not done yet Michael went for a roudhouse to the jaw. Lucifer caught his tendon above the heel and pushed upward before he was hit and used his momentum to pull his foot so high he feel on his head and was knocked out. He then turned to Zeus and with Angelic power restoring in his arcane core, he began to feel his pain and headache subsiding. Michael being knocked out ended his grasp on the curse etched into his Halo for now. Zeus, seeing that it was no longer an easy fight, reached for his thunder bolts and began powering up his own arcane Core.
"Quit now, lesser blood" he spat "A Godly Core is simply better! An Olympic godly core---"
"Is something that is passed on like a mantle to a mortal who is a close enough sacrifice for you to re-overtake with said mantle by imbuong your consciousness into the 'godly power' CURSE. You weirdo, you're wearing, like 192 people right now."
"Shut up!" Zeus raged and camerunning at him, gathering crackling electricity on one hand, charging a Thiderbolt Blade on the other.
Lucifer kept his calm and decided /screw it!/ and let his core take in magic like the mortals did, gently, so as not to draw much, and blasted Zeus with an arc of lightning so quick and so stunningly, he accidentally missed his belly and shot him in his right nut.
"AIIIIAHHHHHHHAIAIAIAIHAHHHHGGGGAHHHGGGAHHHHHAIIIIIIIIIIIIHHHHHHJJHHHHAGHHHGAH!" Came the immediate cries of sorrow, pain, loss, suffering, and wails for revenge.
Luvifer panicked. He ran. He went to the office. He removed his Halo, it felt like cutting off part of his body, bit he did it. He was no longer Holy. He was Free. Freewill, and arcane senses alike began pouring into him. He decided he was taking a vacation. He picked a dimension, went there, and chose a small portion of history to hide in for now.
|
ShikakuZetsumei
|
Iamnoobmeme
|
2024-08-14 03:04:35
|
2024-08-14 02:11:57
| 52 | 18 |
li0l1md
|
li0d3ho
|
1erm8zi
|
1erm8zi
|
[WP] You are one of the few people in the world who has powers. You have the ability to literally slap the stupid out of someone. You are desperately trying to break into the Whitehouse to stop the president from starting a new prohibition era.
|
When I was 20, I discovered that I had a super power. Took that long to work it out, because it was just *weird*. When I slapped people, they changed their mind on the horrible ideas they had about things. I know, I know, doesn't make sense. Why do you think it took so long for me to figure it out? I wasn't too violent growing up, so that didn't help things either.
It took an excessively heated argument with one of my neighbours to figure it out. I thought Black people moving into our neighbourhood was fine, they didn't, and after about two hours of screaming at each other I slapped him across the face. Wasn't too proud of it in the moment, but it worked and he stopped being racist. If you first met him after that day, you wouldn't even *know* that he cheered at the news of Malcolm X's assassination. I didn't until he told me, and I *knew* him to be a racist nutjob.
After some really awkward debates – some of which I ended up convincing my interlocutor, others ending with me having some self-reflection, most ending with more shouting – I was eventually able to work out what it was exactly. I wasn't suddenly an amazing debater who could convince people not to be racist. I just could slap people out of racism, which makes even less sense. Would've been fun to learn about when I was a teenager though. It'd have saved me a lot of bullshit. Violence does pay, clearly!
Violence paying aside, that brings us to today. America was falling apart, and the President was going to make things worse. He was moving towards making America fall into Prohibition 2.0 to solve "problems" in our country. Didn't they see what happened the *last* time we tried to ban controlled substances? It caused organised crime to rise and didn't even control alcohol use! I couldn't let that happen.
To cut a long story short, I slapped the President. It took some sweet talking and me joining the press team of a famous journalist (helps when said journalist is a family friend), but I was able to get up to him a few weeks ago and slapped him across the face. Fortunately for me, this was during a private interview and I was able to convince the President to let me off with a warning. Hey, letting me off was clearly the right thing to do in the situation. If it was a bad idea, the President would've been smarter than to do it!
And today the President was going to give a speech on his plans. I couldn't wait to see
I curl up in front of my television and watch the President start his speech.
He started with some politics bullshit about how he met with bipartisan leaders, but fortunately that part was short so he got to the point. Unfortunately, that point was that America's "public enemy number one" was drug abuse. The plan was going ahead. I had failed. But how? This plan was a horrible idea, and any sane person would see that. But then I realised.
I thought Richard Nixon was stupid. But he wasn't, and clearly still isn't. And a smart President was going to knowingly set America down the same path as Prohibition. But why would he do that? Why would anyone do that?
That thought stayed in my mind as President Nixon continued on some bullshit about the inner minutae of his plan that would ruin thousands upon thousands of lives. Why?
|
Wow, what a beautiful day it is in Washington DC. What could possibly happen today? If given the ability to slap anyone, knowing the rarity of the ability, I would seize it with responsibility, as with great power comes great responsibility. Hearing the news of the absurdity of prohibition, I decided it was time to slap the stupid out of the president. Breathing in the air, my heart shook crazily as if I were a gazelle chased by a cheetah. I walked towards the White House, with a plethora of thoughts fluttering my mind. Upon arrival, I heard a thump and someone asking, "Who is this?"
Seeing the president, my hand inched towards his face. I thought about the consequences and what the president had done for us. In the end, I decided to go through with it and slapped the stupid out of his head. The president trembled and remarked, "Wow, what a courageous act!" Instead of calling in security, he said, "You have one minute to say what you've got." I thanked him for giving me an opportunity to demonstrate the outlandish idea he had about prohibition. I continued by stating that although there had been a significant number of deaths due to prohibition, this didn't mean an outright ban was necessary. Many other confounding factors, such as the environment and the type of person, needed to be considered. I stood there in support of prohibition. The president was perplexed, but he thought for a bit and said, "I will give your idea some consideration."
|
Thisnameistrashy
|
adjammas48
|
2023-02-26 20:02:30
|
2023-02-26 18:33:49
| 57 | 14 |
ja4iquo
|
ja45bfy
|
11cjeo9
|
11cjeo9
|
[WP] You are a bartender in a fantasy tavern. Different races have vastly different tolerances for alcohol, so you need to make your drinks have different potencies depending on who you are serving. You just unknowingly served a shot meant for an orc to a changeling disguised as an orc.
|
I love my job.
Besides the fact that I love people, being a bartender has its perks.
Like getting to know so many different races, places, and stories...for free.
One thing that's a bit hard, and proves to be a great filter for becoming a licensed bartender is drink potency.
After all, a dwarf and half-ling, a dragon and a human, will have greatly differing tolerance to alcohol.
That's why we have a sign out there: "Don't pretend to be someone you are not.", customers think it's something deep, but we just want to avoid drunken rages or outright deaths.
Now, I just served a shot of cocktail made from Elven Dew and Cockatrice Tears for an orc.
Elven Dew is extremely smooth, and soothing, but hits with a delayed effect, while Cockatrice Tears hit like a train, and burn like the sun.
Orcs love it because it causes a feeling similar to their Berserk Rush.
I watched as this orc fella smilingly took the drink...and then collapsed.
Eyes rolled back, mouth frothing...
I stare incredulously, but soon it makes sense, as the orc slowly transforms into an androgynous humanoid.
It's a changeling.
Sighing, I asked one of my regulars, an elf to help me lift the changeling, as I crafted the ultimate detoxifier: goblin piss, troll sweat and Arachne venom, alongside dwarven wine.
Just a drop of it entered the changeling's mouth, and they stopped moving...
Then they started to sweat, and soil themselves, as the alcohol left their system.
I cast a cleansing spell, again and again, as the regulars and other customers just laughed.
After seeing that the changeling was alright, I went back to taking orders.
It woke up after a few hours on the floor.
Groaning, the changeling stood up, and froze when they saw how everyone was staring at them.
Looking down, they saw their true form, and they instantly transformed into an elven beauty.
"What guys? You like what you see?", she said.
The others snorted, and turned away.
She giggled, and sat down in front of the bar.
"So...what do I owe you?", she asked, trying to push her breast even higher up.
I sighed...why do changelings always resort to such cheesy seduction?
I threw a towel at her.
"In this form or another mate, I don't care, but you are to work here for 2 weeks.", I said.
Before she could say anything, she looked behind me, where there was an obvious sign: "If you pass out, and we bring you back, you have to work for us.".
She smiled, and her "elven" dress, changed into a waitress uniform.
"Thanks for saving me.", she said.
"Nothing to thank, I just saved a dumbass who knows nothing about alcohol.", I said, pouring a strong beer for a half-giant...
|
"What do you not check IDs here?" The conciliator spat. "This is looking like a class L felony and with everything else you have going on? You'll be lucky if all you lose is your license." The small humming stones that had been flashing along your keys finally slowed and the sudden silence collapsed whatever illusions you had about this night ending.
The changeling had died at the bar in front of you with blood gurgling out of it's throat. The heavy salts and metals, an essential to orcish drink, would have seared any of the fae. So for one of the auf, so brittle and shifting, to arrive at your bar formed as an orc? It was a death wish.
Besides, how in the night could anyone expect you to read through an auf's forming? Something was wrong here and this conciliator was part of it.
|
TheWanderingBook
|
Much_Board2710
|
2024-08-16 03:32:27
|
2024-08-15 23:52:22
| 19 | 11 |
miqur93
|
libq54v
|
1jffhdm
|
1et4ctg
|
[WP] Every human the dragon of the forest has interacted with has tried to kill it for one reason or another. So it has no idea what to do when a child walks up to it asks if it wants to play.
|
The dragon's eyes lingered on the diminutive form of the child, gazing down from its perch upon one of the limbs of the tallest tree of the forest, the life essence from which its scaly guardian drew forth from. Though smaller than the legendary brethren from the mountains and oceans, those same legends created fear and paranoia among the humans, which lead them often to seek to slay the creature that invaded "their" neighboring forest.
Yet here stood an innocent, younger than any who had ventured forth, almost basking in the folly of youth. It would almost make the creature chuckle, if it weren't still wary from three prior attempts on its life within the month. "...Play, hmm. Perchance you wish to act out some heroic fantasy? The great young hero to lift his sword and strike down the loathsome beast that threatens your homeland?" The dryness within every hiss of their words would have been palpable to anyone with an ounce of scrutiny...but the young lad only tilted his head in what was clearly confusion.
"Umm...no, I don't like swords. Daddy got hurt once 'cause of one." The child's spirits seemed to dampen quite a lot from that, leaving the dragon to ponder in silence, before quietly clambering down to a lower limb to look at the child further and distract them from somber thoughts. Childhood was no time to be dwelling on the issues of maturity. Too fleeting, especially for a race so short-lived.
"Then what is it that you wish to 'play,' child? I'm not well-versed in what amuses your kind." Why they entertained the notion of interacting further with the child was something even they were unsure of; perhaps it was just the novelty of seeing a human that wasn't poised to stab them or hurl an arrow into their eyes.
"How about hide-and-seek?" the young one chirped instantly, somber thoughts forgotten in a wash of excitement.
"Hrmm..." A claw reached to scratch at a scaled chin. "A test of stealth versus scrutiny, is it?" How farcical: the child could hardly be versed well in the layout of the forest, not compared to a being that had lived there for tenfold as many years as they had been around. Neither "hiding" nor "seeking" would prove even remotely challenging for the dragon.
....Still, once more they felt no reason to sully the young one's innocent little indulgence, at least for a moment. "Very well, little one, if you're so inclined."
"Great! I'll close my eyes and count, and you hide then! I bet I'll find you in no time." From curiosity to sullenness to exuberance and confidence in such a short span of time...truly, youth was a magic all its own.
"I will be very impressed if you do, child."
As the child began to count, the dragon contemplated their remark about finding them quickly. Leaping into the underbrush and hiding themselves within foliage, letting their scales shift color to match, they found themselves smiling in spite of the ludicrous situation.
...perhaps they could stand to let their scales be just a bit too light a shade to match their surroundings.
|
I stared down at the small creature, it held a little ball and babbled incoherently; all the others had been mush larger with sharp sticks, wearing shiny metal, and much more aggressive. This one? This was puny and unarmed, it turned to me and tossed the ball at my talons and babbled something, I'd never understood human tounge well, so I wasn't sure what this tiny fleshing wanted, I gently flicked the ball towards it, and it giggled gleefully, rolling it back towards me. I stared in awe, the tiny fleshing was still here, and it wanted to play a game.
We pushed the ball back and forth a few times, and then the small fleshing yawned and came over to me, resting its tiny body on my claws, I shifted my claw so it could rest in the palm of my claw, and it snuggled on close, gently breathing. I very carefully and slowly took the tiny fleshing into my cave and made a small bed with what little soft goods I'd gathered, it was mostly made of leaves and branches, but I truly hoped it was comfortable. I put the tiny creature into the bed and it continued resting, I decided to protect it as if it were my own, even if we couldn't understand each other.
|
None
|
Cutecake141
|
2023-10-14 04:31:18
|
2023-10-14 03:58:05
| 167 | 25 |
k4sxyys
|
k4sumxh
|
177g0xj
|
177g0xj
|
[WP] when you were 16 years old, in the late 18th century, you contracted a severe case of yellow fever. When you got the fever, your family sealed you in their family mausoleum for centuries. Unfortunately, this was the moment you found out you were immortal…
|
So, turns out I am *in* fact a super.
Which I've never, ever wanted at *all*.
I only find this out because my *half*-siblings followed me home.
Then as I'm about to walk up the pathway to my home, I turn on heel and stare them down.
Mom didn't raise me to be weak.
"What?" I ask the tallest of the group--she looks familiar.
They all do, actually.
All three of them sigh.
I raise an eyebrow.
They weren't sneaky *at* all.
"Wanna--?"
But my words get cut off as one of them *rushes* me.
He's moving too fast.
He's got to be a super, oh no.
Before I can even turn, the guy has a hand around my arm, holding me there.
"Don't run, we just want to--."
His head blurs to the side as I try to punch him.
"Hey!"
"Article 10, subsection 6, Empowered Citizens cannot not, under any reason, attack Non-empowered Citizens," I yell at him as I try to break out of his grip, but every time I manage to shake off his arm, its back.
Super speed sucks.
He looks at me confused, "Are you *reciting* the law to me?"
The tall one of the group rolls her eyes while the other guy walks up to where me and the speedster are.
Then the other guy grabs my arm and I know there is no letting go.
It's like steel wraps around my arm.
Super *strength*?
... But he isn't hurting me...
I look him over, my mind racing--my brain pushing into overdrive.
They aren't hurting me, evident of how speedy over here didn't just knock me out.
Brawn isn't crushing my arm, so they aren't villains...
Heroes?
No, that's ridiculous.
But my subconscious mind is racing through thoughts, taking all that input data from my senses.
Trio.
Teenagers.
Two physically enhanced empowered.
Strength.
Speed.
Two males, one female.
She's got to be the leader...
Wasn't there a new teenager-only team that was recently announced?
And it hits me.
Kid Juggernaut.
Speed Trap.
Supernova.
"Team Teen," I blurt out as a question.
Why would Team Teen want *me*?
Supernova's gaze narrows on me. Then she speaks.
"Impressive. Must be a cognitive enhancement."
Speed Trap rolls his eyes again.
"You know, the whole reciting the law thing works only if it's true."
"Huh?" What does he mean by that?
But my subconscious was already doing the work, making the connections way faster than it had any right to do.
But the realization that I'm a super doesn't hit me till later.
Because suddenly the front door to my home slams open, then mom's rushing out, all frantic and panic.
She holds up her hand and both Kid Juggernaut and Speed Trap's hands open up, their arms wrenching away from mine.
*What?*
*Whoosh!*
Speed Trap and Kid Juggernashe's frantic and I'm scared, but she's holding out a hand and Speed Trap is just sprinting in the air, Kid Juggernaut is stuck too, and so is little miss Supernova's flames. When had that happened?
"Mom?"
"*Violet*," she says, her voice straining. "Get in here *now*."
I listen, sprinting inside.
My mom follows behind, the door slams shut. She didn't touch it.
Huh.
Mom's a telekinetic.
She speaks, sounding exhausted. "Basement. Go. Now. I can't hold them forever."
I listen, but my mind is whirring way faster than it's ever done before.
She held down all three of those supers.
No one should be able to *do* that other than--.
"You're Madame Mind," I say/ask as mom tries her best to move quickly; guess she's not used to using her powers because Madame Mind could rip *skyscrapers* out of the ground.
"*Yes*," she says through clenched teeth as we reach the basement.
She continues talking as we reach the far brick wall.
"Well. I *was*. Gave it up years ago."
We reach the wall and her hands go up, fingers now tapping red bricks.
My mind races.
My mother was one of the greatest supervillains of our time?
And my dad is one of the greatest super*heroes*?
Mom stops tapping the bricks. There's a shudder, and now the wall is opening.
There's a door frame with no door.
Then mom flips a switch, and all the lights go out.
The door frame lights up as brilliant as the sun, hurting my eyes.
A portal swirls inside the frame.
Mom turns to me, reaching out.
"Come on, Violet, let's go."
I hesitate, then I join her. I trust my mom. "Where are we going?"
My mother, for the first time that I can remember, grimaces.
"To see your grandfather," she says as we step through the portal.
The world disappears for a moment until everything snaps back into place, my vision back in technicolor.
And that's when I discover I'm in a room filled with villains.
My heart stops as they all stare at us, but then one of the oldest of them grins and then laughs.
"Finally brought her, huh?"
Turns out, my grandpa is the world's most wanted villain.
And my mother is the second most wanted villain...
And to top it all off, turns out my dad is one of the greatest superheroes alive.
The *heroes* I just ran away from?
That's my family.
Half-siblings.
*Great.*
|
Another day of school finally came to an end as I hurried to the parking lot, eager to get home. As I step inside the house, I finally notice them. There they were, six teenagers who looked vaguely familiar, all hanging out in my living room, as if though they always lived here. "What the hell?" Was all I could say, who were these people, why were they here? At my exclamation, they all turned towards me. A girl with long blue hair and green eyes stands up and smiles, "Alex Williams? Nice to meet you, I'm Terry Lake." The other kids introduced themselves as well. Another girl with long auburn smiles, "I'm Anna Lake." Two boys who seemed pretty identical, except for the hair color, one the color of ice the other of flames, both smiled. "I'm Adam and this idiot is my twin Micheal," the one with ice blue hair says with a nod. Another boy with jet black hair waves, "Sup, I'm Sean." The final girl waves, her hair the color of cotton candy, "Hello, I'm Holly." I stared at them, "Why are you guys in my house?" Terry sighs and clears her throat, "To be honest, we're all siblings, and we came here to see you." "Me? Why? Who are you people?" Holly smiles, "Well, to be honest, our parents are Starlight and Heavy Step."
My eyes went wide with that statement, "Starlight and Heavy Step, as in the famous superheroes?" Terry nods, "Yes, all of us are, anyways as to why we're here. It's about your parents." I stared at her, "My parents? My mom's in the hospital undergoing chemo at the moment, sorry." They all fell silent and Terry shifted uncomfortably, she seemed to be the leader here, or maybe just the oldest. "I'm so sorry. Um, to be honest, we meant your dad." I scoffed at that, "My father? That jerk left my mom when she was pregnant. I don't even know if he's alive." The siblings looked at each other again. "What are you guys looking at each other for? Wait," My brain suddenly seemed to go a certain direction, "Don't tell me. I'm guessing that you're all here because my deadbeat father is Heavy Step, and we're half-siblings." Terry nods awkwardly, "Yup, nice to meet you sis."
Well, that's a lot of baggage to unpack. I just sighed, "Alright, everyone make yourself at home, I'm guessing we have stuff to talk about." I finally set my bag down and sat down on the couch, and the Lake siblings all stared at me. "Well," Anna says with a smile, "Nice to know we girls now outnumber the boys." The twins glared at her and Sean scoffed, "Please, we can still take you all on any day of the week." "Slow down a minute," Adam says as he rolls his eyes, "Give her a minute to process everything." I just shake my head at them. "Look, I think you guys must've made some sort of mistake." Michael shakes his head, "Nope, Holly says we share similar auras." Holly nods, "Yup, the auras between siblings may differ, but they do share similarities." I sighed, "Alright, well why exactly are you guys here? Just to meet your long lost half-sister?" Michael laughs, "Good one sis! Yes but no. We need your help."
|
Zerodaylight-1
|
K-popHarryPotterLuvr
|
2024-08-04 02:26:26
|
2024-08-04 00:33:43
| 48 | 21 |
lge86la
|
lgdrrf0
|
1ejdwqr
|
1ejdwqr
|
[WP] Lilith has been summoned by many in the past. Women who want babies, Men who want riches and fame. But never a child. Looking through the child's memories, it's clear to see why he summoned the mother of demons
|
Lilith could smell the room into which she had been summoned before she could see it. It stank: of cat urine, of spilled beer, of cold, stale cigarette ash. She blinked the afterimages from the lake of fire from her sight and shifted her weight, looking around to see what fraternity basement or divorcée trailer she had been called to.
It was an empty room. No: too small, too windowless. An empty closet.
She blinked. Not quite empty. There was something on the walls. Stickers, a whole constellation of them, all clustered in a corner near a pile of laundry, no more than two feet from the floor. Half of them looked like stickers pulled from produce: oranges, bananas, whatever wasn't too pulped to give out at the community pantry. *Dole*. *Chiquita*.
The pile of laundry moved.
It was a child.
No, *children*. Two of them, very small, both girls, eyes huge and fearful, hair an unkempt snarl. One of them scratched idly at her scalp even as she stared. Lice. They both had lice. A new smell wafter over: soiled diapers, long since needing to be changed.
There was a noise from behind. Lilith turned.
A boy stood there, no more than eight, looking stunned. He held a black candle clutched to his chest, all but depleted, a *Nuestra Señora de la Santa Muerte* dollar-store special. His chapped lips were faintly parted as he beheld his summoning; small, for a demon, usually smaller than what they were expecting, but still taller than he. Naked. Voluptuous. Glowing like a banked fire.
"Why have you summoned me?"
Her voice was like the amber that trapped insects in the Beginning, back when it was still soft and seeped from the trees, before it became hard.
The boy cared nothing for her nudity, the sticky curves of her voice. He gestured at the floor with a shaking hand. "They need to be punished."
He did not gesture at the girls. He gestured beneath them, down, through the floor. Lilith could hear it now: the buzzing pulse of music too loud for the speakers. Adult voices raised in laughter or in anger, voices too low and lost to care. Voices asking for the lighter. Voices asking for the foil. She could smell that, now, too. Her nostrils flared with its sweet, acrid reek.
"Yes," Lilith agreed softly. "They do."
First, she changed the girls' diapers. She soothed the angry, weeping sores of their long-untreated rashes. She combed their hair, plaited it, cleansed it of lice. She turned to the boy then, and gave him what she had given so many, but this time, it was different. He took the money and stuffed it into his shirt. Lilith nodded, and held out her hand. He took it and shook it solemnly. He would use it well.
The closet doorknob was locked, but it melted at her touch. She gazed down the filthy stairwell, into the smoky light.
She spread her wings. They were made of fire.
|
Suddenly, a short but fat man entered the room with a beer can in his hand, clearly drunk.
"Come here, Otto." He said gesturing to the 4 year old boy in front of me.
He then saw me.
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU?! Get out of my house RIGHT NOW! Otto, come here, quick!
The child ran to me and grabbed my dress. He was so afraid of the man in front of him that he found more comfort in a literal demon. I wondered, Who was the real demon in that room? Me or the man?
"What you did to this child is unforgivable. Your pure existence is making me want to puke."
"You"
"Deserve"
"To"
"Die"
"Oh, shut the hell up! You can't do anything to stop me."
"Oh, yes I can!"
I sent the sinner to the darkest pit of hell so he can suffer for everything that he's ever done to this kid and maybe others.
"Oh, your poor soul... You didn't deserve this..."
I wiped all of the memories of that monster from his head and put him in the hands of a good family so that he can be loved unconditionally.
(Sorry for any mistakes English is my second language)
|
CharlotteIdyllwild
|
None
|
2024-08-09 03:39:00
|
2024-08-08 20:06:10
| 167 | 83 |
lh7zxy5
|
lh5wle2
|
1enf82c
|
1enf82c
|
[WP] You died and were sent to hell, but instead of getting escorted down to a specific level of hell, you're escorted straight to the Devil himself who looks mildly horrified while holding the file of your life in his hands.
|
'I am about to meet Lucifer. Satan. The Devil.'
Those words resounded in my head as I was led down the hotel hallway dressed in my birthday - and deathday - suit. The only thing I had on me was the belt still hanging around my neck.
Two guards flanked me on either side, humanoid creatures dressed in suits and carrying diamond-studded whips. I'd stolen a glance at them earlier and was met with the sight of goat heads. They'd snorted smoke from their noses, an unspoken warning to keep my eyes to myself or risk losing them.
We arrived at a door marked '666'. One of the guards knocked. Despite the blistering hot air, chills ran over me. My heart pounded like it threatened to leap out of my chest.
'I am about to meet Lucifer. Satan. The Devil.'
"Come in," a gruff voice called from inside the room.
The door swung open. I closed my eyes, shaking feverishly. 'I am about to meet Lucifer. Satan. The-'
I fell onto the room's carpet, shoved by one of the guards. They roughly hoisted me up as my eyes opened and saw...
...the most ordinary-looking man I had ever seen, seated behind a desk.
It's hard to describe him. He just looked like... a person. Someone you would pay no notice to if you passed them on the street, or saw them working at an office.
He stared at me with wide eyes. I stared back.
A few seconds later, I blurted out, "That's it?"
"What-" He cleared his throat, dropping the file he'd been holding. "What do you mean by that?"
"I just thought you'll be more..." I glanced over him, grimacing, "...impressive."
"Impressive?" He slammed his hands on his desk, standing up. "Would you rather I looked like this?"
He transformed into the most terrifying beast... no, beasts can only wish to look that scary. Compared to him, the goat-headed guards look like cute puppies.
My heart began pounding again. Tingles ran across my body as it grew warmer. My vocal cords tied themselves. 'Yes, I am truly in the presence of Lucifer. Satan. The Devil!'
I couldn't contain my excitement any longer.
The beast glanced down between my legs. It disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a disgusted man. "Eww!"
I followed his train of sight, then grinned sheepishly. "Oh... I guess that still works."
With a snap of his fingers, the devil had me in a robe. Fitting attire for the bedroom we were in...
He picked up the file he'd dropped earlier, his expression still disgusted. "Your file doesn't do you justice; you are truly one of the most depraved individuals I've had come in here."
"Worse than Hitler?" I asked.
"I haven't decided on that."
"I didn't commit mass genocide during my lifetime. I never even got so much as a ticket."
"Let's see what you did then, shall we? Asides from your... sex life." Shuddering, the devil opened my file and cleared his throat. "It says here that you waited until you turned 66, then you went to church for 666 days wearing a cross upside down and praying that you end up down here."
"I would have waited till I turned 666, but that wasn't an option. And it wasn't exactly praying-"
"Oh, I know. You called the big guy a pussy and threatened to, and I quote, 'take the biggest dump on your throne if you ever let me see the pearly gates'".
I snickered.
The devil's eyes flashed to mine, darkening to black holes. 'You think this is funny? Do you have any idea where you are?"
I nodded.
"And you know what I am?"
I nodded.
"And you know what's going to happen to you?"
I looked at the bed, the guards' whips, then back at him. "I can hazard a guess." With shaky hands, I began taking off my robe.
"What - Jesus!" His eyes faded to boring normal as his look of disgust returned. "Guards, get them out of my sight!"
|
The devil himself knows that the pages in your files are written by those who were recognized as the winners.
As the matches were struck, each file, each word on each page was written at the behest of another.
Living in a world filled with good doing bad against good and with bad being kind to good, is not something that could rouse a casual care, not here.
When the good use their influence to create discord for you, others believe.
When the evil spend their moments protecting someone who they recognize as good, others take that to mean you are also bad.
You are here now. So it’s clear that the real details, what really happened, isn’t of note or record.
That means the score is settled so far as he sees it.
His walk echos beyond that of a vibration. It shakes your soul, giving you vertigo.
Your instinct is to run.
There is no where to run to.
‘Welcome, dinner will be served by lava light, we have some things to discuss, follow me’.
We walk into a flat black dining arena. My footsteps sound as if there are many of me walking in.
‘Sit’ he says. He looks like a very handsome man. The light from the lava flickers and for a mini-sec I see his shadow. It is not of a man.
I sit.
Without a word my favourite foods and drinks
appear on the table.
‘You must wonder why’.
I look at him, with a puzzled look, there are so many reasons to wonder why.
What could he be talking about specifically that has him taking me to dinner on my first entrance to hell.
‘ The one’s who’s care you were placed in from birth, mom and dad’.
He stopped, and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his maroon silk shirt. His tan was immaculate. His green eyes flashed a tiny flame.
I nod, quite unsure of where he is going with this.
‘They were my finest work’.
‘All for the goal of having you brought here, my plan worked perfectly’.
|
JohnStoneTypes
|
Takeyouonajourney9
|
2023-01-16 06:39:42
|
2023-01-16 05:08:03
| 82 | 47 |
j4k1gtb
|
j4jse1u
|
10d2vy0
|
10d2vy0
|
[WP]The Wishmaker's Key. It's like the Monkey's Paw, but instead of just flat out granting your wish (and doing it in the worst way possible), it only opens up the most reasonable opportunity to get what you wished for.
|
There were a lot of rumoured ways to have your wildest dreams, all with just enough truth to them to spark hope in the lost. Wishing stars asked for nothing but a keen eye and pure heart. Genies needed nothing more than careful wording. Birthdays offered everyone the same opportunity every year.
Whispered wished offered to those methods were wasted on the wind. In the end there was only one method that I'd found in years of study that seemed to be true, seemed to be something that people like me could verify.
A wishmakers key.
I didn't know where they came from, or where they went once they'd been used, but Wishmaker's keys offered the simple promise, they would make anything *possible.* The keys could wrestle the laws of the universe and force them into a place where the user could grant their wish for themsleves.
Of course, in most cases, this meant the Wishmaker's keys faded away without having done much at all. Fairytales might have belabored the point, but it was true that most people's wishes were already within their reach.
You wouldn't even know if you wasted your wish, because you could, eventually, make it.
The rusted but somehow still glittering key on my desk tempted its spot in the lamplight. It whispered things, promised solutions to problems I didn't have, offered to make my dreams come true, even as the dreams that idly came to mind were things I could easily manage without the assistance of the key.
I didn't need a magical artifact to make me tea, all I had to do was walk downstairs to do it.
But the whispers didn't stop.
I made a quick note in my journal about the behaviour and took a look at my phone on the desk. It was well past the witching hour and I didn't have anything other than idle observations about the key I'd gotten my hands on this afternoon.
Well, the key I'd made myself destitute over this afternoon. They might have only been a way to unlock the doors of life, but keys certainly carried the price tag of catch-all solution to your every whim.
Of course, the key could help me get money. It could ensure that I didn't need to worry about that ever again. It could-
I shook my head and stared down the key, pushing the affected thoughts out of my mind. "Why do you want to be used?" I asked the antique brass.
All I needed to do was ask it formally and I could be sure that I would eventually get the answer...
I grabbed the key and put it back into the box that I'd bought it in, securing a key behind a lock. I was too tired to have something else trying to convince me of a solution. I needed sleep, and I certainly didn't need it to tell me how to get that.
\---
I woke up closer to morning than the middle of the night, whcih wasn't hard considering that was when I'd gone to sleep. Dawn was just getting around to arriving as I sat up in the bed and stared over at my desk, and the lockbox on it.
Inspiration stuck at strange times, but usually I was at least awake for it.
I slipped over to the desk, putting on a housecoat on the way to make an attempt at modesty. Once I was sitting down I found a hairtie I'd left out last night and pulled my tangled hair our of my eyes.
Years had bled away as I'd burned the university's grant money on wish research. It had always been an easy topic to get funding for, afterall, everyone wanted to know what they could do to wish the worst parts of their life away.
I pulled the key out of the box and sat in the middle of the desk this time, leaving it between my and my well-worn sage notebook. I drummed fingers on the desk, and waited for it to talk to me.
For the first time since I'd gotten it, the key stayed quiet, waiting for me to speak to it instead of offering it's constant opinion on how useful it was.
The last thirty pages of notes from last night were a slow read, a mostly rambling mess that had come from the frantic idea that I'd finally found something that wasn't a placebo, but-
I flipped past the last notes I'd made to the first blank page and put pen to paper. Just when I was about to write I pulled back from it, leaving an ink stain on the page.
The key looked dull now, even in the waking light of dawn.
"Just another wishing star," I sighed to the key. That was the philosophy of the Wishmaker, it opened doors, but as it stood anything was already possible. It didn't matter what wish I offered the key, becuase even the impossible was possible if there was an artifact out there that could grant wishes, "isn't that right?"
The key itself didn't have a voice, it had always stolen mine by putting words into my head. That said, even voiceless, it laughed.
|
**The Wishmaker’s Key**
*A trio of disturbing tales that hold a mirror up to your innermost fears, and that shine light on the bleakness of the human condition. Join us today for the first of these horrific stories, starring Richard Bankins, a milquetoast layabout who wishes to change his ways. A chance encounter with a mysterious stranger might just give him the supernatural impetus to do so.*
*Everyone has a story hidden behind the locked door of their soul. A door that can only be unlocked by…* ***The Wishmaker’s key!***
​
**The Internet Falls**
The internet was down.
The fucking internet was down!
Richard wiped sweat off his forehead as his eyes flicked between the red light on the router and the Netflix error message. He shovelled in a few more Doritos for a dusting of courage. The new episode of Picard would be out by now — and yes, true, he despised the show and believed it ruined the legacy of a something he was too young to have ever watched, but still! He loved to hate it, and that meant something.
And now… Now no Picard. What a cruel twist of fate. What had he done to deserve this?
The key! Of course, it had to be the key the old hobo had given him yesterday. Richard had flicked the scraggly bearded man a dime as he’d left Walmart. The man caught the coin in a dirty palm and rose from his nest of threadbare blankets as if Richard had charmed some kind of human looking snake.
“Many thanks, friend, for the cents. Now let me do you a favor in return.”
Richard thought the flash of silver to be a gun and had raised his hands, squirmed, begged for his life. But it was a key! A key as large as a good-sized child’s hand.
“Make a wish on this key and there’s a decent chance it’ll come true.”
”You’re kidding?”
”I kid you not.”
Richard had taken the key, partly out of fear, mostly out of curiosity. And later that evening, after binging The Last of Us for a third time and declaring on IMDB that it was overrated *and* overhyped, he made his wish.
“I wish I wasn’t so lazy and so addicted to the net. I want to go out and meet people. I want a real relationship, be it friendship or love. But I’m a compass pointing towards the magnetic north of the internet and I just can’t look away.”
Now, as Richard stared at the red light of the router, he thought of the key and knew his wish had been granted.
He was free. Totally free of it! Like a genie who had wished itself out of bottle it’d fallen inside of and then corked up. Free!
The world was his oyster.
Where would he go first though? The gym? The park? A walk in the woods? A nice soak at a hot spa perhaps?
A hot spa…
A hotspot?
He pulled out his phone and quickly, dextrously, set up a network.
Soon Picard was dottering through space and Richard was typing up his comments for Reddit.
|
Writteninsanity
|
Rupertfroggington
|
2023-03-15 15:54:16
|
2023-03-15 15:23:26
| 94 | 68 |
jcb2xg9
|
jcay12x
|
11rvdum
|
11rvdum
|
[WP] "Dragon, I've come to slay you!" Confused, you look at the unarmored child pointing a wooden sword at you.
|
It was odd. No one had come to speak with me in 30 years, and now there was a small elf child pointing a sword at me. He was grinning ear to ear and clearly playing.
I lowered my huge head to make eye contact, "Hello, little one. How did you come here?"
The child pointed at the entrance, "I followed the melted snow! Just like Grandfather taught me!"
*"What? His grandfather? And what an odd thing to teach a child. Running towards a dragon and not away from it."*
"Where is your grandfather?"
The child's face fell, and he looked at the rocks below him, "He died last winter. Mama said he was sick."
*"Interesting.*"
"Why did you come here? Most dragons are not very nice. They would gobble up a little morsel like you."
He giggled and ran to hug my snout, "But you wouldn't! You're Vetherax! You were my grandfather's friend!"
That caught my attention, "Who was your grandfather, little morsel?"
"He was a great mage! Helieris!"
Helieris. How long had it been since I'd heard his name?
The elven mage that had traveled with that adventurers party so long ago. The one that had come with stag and coin to ask for shelter during a blizzard. He and his fellows stayed in this cavern for a week as the blizzard raged outside. They'd been polite houseguests, cleaning up after themselves and offering services in exchange for my hospitality.
It had been so nice to not be lonely, I enjoyed their company. When it came time for them to move on, I extended an invitation to them. They were free to visit whenever they liked. They visited often. Every time they passed through the mountain pass, they would at the very least stop to say hello. Eventually, the visits stopped, and I assumed they'd fallen.
It seems they'd retired instead. But why was this descendant of my old friend so far from the elven kingdoms?
"You must be very fat from home, little one."
"Yeah, Mama and Papa were traveling to Berden to live with my uncle Kord! He offered to let us live with him on his farm after Grandfather died."
"And so I must ask again. Why are you here? Are you lost?"
The child shook his head vehemently, "No! My papa told me to come find you! He woke me up last night and told me to come find your cave to play some games!"
*"Oh no."*
I stand and stretch my old muscles, "And play we shall. But first I'm going to go hunting and get us some lunch. You go take a nice nap. Stay in the cave, I'll be back soon."
"Okay, Uncle Vetherax!"
The child scurried off to a pile of cloth in the corner that I had kept for my old friends. As soon as he was settled, I quietly left my cave and flew. It didn't take long for me to trace his little footsteps back to the decimated carrivan.
Bandits.
His father must have recognized the area, sent his child to me where he knew he would be safe. I descend and observe the carnage, brutal, and unforgiving. I found the man I believe to be the child's father. He was the spitting image of Helieris, and carried the familiar staff.
I carefully plucked the staff from the corpse's hand and took off.
It was easy enough to find the bandits. They didn't exactly hide their trail. Even easier to burn their camp to the ground.
They wouldn't harm another soul on my mountain.
When I returned, the boy was just waking up. He'd begun flipping through a book his grandfather had brought to me long ago. A book of beginner's magic of all things.
Helieris had insisted I'd be grateful one day that I had it. I'd thought the idea absurd, but now...
"What is your name, little morsel?"
"Selir!"
"Well then, Selir, I think we should cook these fish for you. Don't you think?"
Selir beamed, "Yay! I love fish! Are you going to have fish too?"
"No, little morsel. I ate while I was out. This is all for you."
"Uncle Vetherax, tell me a story about grandfather!"
I smiled and laid my head on my claws, "Happily."
|
"Teacher, what have you would for me?"
You lift your mighty head from underneath the cloak you are wearing now. "What?" What the hell kind of question was that? Cale still talked like that for some goddam reason. Sentiment maybe. You flick your green body a few times and get up from your sleep. You weren't doing great these days. The young man in the green armor with the red flume and sword, your knight and heir, is no longer bowing. You were a powerful mage and Dragon Lord and you had taught him well. To defend those like you, those magical beasts and men who were hunted in this plane. He had seen a lot l, and now bore a face scarred diagonally. But to you, he would always be that six year old boy with the wooden sword who blamed you for the death of his parents.
"You aren't getting better. " He says. "Stop worrying, son. It's just a cold." You nearly snarl anlt him. "Dragons don't get colds father." He says unbothered. He's right, but you don't need him or your other three children worrying. Cale would always serve your order faithfully, hut the others,dragons like yourselves, would... thrash in their grief when you died. You remember a dream, a wisp of the future, of your two eldest sons standing at his grave, tearfully blaming eachother for his death. And then more blood flowing. Your daughter... so much like her red mother, turning your forces, your squires against the Cold beings who served the lich who cursed you. The ones who had no choice in the matter who would be slaughtered without mercy. No, you couldn't let that come to be. You'd have to rectify it yourself. Of course, you had other visions of different lives, you always had. You just had to make sure it would come to be. And you knew that when he leaves to do as you tell him, you will fight and slay the undead abomination that you've quarreled with, so, so many times, and free his slaves from their frozen agony. And you will give your children and followers one final feat they may look up to.
|
BoneYardBirdy
|
Flywheel977
|
2025-02-14 18:43:57
|
2025-02-14 16:38:20
| 128 | 10 |
mcrvlzy
|
mcr5us3
|
1ipa2px
|
1ipa2px
|
[WP] You are an eldritch god living in a mortal body. However, you and a friend got mugged, and now they want to know why your blood is black and how you could just walk off being stabbed in the throat.
|
That bastard cut my throat. Morak-Arrkh had slept deep inside the void that kept him imprisoned for over a millennia. Only to be awoken by a pair of thugs brandishing a knife and threatening to cut his throat. And they did. He couldn’t believe any human would be suicidal enough to attack an Eldritch god, one of death and destruction that would reap a punishment tenfold.
Morak-Arrkh looked down and saw that he wasn’t a towering, tentacled creature with a thousand lidless eyes. He was a meek human, locked inside a body of flesh and bone. It was all coming back to him now. He felt a flood of memories and a hundred different lives crash like a swelling wave inside his ancient mind. It was more painful than his throat being cut, which didn’t bother him until a torrent of tears and pain and suffering flooded back to him. He was awoken in a time when men still killed one another by sword.
In Ancient Egypt, a foolish necromancer who believed he could use the eldritch god for his own political machinations, had immediately become a pile of salt and ash upon looking into the thousand lidless eyes of Morak-Arrkh. From there, he became the center of a hundred cults over many generations, bidding his time until he grew bored enough to annihilate mankind and rule the earth. For now, Morak-Arrkh quite enjoyed their company. Over time, mankind grew fat in their pursuits for greed and power and decadent under his influence. He no longer required cults to worship him. They worshipped his unseen influence and committed gross acts without regard for his thirst for blood and death. His children grew up.
Morak-Arrkh spent his golden years as a ruthless banker and stockbroker, he had many friends more greedy and disgusting than the very eldritch gods who once roamed the cosmos before Morak-Arrkh’s supremacy. These men were filthy, power-hungry and cold-hearted. His kind of crowd. One afternoon, he and Martin Harris, a particularly nasty stockbroker who turned pennies into gold like a conman posing as an alchemist in a king’s court, roamed avenues and sidewalks like a pair of kings.
“Your money, give me your money.” A ragged man in black leather demanded cash with a knife waving in Morak-Arrkh’s face. He turned to Martin who decided to book it and run. They grabbed him and stabbed him repeatedly. Then the ragged man turned back to him and demanded his money. Morak-Arrkh smiled back. The ragged man grabbed him, cut deep and slit his throat. His black blood seeped over his crisp suit. He looked back at the ragged man, who pissed himself. His companions strolled over and dropped their knives.
“What the fuck?!” Another ragged man exclaimed.
“You ruined my suit.” Morak-Arrkh replied.
“What are you some kind of vampire?” The ragged man asked.
Morak-Arrkh’s face twisted into a mass of a thousand lidless eyes.
|
It happened a long time ago, when your world was young. You were a gleam in the eye of a protozoa, and I was the darkness across the solar dish.
I fed deep on the thoughts and dreams of disparate stars and planets. I was content, happy as you can understand it.
But I touched the minds of greater beings, older, larger even than I, of other spheres and disks. Cast adrift, usunder, spinning desperate without shape or form until...
This.
By the time I began to shape anew, no longer a gleam, but real things you were, in sheltered places, two foot walking. So my body took to shaping, moulding and...here I stand.
Hideous beast! Wretched thing! How I long for amorphous space!
But I can tolerate this thing holding me tight, keeping me here and bound.
So you notice, not exact same simulacrum, blood of black and wounds so easily brushed aside. I am still the black of space, in this ever turning sphere.
But I am weak, perhaps dying, and if I do, I take you all with me.
|
None
|
Averander
|
2023-08-16 23:23:12
|
2023-08-16 21:24:23
| 27 | 13 |
jwi483b
|
jwhm045
|
15sr3s0
|
15sr3s0
|
[WP] For the last year, you've been enjoying the life of adventure and heroism in a fantasy world that you've always dreamed of. That is, until the healer in your party accidentally removed a perception curse that's been with you since the day of your summoning.
|
When asked to name things they associate with Halflings most people would say “Healthy eater” first and “Good-natured” second. But “Adventurous” wouldn’t be one of those things. That is unless one would be friends with a particular Halfling named Jilly, who was not only an adventurer but also one of the bravest and luckiest fighters. Catherine, a healer and Jilly’s travel companion, would still shake her head when Jilly - again - would storm into a dungeon, without any hint of fear. It had to be that fabled Halfling’s luck that had saved her from death so far, although it would not prevent all kinds of bruises on Jilly. Mending those was Catherine’s job and she loved it. Not only was travelling much more interesting than being back home in City of Kings. She even occasionally uncovered old scripts with healing spells no one could have taught her in Baldur’s Hospital.
But it wasn’t always easy for Catherine to keep up with Jilly’s bravery. Sometimes it felt like the Halfling just wouldn’t see the same reality as her. Monsters didn’t scare her as much, obviously trapped floors were walked by her like normal ones and she didn’t seem to pick up on that shady aura some of their quest givers had. Even now, as they prepared for the night in a particularly gloomy cave with whispering voices in the air, Jilly seemed tired, yet relaxed. After dinner, Catherine was brooding over a script she found earlier with a short but quite complicated spell description. Jilly came over to sit down next to her. “I don’t get how you can study all night after this day. Even after your healing spell, I feel like I was run over by a Chimera.”
“Well, that’s because you WERE run over by one today. How could you not have seen that monster when you entered the crossing…?” When Jilly just shrugged her shoulders tiredly Catherine continued. “Anyway, I’m reading because it is spooky in here and I need to distract myself. Also, this spell is so interesting. I think it can cure any kind of curse but I’m not sure if my pronunciation is correct. Old dwarvish is just so… Whatever. If you want to sleep I will keep watch.”
“I still don’t understand, why you find these caves so ‘spooky’. Also, sleeping sounds great. But if you want to practice that spell on me first, I’m in. Then you can recover your energy over night. Maybe you can lift the curse of tiredness off of me,” Jilly said with a grin.
“Seriously? But unless you are cursed, we wouldn’t know if it worked.”
“Ah, just do it for the fun. Remember the last time a spell went wrong? I really liked that green hair. Too bad I went bald after a day...”
Catherine couldn’t help but join Jilly’s laughter when she remembered the look of her friend without hair. “Alright, turn towards me and try to be quiet for a moment. I have to concentrate.”
Jilly did as she was told although there was still a grin on her face. Catherine raised her hands, covering Jilly’s cheeks and ears with them. Highly focused she spoke the incantation and finished the spell by drawing the holy symbol of her god in the air over the other woman’s head. A warm, yellowish glow sprang from that point and surged into Jilly’s forehead, who gasped and looked at Catherine with wonder in her eyes.
“Wow, that was… Like a warm hug,” she said. “I don’t care if it worked, it was definitely a nice experience and I think I will now…” but Jilly stopped mid-sentence, her expression changing to worried. “Do you hear that?”
“What is it? Are you feeling alright?” Catherine asked, a little alarmed that maybe something went wrong after all.
“I think I hear whispering voices. And then there is this… gloomy atmosphere in here. Do you think it comes from your spell?”
Catherine was baffled for a moment. “It has been this way the whole time we have been in these caves. You just haven’t heard it. Or felt it.”
They looked at each other for a moment. Then Catherine understood. Jilly had been cursed: With bad perception skills.
|
Twas a merry day, and a merrier night
The tavern was lively, the people packed tight
Sarah my healer, my friend, stood stock still
Never afraid, I the hero, gave the crowd their fill
​
The dragon oh mighty, stood not a chance
Though the dragon's flame hungrily licked at my stance
I raised thy blade and held it high
I had no fear as my shield blocked it, and let out a sigh
​
The blade hacked and the blade sawed
The reaper beckoned and the reaper called
Sarah and I, an unbeatable duo,
Nothing can stop us, for I am the hero
​
In the corner, she let out a whisper,
My mind clouded, and I felt great sorrow
My sister, her husband, my friend, and my wife
No more were they with us, no more had they life
​
For when the dragon's lair, entrance did we gain,
My wife died, died screaming in pain,
I looked around at those travelling with me
I valued them more, than some town to be free
​
The town still needed saving, so we came to an agreement
The healer we convinced to curse us, she gave us the treatment
She would go without, she would bear the harrow
The pain she bared, I could see her now, left hollow
​
My singing of the tale, had ceased since then,
The bar quiet, the crowd chilled, an eerie zen
I began to cry, as I mourned my fellows
My wailing rapidly turned to outrageous bellows
​
Sarah slipped away, her tears already shed
For, after all she was a hero, or so I had said
She gathered a new party, the curse fresh in her mind
Swore to not cast it, not again, not this time
​
Well, as you have it, another town needed saving
A dragon had raided them, they came to her screaming
A party was gathered, with Sarah in charge
She set to slay the dragon, onward they'd barge
​
Another tragedy they suffered, the pain was atrocious
They asked her to help them, to give them true focus
She looked on and smiled, she cursed them, she said
I will help, for I am a hero, my tears already been shed
​
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Please give me constructive feedback :D
|
None
|
procrastinating_eggs
|
2023-05-16 11:38:20
|
2023-05-16 04:05:35
| 21 | 15 |
jkcpvuy
|
jkbqpx7
|
13ica1i
|
13ica1i
|
[WP] You were once the Lord Lich, but after finding love you faked your death to settle down as a farmer. With your minions you can plow and sow many fields, after many years and burying your lover you’ve come to peace with the world and just in time for the heroes have finally found you.
|
The rose bushes were blooming. Flowers opened slowly with the passing days, revealing red hearts and soft petals. A floral fragrance settled over the garden, covering the faint scent of sweet decay.
Ariel was sitting on his porch, watching the sun rise when they came.
One of the many distant figures harvesting the nearby field of wheat vaguely looked in his direction. Ariel shrugged. It went back to work. Ariel clasped his hands together and closed his eyes, waiting.
Cautious figures emerged from the woods, armour glinting as they walked slowly through the golden sea of wheat. The workers, their white bones gleaming in the sun, did nothing to stop them. The workers toiled on, thorns and roses blooming from their ribs, just as they had every day for the last ten years. Just as they would, forever and ever as their master waited.
“I am Captain Glais of the Royal Knights. Lich King Ariel, are you…have you heard of this name?”
Ariel looked up. A group of knights dressed in the rich blue cloths and the shining armour of the royal guards stood before him. At the head of the group was a tall young man with features that looked very familiar to him.
Fair skin, green eyes, hair like spun gold, like…
…the memory of a smile bubbled up in his consciousness. A pang of regret welled up in him. It had been so long that he couldn’t even remember what her face looked like anymore, and yet…
“Lich King Ariel?” Ariel tilted his head thoughtfully, “Do you even know who this person is?”
One of the knights tensed at his casual tone, turning to Glais, “Sir, this insolent peasant, we should-“
Glais waved him aside, looking to Ariel, “A dangerous heretic who led a rebellion against the crown a century ago. Said to have kidnapped and murdered a princess of the court. A one man army…” he spoke in a confident manner, “Are you his successor or something?”
“Something like that,” Ariel realized that he’d started to smile at some point. That cocky tone, that self-assured attitude, yes…she had been like that too. Ariel stared him down, “Why? Are you planning to arrest me?”
Glais blinked, “No, of course not. We heard reports of a powerful necromancer in the area…one wielding the deathly roses of the legendary Lich King.”
Ariel rubbed his chin, “Necromancy…is illegal, isn’t it?”
“Not for the last ten years or so,” Glais raised a brow, “I suppose a master in seclusion like yourself probably wouldn’t know that though.”
“No, we’re not here to arrest you,” Glais smiled warmly, “We’re here to recruit you. There’s been a beast incursion in the Northern reaches as of late and we’re looking for warriors to protect the Kingdom!”
How funny. How ironic. Life couldn’t get more absurd and insensible and yet he was here being asked to save the kingdom he’d once vowed to destroy.
The kingdom that killed her. The kingdom that she wanted so desperately to save in all purity and kindness.
Ariel managed not to laugh. He asked innocently, “…and what if I told you I was Lich King Ariel?”
Glais snorted, “No need to joke around. You don’t look nearly old enough to be that legendary Lich King, no offense. I’m quite serious about recruiting a man of your talents,” he looked around, “Lovely place you’ve got here…but you could really save a lot of people with your gift.”
Ariel observed that familiar, bright smile. Just like her back then, a knight had come to ask a sinner like himself for help. He knew it would go badly in the end, just like it always did in this filthy, corrupt kingdom.
And yet…maybe one more time…
“I accept your offer.”
|
As I stare at the monument I erected in memory of my beloved child, the memories of our time together flow incessantly - from the moment I found her during the siege of Lunateron, to our flight to the land of Chrom, the twenty-five years I spent raising her as her own - and I can't help but lament that she does not deserve an eternity of undeath. After all, the beauty of life is best preserved with the blessing of death - and being an undead being is nothing but a blasphemous notion against both life and death.
"Rest well, Sariel - I'm afraid I cannot be wherever you are right now."
"You really loved her, didn't you? You are a strange one, you know that?" A familiar voice said behind me. "You're probably the first elder lich who did not fully resent the living."
"Ah, friend. Just as you are the kingdom's last hero, I am the world's first lich. Both of us are exceptions, as you did not resent my request of mutual peace either."
"Well, it was... shocking, to say the least. Finding you in the king's quarters was expected but asking me to let you go in exchange of the king's newborn dog and withdrawing your forces was not. It was a win-win situation for the both of us."
"I couldn't help it. It was the first time that this cavity in my chest had that sensation of warmth... It was a warm feeling that I do not wish to lose - I knew then and there that this was better than conquering a country."
"The conqueror was conquered, eh.. Now that she's gone though, what do you plan to do next?" he said with a tone of caution.
"I do not know. But for now, would you like to join me for a quick drink? I want to celebrate her life, just as I remember her in death."
|
driftea
|
Hatoreesuu
|
2023-06-24 11:35:53
|
2023-06-24 11:17:55
| 379 | 90 |
jpc685e
|
jpc4pll
|
14hitwn
|
14hitwn
|
[WP] You bought a house for insanely cheap, only to find it haunted by an ancient horror. After years of stubborn conflict, you have declared a truce to jointly battle a far greater evil: the local HOA.
|
My high heels clicked loudly against stone tiles as I threw open the first door to the cellar I marched down the hallway. Blood oozed down the walls, but I ignored it. You would think that the All Seeing Horror of the Beyond could come up with a better way to scare me than illusionary blood. You would also be wrong, apparently. Sure, the first time he did it, I had been pretty alarmed. Now, though, it was just ambiance.
I unshackled the massive iron lock on the second door and strode through it, too. War had been declared and I intended victory. A massive trapdoor covered the Horror’s pit and I seized the handle and flung it open.
"Oh, All Shob!" I called out, using the nickname I knew he hated, "Come out, come out wherever you are!"
Chains rattled in the darkness and a single dark tentacle slid over the lip of the pit. A half dozen eyes opened and attempted to stare into my soul. Too bad I didn't have one.
"WhAt DoEs ThE lITtLe MoRsEl wAnT? ShAlL tHe GrEaT, AlLsEeInG oNe FiNaLlY fEaSt On YoUr FlEsH?" His voice was a mind twisting cacophony that attempted to chip away at my sanity. There was a greater evil to deal with, though.
"I want you to help me take down the HOA around here."
"WhY wOuLd ThIs GrEaT oNe Do ThAt?"
"Because they are making stupid rules. Rules they expect YOU to abide by, as well."
"PeTtY HuMaN rUlEs Do NoT mAtTeR tO tHiS oNe."
"Oh, so you won't mind if they come brick over the cellar and cut off your last hope of escaping your little pit, there? Alright, guess I'll leave you to it. Have fun." I gave a coquettish little wave as I turned away from the pit and strode towards the door. I made it three steps before I felt a goopy, wet tentacle land on my shoulder. Gross. I am going to have to burn this shirt, now. Assuming All Shob’s acid didn’t do it first.
“WhAt DoEs ThE lItTlE MoRsEl WaNt? YoU gAiN nOtHiNg By LeAvInG tHiS oNe FrEe.”
“Au contraire, my disgusting housemate,” I flicked the tentacle off of my shoulder as I turned back around, “There are other rules that I find to be… unappealing.”
“oH?”
“They’re trying to ban us from going anywhere after dark and make me get rid of my blackout curtains.”
“So? SiMpLy TrAvErSe ThE lAnDs At A bRigHtEr HoUr.”
“I’m a VAMPIRE. That doesn’t work.” Three of All Shob’s eyes blinked at me in confusion. I rolled my own eyes at him. “Sunlight would kill me, Dumb Dumb.”
“Ah. So ThIs Is WhAt Is ReQuIrEd To DeVoUr YoUr SoUl.”
I rolled my eyes again. For a being that was supposedly “All Seeing,” he was really dense.
“Vampires don’t have souls. You know who does? Susan Malany of the HOA.”
“WhY dO yOu NoT tAkE iT fOr YoUrSeLf?”
“Not in my skillset.” I idly checked my fingernails as I waited for All Shob to catch on. How slow could an ancient being from beyond reality be?
“ThIs GrEaT oNe WiLl NoT hElP ThE mOrSeL wItH tHIs,” He finally decided.
My fangs shone in the dim room as I looked up and met all dozen of his eyes. Red light reflected back at me as I grinned. “Oh, All Shob, of course you will.” His multicolored eyes slowly shifted to red as I mesmerized him.
|
Ten years of pranking each other had led up to this.
At first, it had started with ill intent. Spirit wanted me out, and I wanted Spirit out. But then it became more fun, just to see how we could catch each other off guard. And now, I was in front of Spirit, asking him for help.
“The HOA wants to make me remove that landscaping job I got done here two years ago.” I explained. “Or pay a two hundred dollars a day in fines, starting next week. I’m going to fight it in court, but in the meantime, I was wondering if you could prank the HOA instead.”
Spirit gave the idea little thought. “To make it stick, though, you’ll need to do something too, you know.”
“Of course, of course.” I waved my hand. “You coordinate your plans with me, and we’ll see how many coincidences we can pull off before they start losing their minds.”
“Oooh, psychological warfare, I like it… well, minor psychological fighting, anyway.” Spirit said. “OK, I agree. Doesn’t mean I’m going to stop pranking you, but I’d love to pull some of the old time pranks on them.”
I rolled my eyes. “You died in 2013, that isn’t exactly old-timely, but fine, whatever.
And wouldn’t you know it, three weeks later there were no fines.
|
NekrounRose
|
Nomyad777
|
2023-02-28 01:54:34
|
2023-02-27 19:37:56
| 199 | 100 |
jaapwq6
|
ja961fy
|
11di59m
|
11di59m
|
[WP] A tyrant emperor, bored out of his mind because he has already conquered every planet in the galaxy, has the brilliant idea of deconquering all the planets just so he can conquer them again. The rebellion is extremely angry and confused by this.
|
“I can not in good conscience, keep up the loss of life and materials it took to hold the worlds I conquered. I hereby withdraw my empire back to its borders that I inherited from my father. Don’t be foolish and make me wish to return.” The screen displaying the message that just played on over 200 worlds turned off. The Emperor turned, looked at his admiralty and smiled. “I added the last line to encourage them to build up their defenses. He looked from face to face for reactions. He saw the befuddlement and he saw the concern, unfortunately he saw no ambition. There was a 29.7% probability that this withdrawal would trigger a coup attempt. The Admiralty was literally family to him. They were all cousins, all raised to command, drilled in tactics, and frankly all impeccable dressers.
“First Admiral, Emperor, cousin, did you withhold numbers from us?” Cousin Zebulon admiral of the 5th fleet said as he rose to his feet.
“Not a decimal Lord Zebulon” “Then it’s deception? Our recruitment numbers from the captured worlds replaced any loses 3 fold. Where will this deception lead? I’m calculating a 30% chance this leads to a coup attempt.”Zebulon looked around the room.
“29.7% dear Zebo” the Emperor added with a laugh.
“I rounded up, forgive my shoddiness sire.” Zebulon paused a full minute while his outranking cousin looked at him with growing giddiness. “Are we letting them rebuild so we can conquer them again?”
Emperor Alfonso, Admiral of the first fleet, lord of over a thousand worlds clapped excitedly. “Yes! Given a 10 year rebuild time and the technology we left behind, most of the recently de-conquered will have built substantial fleets and arms! It will be a proper fight!” The cousins/Admiralty started murmuring and nodding approvingly.
4 years passed. No word had come out of withdrawal zone. The Empire left no spies, they wanted to be surprised. They were. HMS Indomitable met the fleet of rebuilt Imperial ships just outside Imperial space. They still had their HMS names. Outside probability calculations. The Emperor faced the screen in shock. “What do you mean you surrender? We are fighting yet?” The young officer in a new yet 8 years out of date fleet uniform saluted and continued. “Sire when you withdrew from our worlds it became painfully obvious how poorly run our worlds were. We need you back, we surrender.”
Alfonso burried his face in his hands. After a moment he looked up at his Captain. “Raise shields, battle stations!”
|
The rebellion didn't know at first, being an decentralised anarcho-collective, who was bankrolling them. It tended to the dropped from the town forum agendas in favour how their newly won rights would be utilised.
As they approached the end game the revelation that they were played from the outset and those expected rights were not forthcoming came as both a shock and disappointment.
There was some discussion of simply giving up on the rebellion as news filtered through the ranks, however denial and shear bloody mindedness won out and they were dutifully slaughtered once the emperor once again grew bored.
|
ManEmperorOfGod
|
None
|
2023-04-03 00:56:19
|
2023-04-02 22:07:57
| 143 | 13 |
jeqao8d
|
jepovi8
|
129ofkn
|
129ofkn
|
[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"
|
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.*
|
Edit: I realized I botched Heather near the end and swapped her to Harold. I corrected those parts, so the three ladies have dinner together.
---
"Excuse me... Could you repeat that?!" I cleaned my ears out in bewilderment, waiting for more.
"Nay, dear villainess. I'm not here to fight your horde of knights and various mages or the Arch Knights. I merely wish to interview you, if that's alright." The young lady bowed before me.
I sat, silent while I started thinking about the letters Princess Alliway and I sent to one another and the brief moments we were able to steal in secrecy. The way her eyes reflect the waters of the land, a smile, brighter than even the sun itself, lighting even the deepest reaches of my heart. How soft and smooth her hair feels against my fingertips as we cuddle during those nights.
"My apologies, dear scholar, but I'm afraid you're mistaken on the kidnapping bit." I smiled wide as Princess Alliway entered the throne room.
"I came of my own volition, not by thievery or force. I've fallen in love with Princess Phiona, of the Land of 'Darkness' as others call it... But this is the brightest place I've been to since stealing away many nights." I couldn't help but grin at my girlfriend.
"Oh, I see. So King and Queen Alliway accused you of kidnapping, when that's not the case at all?" The young scholar jotted down in her parchment. "May I proceed with learning more about the relationship you two have?" Her own heart melted at the sight of the two beautiful women before her. Their love reminded her of what she had with her late boyfriend, Allibaster before his passing due to an unknown illness.
"Scholar, you may proceed. But, pray tell, what is your name?" I felt Princess Alliway place her hands in mine as i gently held them.
"My name, my ladies, is Heather. It is my pleasure to interview you both." She bowed humbly. Such a kind woman.
"How about we talk about it all over a feast? I'm quite famished." I smiled at Heather and Princess Alliway. "Yvette, how about you?"
I loved watching her face stretch from ear-to-ear as she smiled. "Yes, my love. I'm quite hungry myself! Let us eat!"
And so, we went off to the kitchen to advise the staff of what we would like and that they are welcome to join us. "Take your time, good food is better with patience."
|
SirPiecemaker
|
ChloeWrites
|
2023-08-06 16:25:21
|
2023-08-06 13:55:42
| 84 | 49 |
jv1nz8g
|
jv12z1n
|
15jnrjx
|
15jnrjx
|
[WP] You're the adoptive father of an Angel and Demon. You found out that your Demon child was kidnapped by a religious group. You arrive at their church only to find your Angel child consoling her Demon brother as dead cultists are littlered around the church and the leader terrified in a corner.
|
I always told them to stay away from churches. They’re no good, I said. They’re dangerous. The people inside aren’t safe. If you see a church, walk the other way. Stained glass is beautiful because it’s a warning.
And yet despite having repeated myself for over fifteen years, a church is where I find them.
There’s blood on the walls when I walk in, stepping over bodies as I make my way past the pews. Toward the statue of this church’s god I walk, my shoes dampening with gore and viscera. There, under the statue’s open embrace, is my daughter. And with her, my son, curled up in her arms.
“Mika.”
“It wasn’t my fault.”
I stop in front of her. She won’t look at me, hunched over as she is. Her white wings are folded, just barely, hiding her face from me. “I didn’t ask whose fault it was.”
“They’re bad guys,” she insists. “They—they took him. When I was in the shower. They took him and when I got downstairs I didn’t see him and I didn’t know where they went—”
“Mika,” I say firmly. “Is Ayin okay?”
My little girl hiccups from behind her wings. She opens them slightly, showing off the bundle in her arms: her baby brother, fast asleep, suckling on his thumb. He looks unharmed. He looks safe.
But I can see the drying tear marks on his cheeks, and the horns, small as they are, poking free of his curly black hair. I can see blood on his dinosaur pajamas, and blood on his little feet, one sock missing.
I want to scream. It wells up in my stomach, bubbles in my chest, like acid, or gas, fizzing upward and burning my throat as it foments. Waits. Mika doesn’t look at me. Like she thinks I’m going to blame her. Like I’m not blaming myself.
“I… killed them,” she says softly, stuttering. “When I found them, they were—Ayin was crying, and they were hurting him, and I—I killed them. I killed them.” She holds her brother to her chest and sobs into his hair. “I killed them all. They deserved it.”
Mika has never been a very outspoken child. In all the years since I took her into my home, she has never complained once. Never once yelled at me, or screamed in my face. She’s seventeen now, and I’m still waiting on her rebellious phase, but she’s an angel, in body and spirit. My little girl, even with her sword in hand.
I don’t blame her. Not for this mess. She didn’t cause it. The—the blood, yes. The gore, the bodies, the severed limbs and cauterized necks. Yes, she caused that. But not for getting her brother kidnapped. Not for coming here alone to save him.
I brush past her wings and squeeze her as hard as I can. Ayin whimpers something in his sleep and I loosen my grip. But I hold her and shudder into her hair.
“Mika,” I say, the pressure in my throat about to burst. “Mika, when I got your voice message, I thought my heart would stop.”
“I’m sorry Dad, I know I shouldn’t have gone by myself, but—”
“I thought I would lose you both!”
The words don’t want to leave my throat. They get caught where they form in my chest, and I exhale shakily. I thought I would lose them. I thought they were gone. I thought they were hurt. I thought they would never come back.
I thought I would never find them. But you know, when you tell someone not to go somewhere, that’s often the first place they’ll be found.
“I’m sorry,” Mika mumbles again. “I caused trouble.”
“We’re going home,” I say firmly.
“What about the…”
“I’ll do something about it. Don’t you worry.” I pull back and brush her hair away from her eyes. “They’re all dead, right?”
“They—” Mika hesitates, looking over the sea of broken bodies. “I think so.”
But I hear a sound where the church should be dead silent. It sounds like muttering, whispering, something incoherent. Now that I’m listening for it, I can hear it coming from a corner of the pews, in the far back. I must have missed it on my way through the door, but I hear it now. And I see him too—the head of a man garbed in religious wear, poking out from underneath a bench.
“Goddess, goddess, the goddess has descended,” he mutters to himself. “Oh Goddess have mercy, have mercy on me, have mercy, oh mercy…”
“I missed one,” Mika says, expression darkening. She moves to stand, but I push her shoulders down and get up from my kneeling position. My back aches, but it often aches when I do more than just sleep. I grab her sword and she protests, but I poke her forehead, just a little more forcefully than usual, and give her a look that tells her to stay.
My daughter may have killed all the people in this church, but she doesn’t have to kill yet another.
Not while I’m here.
“It’s okay, Mika,” I say. “Daddy will clean up this mess, okay?”
|
Marcus leapt out of his truck, leaving the sirens blaring and the car door wide open. He sprinted up the church steps with his heavy pack slung over one shoulder. On a regular day, it would slow him down, but it was not a regular day. They had his son.
He swung open the church doors, hoping against hope that he had made it in time. The smell of iron hit his nostrils and he knew that his medical supplies were less than useless. Bodies were strewn across the aisles and pews, limbs twisted into unnatural angles. Blood dripped onto the floor, echoing throughout the sanctuary and creating an unearthly harmony with the gentle sobbing that came from behind the pulpit. Marcus quickly checked pulses as he made his way there, but he knew that other than his own, there would only be two other hearts beating.
He found them huddled together, weeping and clutching each other. His daughter had her wings covering them both, disheveled and splattered with blood.
"Lucy! Gabe! Are you alright?" Marcus rushed over to them, his worst fears realized. They had found them, and they had finally gotten to them. All his precautions had done nothing to keep them safe.
"Father!" His children jumped up at his appearance and ran into his outstretched arms.
"Are you hurt? What did they do to you?" He gave them the once over, checking for wounds and broken bones.
"Nothing, papa," Lucy grabbed his arm and managed to choke out, "but mom…she–" She pointed to the corner of the cavernous room, hand trembling. Marcus could make out two figures in the shadows, one standing and the other cowering on the ground.
"Stay here," he ordered, and slowly walked over, picking his way through the broken bodies. "Meg," he called out, "put it down." Meg loomed over the terrified pastor who whimpered out Bible verses and prayers. She gripped a bloody dagger in each hand, anger emanating from her and creating an almost physical atmosphere of hate.
"They did this. To my children. MY children." She forced the words out through gritted teeth, needing all her willpower to keep her from slaughtering this final enemy.
"I know, I know. But it's over. Let him go so that he can warn the others to leave us alone." Marcus prayed to all the gods that Meg would hear reason. After a tense moment, Meg tore her glare away from the shaking pastor and dropped her daggers.
"Oh, Marcus! It was horrible. How could they do this to innocent children?" She collapsed into Marcus' arms and sobbed. Marcus held her tightly and whispered consoling words in her ear as the pastor scrambled away and ran. He knew that life would be interesting with adopted children, especially when one was an angel and the other was a demon. What he didn't know was just *how* interesting it would get when he then married a reformed Hunter.
|
teawithmochi
|
immapunchayobuns
|
2023-08-04 17:48:06
|
2023-08-04 17:14:28
| 76 | 49 |
jusfrdm
|
jusabvt
|
15ht8vp
|
15ht8vp
|
[WP] "You thought I liked you?! Is that why you kept wearing those tight outfits and tilting my chin up with your sword and doing that villainous murmur thing in my ear?? Are you crazy?! What the hell do you mean enemies to lovers?! You burnt down my entire village, I'm trying to kill you!!"
|
"You thought I would come to *like* you?" Evan exclaimed. "Is that why you kept wearing those tight outfits and tilting my chin up with your claws and doing that villainous murmur thing in my ear?"
Aithne blinked several times, the look of exhilaration that she had worn during their brief battle vanishing from her face. "I thought..."
"Thought what?" he snarled. "That it would be amusing, to torment a pitiful human?"
"No! Not that, never that." The kitsune started toward him, then, seeing him flinch, stopped in her tracks, her three tails sagging behind her back. "I thought that was how humans did things. I read this book... Not that many human writings reach us up in the mountains..."
He shook his head. "What are you talking about?"
"You know..." A flush crept up her cheeks, and she scuffed the ground with her sandal. "Romance. It was all written there. Starting out as hated enemies, but eventually falling for each other--rather beautiful, if you ask me."
He opened and closed his mouth several times before finding his voice. "If you thought killing my parents and friends would make me fall for you, you're insane."
Her fluffy ears drooped. "Killing? Never! I just paid them off and burned down the buildings."
A laugh erupted from his throat. "That's ridiculous." He swallowed, hestitated. "How much did you pay them, exactly?"
She raised her long-nailed and and started ticking off fingers.
"Six coins? As I thought--"
"Bags."
"Still, my parents would never..." He heaved a heavy sigh. "They *have* been complaining about the old house rotting at the foundations... All right, yeah, I totally see that happening." He looked at her suspiciously. "How come no one never told me?"
The kitsune ducked her head and fidgeted. "I asked them to play along."
Evan groaned and rubbed his forehead. As much as he didn't want to believe that his family would betray him like that, six bags worth of gold would set them up for a lifetime. He glared at the damned kitsune, who was keeping her head down with uncharacteristic meekness.
"They sold me out," he spat. "The parents, the villagers--they participated in this farce and tricked me. For some measly gold!"
"Six bags," the kitsune helpfully reminded, watching him with upturned eyes.
He took a deep breath. "Right. You know what? I feel like giving them a piece of my mind. Take me to them, right now."
The kitsune curved one tail to the front and tugged at her orange fur.
"What now? Don't tell me you lied after all--"
"It's not that!" she protested, blushing. "I just need to mentally prepare. I didn't expect to jump all the way to the stage where you introduce me to your parents."
He opened his mouth to protest, then bit it back. "Oh, I'm going to introduce you to my parents, all right," he said slowly. "But there are a few more things you should learn about human customs first."
The kitsune pattered up to him, tails wagging, and attached herself to his arm. "Of course, Evan."
"Well then... Aithne," he said, clearing his throat. "First thing you should know is to refuse any food they offer you, no matter how much they insist."
She tilted her head. "That'll make them like me?"
"Oh, yes. Next, if someone offers you a hand, spit on it. That's considered good manners among humans."
She seemed a little taken aback, but nodded resolutely. "I will do my best to make a good impression on your people."
Evan grinned for the first time in weeks. "We're going to have a grand time together."
|
After years and years of battling him, I did not expect to hear those words when I had finally won. I've spent the last fifteen years trying to exact my revenge for what he did to my people. I was only a teenager when he came to my village and slaughtered everyone and burned it all to the ground. I can remember watching from the cellar doors, cowering in fear. The look in his eyes, it still sends chills down my spine, that cold, dead, look as he mowed my friends and family down, no joy, no anger, just nothing, almost as if he was just acting out of boredom, and now, he questions my intent to kill him, by suggesting I'm in love with him!?
It was a long and tiring battle, we've both sustained injuries throughout our battles, but none were as bad as his right leg. During our last battle, I managed to slice him a long the back of his knee, and how lucky I was to remember that when he went for the final blow on me, all it took was a well timed kick into his knee, and he toppled over in pain. "HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!?" he screamed in pain as I finally stood over him in victory. "You were going to kill me, and now I'm going to kill you instead." I replied coldly, the look of betrayal on his face said everything before the words left his mouth, "Kill you? I wanted to marry you!" I froze in awe of the delusion spoken before me. "Marry you? You slaughtered everyone I know and burned down my entire life, why would I ever marry you!?" I asked in bewilderment. What he said next shook my to my very core.
Anyways, we've been happily married for 5 years now, and have been conquering villages together ever since.
|
MuffleFirs
|
Sybarite984
|
2024-04-14 16:52:18
|
2024-04-14 16:38:04
| 322 | 35 |
kzjz3tx
|
kzjwqb8
|
1c3w69h
|
1c3w69h
|
[WP] You’re rather annoyed that your history teacher gave you a “D” on your report about the Aztecs and Incas. Not just because you’re certain she doesn’t like you, but also because - as an ancient being trying to adapt to modern society - you were LITERALLY there.
|
Mr. Templeton blinked once, then again, and finally he shook his head as if waking from a dream. I was prepared to give him a moment to accept what he was seeing - the way my face shifted to its original form as my eyes glowed - but he recovered quickly and said a single word.
"No."
"What do you mean, no? I assure you, this is very real."
He sighed, and removed his glasses to wipe the lenses - I'd been in his class long enough to know it was something he did when he was feeling annoyed by his students.
"Mister Jones - I assume I should continue to use that name - I believe your story. So you're immortal, and were present at the founding and fall of the Aztec empire. That's incredible, but what I mean when I say no is... no, I will not give you a better grade."
"I... excuse me?"
"I explained very clearly what was required for this assignment, and the kind of sources that were required. Your paper didn't have citations, and now that I know it is from personal memories... well, that doesn't meet the criteria."
"This is outrageous!" I thundered, feeling the ancient well of power churning just out of reach in response to my outrage. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, then another. I'd been having a shitty couple of decades and had thought I could start over, get a fresh start in a new country with a new name. But clearly if I was spilling my secret over a bad grade and getting close to reaching out for the old forbidden powers... well, maybe I needed more than a change of scenery.
Mr. Templeton put his glasses back on and sighed. "I can see your point of view, mister Jones. The knowledge you have would be invaluable to historians, I don't mean to imply that your lived experiences don't count for anything. But there's a reason I require sources for your papers to meet certain standards - we have many anecdotes from history that have turned out to be heavily biased or outright fabricated. This isn't to say I think you would deceive me deliberately, but... well, the bottom line is your account isn't valid for this particular assignment."
With deliberate calm, I transformed back into my chosen body. "Of course. I understand. I will..." I gritted my teeth and forced myself to continue, "I will be sure to use sources that have been vetted by the scientific and scholarly community next time."
He nodded. "Very good. Please let me know if you would ever be willing to give an official account of your life, I know quite a few people that would be thrilled to hear anything you have to say. I look forward to seeing you after summer break."
"But... Mr. Templeton, I'm graduating this year."
"Not without a passing grade in my course, mister Jones."
When the smoke cleared, Mr. Templeton had been turned to stone and his desk was nothing but a pile of splinters. Damn it. This was just going to cause more trouble. Why had I thought it was a good idea to go through high school again?
|
"How?" Asked Tom, real name Azcapal and ancient beyond any definition of old, masquerading as a student in a class about South American history.
"I'm a history teacher, I cannot condone invention, only hard facts and astute deductions made from said facts," replied miss Naeger, the teacher. Middle aged, cold character, sharp face.
Naturally, this was something of a bother for Tom. Telling her before other students he had been there - had seen the earth rise and swallow waring armies - would mark him as mad beyond saving. Same if he told her in private, now that he thought of it.
Mad it had been indeed. Witnesses like Tom later toned down the story to an acceptable level. The maw of the void, born from the consecrated ground, turned into mundane human atrocities.
Tom wrote the very invention he had told his people, or what remained of them, the lucky few still walking above ground. Never again would Tom enter a cavern. The warriors, driven into frenzy, had wiped each other out. But where are the bodies, the living would ask, the clothes and weapons?
He didn't know, it was madness, it's all he remembered. As did the few enemies left. Funny how easily they found common ground after the carnage, how little the reasons for conflict mattered when nobody was left to fight for them.
They had to send armies to die to realize how petty the conflict was. Who had elected them leaders again? Did anyone remembered why the conflict erupted? Nobody left to care about that.
Only Tom and a few souls, old friend or foe, distinction now wiped away, walking the earth, making certain to never ever be leaders again under any form. They had been loved, love had gone to their heads. Not a single body left to mourn, only the face in the mirror.
Azcapal could have died. Grief kept him walking, made him change at the core and become Tom. It was his penance, an immortality free of rest to atone for his sins forever.
He left the classroom with his bad grade, fingers twitching on his jean. He had worn jeans for years, never got used to it. Language changed, history was forgotten and repeated, what little he did couldn't prevent any of the human horrors his species birthed often.
Physical conflict became digital, but the violence remained the same. Youth became the old and bitter through hardship and disappointment, great men and women brought change, change was taken as granted, and it went downhill from there.
And Tom wore jeans he couldn't get used to.
The last student left the classroom. Tom hesitated for a moment, and went back to miss Naeger. He was already mad by most definitions.
"Miss. I was there!"
Words spilled out as if a millenia-old dam had been breached. The seed that became his people, how Azpacal was hailed a visionary, how it went to his head, how greed and pride coalesced and punished them all. How he tried to erase himself without success.
"I've seen it, I invented the very story of which you find shreds today," he said.
"I wasn't certain myself which was lie and which was truth," she said softly.
In the classroom, there was silence. She knew, or had known long ago.
"The earth swallowed them all, didn't it?" She asked.
"Yes."
"I was called Ahuic, once." After a paise she added, "I can't give you a better grade, you admitted the story was an invention. Dating back several centuries, but still," she chuckled.
"Did you find some peace of mind?" Asked Tom.
"No. Never will. It haunts my dreams still, I sit by the sea and see the waves, rolling gently, tickling my feet. The sea turns to ground, a moving, roiling, hungry ground. It rises, keeps rising..." She shuddered.
"Don't... Don't torture yourself too much, what does it matter now? There's only us left to judge ourselves. I think."
"I walked with the other witnesses, for a time. One after the other, there would come a day when they smiled, accepted what they did, knew they would never be nothing else but monsters, and died. We're the only ones left."
"You did more than me," said Tom, "you taught the new generation about history, still do it. I gave up. It won't wipe away what has been done, but it was worth a shot trying. Be proud of that. I think they were too, when they died smiling."
"You really think so?" She asked, hopeful.
"Of course."
She took his hand in hers.
"Then why don't you say the same to yourself?"
A long, long silence. They both chuckled, a tired and liberating chuckle.
What did it matter now?
They sat down against the wall and closed their eyes.
The afternoon dust settled on them gently, their penance finally at an end.
|
SOdhner
|
Ataraxidermist
|
2023-02-15 22:39:07
|
2023-02-15 18:07:13
| 1,019 | 428 |
j8p1dnv
|
j8nuuwi
|
1131988
|
1131988
|
[WP] You're a mostly forgotten god whose only believer is a ten-year-old girl. Every night she offers you a bit of her dinner or a shiny rock in exchange for her family surviving the night and every night you accept because she's never in danger Tonight, however, you actually have to work for it.
|
Forgotten by the masses, there is only one who is worthy of my loyalty. In my weakened state, she shared what little food she had. Where my den had been robbed, she brought me new treasures to hold. Her selfless nature, a blessing upon those in her presence. With such care, I have grown stronger.
Still connected to spiritual channels, I have heard a troubling rumor. A demon has planned to sweep across her village, dragging as many souls possible with it back to hell. This selfless child who lives with love, continues her day happily. Unaware of the danger she and her family are now in.
A smaller version of the powerful being I once was. Tonight evil will come and I will be ready. Directly in the path of danger, I plan to act as a shield over her home. I owe her my protection. I just hope her faith is strong enough to carry on, once they wake up and find everyone else gone.
|
It wasn't hard to do as a god. It was just terrifying that I actually had to do it.
The beast didn't know any better. It was a winter storm and it broke in to stay warm. The beast was that of a father carrying his babies. The mother was long lost in the snow and beast was desperate.
Hearing the screams shot my anxiety up. Seeing my child run to her mom crying was just heart breaking. Of course I had to act! It wasn't hard to manipulate the winds or break the floor, but everything I did, I had to do carefully-
Especially when the child is asking me to not kill him.
She was scared but she didn't want to face death, even if it was the death of something that threatened her life. I had to comply.
I yelled to her dad to lure the beast into the kitchen and then lock himself in the closet, I'll take care of the rest. He was so hesitant that my girl decided to do it instead.
Seeing her face the beast made my heart drop! "I asked the old man, not you!"
"But he can't do it so I will!"
"My child." Tearing up I let her do it as she managed to ignore her parents.
Soon she got it into the kitchen and there I dropped the ceiling. Not on the beast but behind him. He accidentally dropped his babies, all of which ran to the closet in fear of the loud noise.
Seeing the father's look of fear was something new. The beast was expressive. I haven't seen anything like that in years but I also haven't seen a child be stupid enough to let the young lines in with her. The beast ran up but she closed the door on time and I let more of the house drop, not killing but instead trapping the beast and sealing him in such a way the cold couldn't get to him.
When the sun finally broke through the clouds the next day, I got to see the most heart warming moment ever.
She dug him out. With the help of his younglings. Seeing his babies somehow perfectly fine in the crip cold of the morning's glow, it felt like he was going to cry.
He was hurt but not bad enough to be concerning. My little girl still helped him by badging him up. During so, she thanked me for keeping my word and promised me a big muffin.
"How big?"
"As big as the beast!"
"Pppft. How about make it as big as his pups. I don't think you have enough flour otherwise." I rebuild the house quite easily to the rest of the family's shock.
The last thing I see is the beast bowing and leaving the family after a nice breakfast together before his mate ran up to greet him. My twin sister was right behind her, happy that I helped.
"So you still have it in you after all." It's been so long since I've heard her voice.
All I can do is smile.
|
cm_renee
|
CameoShadowness
|
2023-10-23 19:07:14
|
2023-10-23 18:58:57
| 105 | 37 |
k6578jq
|
k655ujs
|
17eo460
|
17eo460
|
[WP] You always got strange looks whenever you fed the neighborhood ravens. "I give them food, they give me company," you'd say. One day, a raven excitedly comes up to you and whispers, "A neighbor plots against you, my lord."
|
In the heart of New York City, I found myself trapped in the soul-sucking routine of a 9-5 office job, yearning for a spark of excitement to break the monotony. Amidst the sea of paperwork, ringing phones, and the drone of office gossip, my one solace was the peculiar habit I had developed over time. Every morning, on my way to work, I would take a detour to a nearby park and share my breakfast with a group of neighborhood ravens. My co-workers often raised their brows, deeming it a strange and eccentric ritual, and they would question me,
"Why do you feed those ravens, Alex?" My response was always a simple, "Why not? They give me company." They would chuckle at my response, dismissing it as another quirk of mine.
However, one fateful morning, as I scattered breadcrumbs among the eager ravens, something extraordinary occurred.
A raven with sleek, midnight-black feathers and piercing, intelligent eyes, unlike any I had ever seen, perched on a nearby branch and uttered words that resonated with a profound elegance, "A co-worker plots against you, my lord." I froze, bread crumbs suspended in mid-air, my heart racing as I turned to the raven in astonishment. "What?" I stammered, my voice trembling, "How are you speaking?"
The raven responded with an air of regality, "We have been blessed by you, my lord, and now we possess the gift of speech." I could hardly believe my ears. The other ravens gathered around, forming an oddly precise military formation as they listened to their leader. My head spun with disbelief as the raven continued, "We have watched over you, fed by your hand, and we owe you our loyalty. It is time for us to repay the favor."
With a mixture of awe and trepidation, I beseeched the ravens to tell me more about this alleged plot against me.
The elegant raven cleared its throat and began to recount, "One of your co-workers, a man by the name of Greg, is hatching a nefarious scheme. He plans to frame you, tarnish your reputation, and make you appear incompetent in the eyes of your boss." The raven's words carried an unusual gravity as if they understood the gravity of the situation, despite their avian nature.
My heart sank as I tried to make sense of it all. Why would Greg want to harm me? What could drive a co-worker to such lengths of betrayal? The raven continued, "His motive, my lord, is as petty as the feud between Kanye West and Taylor Swift. He desires something that you possess—a romantic interest of yours, a lady named Sarah."
My mind whirled with disbelief. Sarah, my girlfriend, had been a constant source of love and support in my life. I never would have imagined that someone from my own workplace would stoop so low for a chance with her. I felt anger, confusion, and betrayal all swirling within me.
With a newfound determination, I thanked the ravens for their warning, and in a moment of genuine gratitude, I extended my hand towards the elegant raven, forgetting momentarily that I was dealing with birds. In response, the raven gently lowered its head, offering a symbol of trust and camaraderie. "I hope this will be the start of a great friendship," I said earnestly.
The ravens cawed in unison, their wings fluttering in what seemed like a gesture of camaraderie. I realized that my life had taken a surreal turn, and the mundane office world I had known was about to be infused with a dose of the extraordinary, all thanks to this unlikely alliance with the neighborhood ravens. As I left the park that morning, my steps were lighter, my heart brimming with a newfound sense of purpose. Little did I know that I was embarking on an unexpected adventure that would not only test the bonds of friendship but also reveal the depths of loyalty, even in the most unlikely of companions.
|
What is so great about feeding ravens, you ask me? You trouble my decidedly bird-brained interests and question my inclination to sanity. You have already passed me on as a somewhat stoic intrusion on your otherwise nominal ‘human’ fantasy of what it means to truly live well with your surroundings. You hound a million influencers online on how to live according to your potential, but you refuse to feed the very avians, responsible for the light of the mornings, the heraldry of the sun, and call it the modern-day juxtaposed indifference of everyday busybodies when countered with the obvious, very easy ¬¬need to share your bird-brained goods with the other species in your surroundings.
Ravens are not just an Edwardian fascination, something Poe felt he had to escape to, a literary device connected with death, mourning and blackness. Why, did you know that ravens have the highest intelligence among bird species? Birds can tell storms-a-coming from miles and days away. They can sense subtle changes in atmospheric conditions, have supersonic hearing, well, some of them do, and can see further and sharper than other species have ever been able to have the privilege of doing.
But you pester me endlessly about feeding the ravens because you connect their jet-black exteriority with a blackness of the heart. Perhaps you project your own misery onto a ball of fluff and call it a sign of the night. It is not their fault. It is the fault of the poets. Through the ages, these enterprising poets have made a meal out of cheap and disrespectful similes and metaphors. Why compare a sea to the depths of a woman’s heart, or the sky to the grandeur of a child’s longing for his father’s approval? These are mere things, having no relationship to each other. But they have not stopped the poets. There is one in my neighborhood too. The poet. The blasted hater of signs. The perverse humanoid crackling as he sneaks up to a piece of beauty and jots down its plumage onto a page reeking of voyeurism and a lack of decorum. Maybe there is some poetry after all, ha, to the writers of the past using bird feathers as quills and writing apparatus. How I detest the poet.
I do not feed the ravens for my benefit. I feed them for the benefit of us all. Ravens are our friends. Ravens are my friends. And they are loyal to a fault. Why, with the sneaky poet around, I need all the help I can get, his lasciviousness must not get the best of my lugubriousness. This is why I have trained the ravens to communicate with me. They tell me the truth. Let it be abridged. Let it be translated from one species to another. Let it be word of mouth and indicative, if not held to the syntax of language, but nevertheless, it is true communication. And they do not lie. No, they are loyal to a fault.
It has been countless times that I have left for some business of my own to another city, or land far, far away from my hearth wherein I communique with my ravens, my little butterflies of darkness. They spy for me. But not out of sympathy or greed. They like me back. For the many times that I have left my homestead for weeks and months on end; every time I have come back, they have regaled me with tales of subterfuge and battle, struggle and reconnaissance, a day-by-day update of the poet’s feeble attempts at climbing over my tall fence, and witnessing, for no other purpose than all the shallowness that an artist of his low stature can only imagine, the monstrosity, the only truths in life, for they are ravens after all, the harbinger of death, the graves in which I’ve buried all the past poets I have killed in the neighborhood.
Why, you must ask, must I get rid of the poets? Why this cleaning up of the arts, you say? It is simple really. Poets are the lowest of the low when it comes to the arts. My father was a poet, the miserable wretch. He hardly worked a day in his life, left my poor mother to her own devices. Now they both lie in an unmarked grave on my property. There is no forgiveness for poetry. But pray, do tell, you ask, how do you attract the poets to rent the adjacent house?
You see, it is terribly easy to attract a poet to rent a house in a curious neighborhood. Plenty of woods. A nice unkept kitchen garden overgrown with weeds and nests of hand-picked antique furniture. And oh, obviously, an affordable rent, for most of them want nothing more than to stay in all day and read tomes by dead poets, their ancestors no doubt, for there is no way it is not a genetic anomaly, this disease and scourge on our fine species.
Once they are sufficiently settled in, the next step begins. A careful but planned process of harassment and subterfuge till the poet starts to doubt his very sanity. It starts very simple. My pets will pitter patter on the windowsill of his bedroom at nighttime in curious tones and patterns, make him doubt what he is hearing. But that is just the start. It always ends with the poet embroiled in a bitter feud, that he is half sure is real, half uncertain if it is in his head, with his neighbor, me.
You see dear, birds have laws. And according to bird law, I may not slay anyone that does not already scheme to slay me. To get the poets to that precipice, for them to abandon all their liberal, humanist ideals, in a slice of passion, sadly, to be sure, does not take too much imagination. The irony of it all! If only the poets had a better sense of the possibility of things, and not just the sky and ocean.
Once the thought is uttered, however.
The ravens bring home the song.
|
cj12327
|
Novel_Ad1561
|
2023-09-02 14:31:30
|
2023-09-02 10:39:55
| 94 | 21 |
jyt9125
|
jysi0xf
|
167njgm
|
167njgm
|
[WP] You're walking down a dark forest path when suddenly. A deer comes into view. Yet something seems completely wrong. It's just standing there, it seems to have human looking teeth and eyes and other body features that shouldn't belong. You turn and see on a trunk "It is not a deer"
|
It was supposed to be a quick walk through the forest. A shortcut. But the forest, it would seem, had other plans. No other reason to explain why at that exact moment, the deer would walk onto the path.
Except deer isn't the right word. It was... wrong. I saw the teeth at first - they were human, exposed, and grinning. The eyes, too, were far too human-like with a bright shade of blue. Everything about the creature was wrong. The longer I looked, the more was wrong. Legs a bit too long, shoulders a bit too broad... mouths too- o*h gods, it had multiple mouths!*
I did the only thing anyone reasonable would do. I turned to run, but the tree right behind me made me pause, just a little. Words etched into the bark read 'It is not a deer'. Eyes wide, I cast a quick glance back to see the thing still standing there, head tilted. Too tilted. It almost looked like its neck was broken. Tears poured from its eyes. No matter - I ran. Ran as fast as my legs would allow.
And before too long, I tripped. Speed, fall, impact. Pain. I got up as fast as I could and touched my aching forehead, drawing my hand back covered in blood - but that was not the thing I paid the most attention to. My fingers were stuck together and no matter how close I tried to pry them apart, they kept close to one another, crooked into an unnatural position. It almost looked like a hoof.
I tried getting up but was stopped by a spike of pain that coursed through my leg - I looked down and saw the bone protruding through my pants. Blood poured out of the wound.
I reached for it with my other hand only to realize it, too, had fingers crooked and unmoving.
I yelled for help. No sound came out.
I crawled to the nearest tree and leaned on it. Did the last thing I could.
Scraping my fingers bare, I laboriously picked up a nearby rock and started etching into the bark. It took forever but I finally managed to carve "HELP ME" into the bark.
When I finally sat back down, breathing laboured and exhausted, I looked up at the words I carved... and felt a tear fall down my cheek realization hit.
The carving read "IT IS NOT A DEER".
​
​
​
​
*^(Note from Administration: Script #118 successfully ran. Duality transferred.)*
*^(Deer is not Deer.)*
*^(Initiate script #119.)*
|
I saw failure. I saw the students turn to each other for comfort, the teachers talking amongst themselves. Their hushed discussions so nearly audible that the groups of students slowly gravitated closer and closer to them.
Whys and hows and what can I dos were asked by the groups.
There's nothing to be done, the teachers replied.
I watched this all happen from security of the bleachers of one of the overgrown and underused practice fields. The bleacher was and is my most recent home, safe from the rain and when word spread that I had lived here, some of the students left snacks and water for me. One of those students, a boy whose name I've never heard, visited nearly every day.
"Hello again, kitty."
"Mr. Kitty, would you like some of the lunch I couldn't finish today?"
He rarely smiled, but his bag was always full of delicious treats. I wasn't fond of his nicknames, but his food was of the highest quality. He was distinctive, his disheveled sandy blonde hair, and the way he walked through a crowd like a knife. It was elegant.
I saw him in the crowd today, the crowd whose fear had an odor. I saw him bump into several people and skip past the path that would lead to the bleachers. He took a right into an off beaten path down towards my first home, the forest.
Why, how, what can I do?
I followed him.
The forest wasn't entirely un-similar to my home in the bleachers that it protected me from the rain, but far and few between were there tasty snacks or fresh water. The forest was a hunter's paradise, the birthplace of my parents, the cemetery of my siblings. Its paths twisted and winded, its trees blocked out the sun and moon. There was a continuous fog that rolled through the forest to further trap its victims and I saw the boy recognize the mistake far too late in only minutes of walking.
I heard him cry then, soft cries for his parents. He kept walking. Why did he keep walking. Didn't he know he was nearing the center of the forest?
"So stay then," I said, but he did not hear me. "Please stay."
I ran up ahead of him, I knew the place well. I found a tree, as comforting of a tree as this place could provide. I clawed at its bark and climbed atop it. There was nothing left to do but wait.
I heard his growing cries.
There was good news and bad news here. The good news was that not many would be around to hear his cries. The bad news was that no one was around because this was Bishop's territory. I heard the leaves crunch and the fog move as Bishop roamed towards the crying. The boy's cries grew closer, the two were about to meet.
Bishop came into view then, the faintest amount of light illuminating his being to the boy. Bishop had the same eyes as the boy, the same teeth, but the body of a deer.
They locked gazes until the boy looked around for help. He saw the tree I had clawed at.
"It is not a deer?" the boy said.
Bishop walked towards the boy. The boy tried to run away, but his legs collapsed beneath him, his cries were loud now.
"Don't cry here, boy." Bishop said.
"Wha-" the boy stuttered. "What are you?"
Bishop ignored the question, accelerating into a full speed run now.
To his credit, the boy dodged Bishop expertly. One of Bishop's antlers grazed him on the shoulder, but it was a good sign if he could move. Bishop was one of the largest of father's creations, but he wasn't the strongest for he was still in the forest. Too scared to leave its comforts. Bishop ran again and the boy stood his ground.
I jumped from the branches, silently I fell atop Bishop's antlers.
"Leave this boy alone, Bishop."
"Mr. Kitty!?" the boy exclaimed.
My claws extended, I swiped across his eyes which made him swerve away from the boy and into the forest. I jumped off, but not before swiping again at his eyes and nose. The boy was waiting where Bishop had turned away from, his clothes were ragged, his pants wet. The smell of fear was stronger than ever on the boy.
"Let's leave," I said.
|
SirPiecemaker
|
DeneilYeong
|
2023-01-14 16:16:28
|
2023-01-14 15:41:08
| 177 | 82 |
j4brksi
|
j4bme24
|
10bnq6c
|
10bnq6c
|
[WP] Your superpower isn’t anything special. You can make stuff disappear behind your back then pull it back out again. When a friend at a party asks you to do it to them it sounds like a great laugh. But when you pull them back out they look older, disheveled, and are frantic to be sent back.
|
“You mean … I’ve been sending objects to the future?”
Alex had returned looking quite ragged, and nearly passed out. We had urgently asked everyone else to leave while I attended to him.
“Yes!” Alex replied, “and after you sent me, I’ve been in contact with others. Or … will be in contact with them … oh, it’s all so confusing. But I’ve got to go back!”
“Wha, what? … What for?”
“There’s been a terrible plague, which has wiped out most of humanity. A few scientists have quarantined with their families, but most of the masses have died off… but it can be stopped! We happen to be at just the right time to…”
A loud knocking on the door interrupted Alex mid-sentence.
“I’ll go get it,” I said.
“No! There’s no time, let me get on your computer.”
“It’s upstairs, who the h-“
The knocked repeated, so hard the floor shook beneath me.
“Who the hell is that!?” I said, following him upstairs.
“You’re not the only one who can facilitate time travel. Now close the door.”
He began frantically typing at the keyboard.
“You were only gone for like, 30 seconds. How long were you there?”
“Three hours. They gave me instructions on how to avoid the plague altogether, but they also warned me that …”
*THUD*
*CRASH*
The entire house shook as my front door was kicked in. Boots thudded on the ground as the intruders began searching the house.
Alex whispered intently, “Lock the door!”
I turned the lock as quietly as I could, my heart pounding. Someone was coming up the stairs.
Alex was frantically scrolling through a large PDF of a patent filed by Monsanto, looking for just the right page.
The door handle jerked suddenly and I jumped back instinctively.
“UP HERE, BOYS,” shouted the man just beyond the door, “HE MUST BE HERE.”
The next couple seconds happened in a blur. Alex snapped a picture on his phone of a molecule on screen, then urged “Send me back, Now!!”
The door crashed open and the intruder spotted Alex immediately. This tank of a man came right for him, but it was too late. With a swish of my arm, Alex was swept right back to the future he visited moments ago, and then the world went dark.
——————-
Suddenly, Alex and I were back in my house, breathing heavy, adrenaline coursing through our veins, but safe. The doors were all perfectly in tact.
“What … the … hell just happened?!?” I asked. “The doors… they were kicked in, and know they’re fine! How did you get back? I didn’t pull you back, just suddenly we were back here.”
“Well… technically, it never happened.”
I stared blankly at him. “Of course it happened, we just survived that shit, what do you mean?”
“The scientists developed a cure once they had some more information about how the virus was made. The plague was accidental at first, but some other powerful survivors wanted to keep the world… culled. So they sent henchman after me once they traced my time leap.”
I sat there silently.
“So, in essence, while it did happen, because we were successful, none of it will happen.”
“You’re giving me a headache,” I replied.
“Let’s grab a beer and forget that never happened,” Alex said.
“Agreed,” I replied.
|
"Are you sure? This isn't our scene. Wouldn't you much rather play Mario Kart in your parents basement?" I exclaim while my knee moves as quickly as my heart is beating. I feel myself sink deeper in the passenger seat of Darren's Accord. "Dude, just chill. Don't you think we're too old to be doing that every weekend. Just breathe a bit, maybe have a few beers. We'll have a good time." "You know my parents don't usually let me out, I don't wanna disobey them the first chance I get." "Listen Howe, all will be fine. If you follow my lead you might even enjoy yourself. Speaking of which, Tommy told me Jess Hernandez is gonna come through."
We make our way inside Tommy's house party. I make sure to take with me a stick of gum and some confidence (girls like that). The noise of the loud music and yelling was disorienting at first but after Darren and I met up with Tommy things felt all chill. I clocked Jess hanging with her friends near the drinks. As we settled in my mind see-sawed on whether I should go over there and start up some conversation. Darren noticed my internal struggle and my googly gaze at her direction. "Before your eyes pop out their sockets go talk to her. Dont knock yourself yet, how about you give her a conversation starter." "How do you propose I do that?" "Do the thing." As Darren flexes his eyebrows a couple times. "Are you crazy?! I can't, my parents said-." "Enough of that bull shit. Your hanging with the boys now. I say if you wanna chance to talk to Jess, you need to impress." "Okay, fine." I concede. Darren winks at me and smiles.
"Hey everyone check this out!" Yells Tommy. The room goes quiet as all eyes now stare directly at me and my friends. Darren tosses an empty beer bottle at me, I catch it surprisingly gracefully and I try super hard to concentrate as I "do the thing". In my hands the beer bottle disappears. Everyone roars. I look around, I see Jess. She's smiling and in disbelief. "You guys wanna see something really cool?" Darren steps up and whispers to me, "Make me disappear." I hesitate but as the party chants, "Do It!" I have no choice. I whisper to Darren, "Are you sure." He assures me all is fine. So I set Darren up infront of me, I put my hands on each of his shoulders. I drown out the noise around me, I close my eyes and lower my head, my arms shaking, my head feels compression. I raise my head to my own amazement Darren is no more. He's gone.
Everyone now holds their breath before I bring Darren back into physical reality. As he phases and reappears Darren doesn't look like Darren. He's back but he's frail, wrinkly, and old. He screams in fright. The party forms into a tighter circle. Darren falls as his knees give out, his body drops to the floor before I'm able to get a grip on him. I freak out, I feel my body go cold, I'm frozen like a statue. Tommy helps him up. The look on Darren's face haunts me, his words even more so: "What did you do to me. What took you so long? Why did you wait so long." The breath in my lungs disappear as quickly as he did, words on the edge of my tongue fail to my lips. Terrified I remain still. Some of my peers begin to turn on me, shoving me. Tommy yells at them to stop but maybe I deserve it. Darren out of breath asks me to turn him back. I don't know how. "If I try to make you disappear and reappear again how do I know you won't come back worse?" I've never used my powers on a living organism. I shouldn't have agreed to be a stupid party trick. "Please Howe, at least try." Tommy pleads. I look at old Darren and I can't in good conscience send him back knowing he may not return.
I need fresh air. I decide to try to leave the house. I pass Jess and I feel her stare at me in distraught. I can't handle the pressure surrounding me. Finally, I escape, alone outside I let out tears of stress. Tommy sends everyone home. As every scared and disappointed person retreat, they whisper things about me as if I can't hear them as they pass by. "He's a freak." "Howe just killed his own friend." "Best party ever." Finally, I go back inside. I see Darren and Tommy sitting on the living room couch. Darren pleads to me once more, "I need you to make me myself again Howe. I trust you. Please." "Focus on bringing him back the way he was before. You can do it." Tommy reassures me. Tommy holds Darren up as he is between my hands again. I close my eyes tight and deeply breathe through my nose. I lift my head as the light in the room can be felt through my eyelids. I feel Darren go. I begin to pray as I attempt to bring back my friend. My eyes welling up with tears, I squeeze as much of my powers out of me as I can. Tommy stays as silent as a mouse. My heart beats out of my chest. I yell and open my eyes, chills run down my spine. Between my hands something begins to reappear.
Dust.
|
SilverSneakers
|
SmittyThee1
|
2023-01-26 07:56:04
|
2023-01-26 02:30:37
| 346 | 98 |
j5xrd46
|
j5ws3sk
|
10lcgjs
|
10lcgjs
|
[WP] You wake up in the middle of the night, your arm hangs over the side of your bed. It’s pitch black & your room is shrouded in deep shadow. Something unseen seizes your hand. You grasp it tightly, knowing that first impressions are important & a firm, confident handshake establishes dominance.
|
You're still groggy from being woken, but you remember your father's advice. "Son," he used to say, "a firm handshake makes a good first impression. Whether it's a business deal or after a good fight, it's a sign of respect!". His chest would always swell with pride at those words. Your throat tightens for a moment from the memory, a dampness, not wholly attributed to sleep, around your eyes.
But now is not the time, you remind yourself. You can miss your father later. Now, you must focus on the handshake. Its grip is strong, so you match it in strength and add just a little more. A man of noble standing, judging by his form.
As you shake it, it feels strange. Like a hand, to be sure, but not quite right. You focus on the sensation. Leather, smooth and cool, quite supple too. Definitely gloved. A man of some wealth, judging by the quality.
Suddenly, you realise why it feels strange. You count the fingers. Surely not. You count again. Yes, six. Definitely six. In the darkness, you reach under the pillow for your sword, an unseen smile creeping across your lips.
You decide to break the silence. "Hello" you say. "My name is Inigo Montoya..."
|
"I always liked confidence," a deep voice said from beneath the bed.
Through the haze of waking up, it hit me that there really was a stranger underneath me gripping my hand. "Who are you?" I said groggily, keeping my hand firmly entrenched in his.
"It doesn't matter who I am, only that I'm here. It's a rather special occasion!" His high-pitched tone reflected a bizarre glee that served to terrify me even further.
"Some creepy dude being under my bed isn't what I'd call special!" I reached for my phone on the nightstand with my other hand, thinking of a way that I could dial 9-1-1 without cluing him in.
"Erm. That phone won't be necessary," he said.
"Wait? How.." I stuttered, looking around to see if somehow he could see me.
When he said nothing, I continued to reach for the phone. Every time I tried to put my fingers around it, I somehow misjudged the grip and it slipped away.
"There' is a bit of a problem," he finally said with a sigh. "In this place you are and you aren't." He gripped my hand harder, then made to let go.
I refused, shuddering. His bizarre statement didn't register.
Then he spoke with sadness in his voice. "You poor creature! It's easier once you let go and give in. You know what? I'll tell you how."
I gripped his hand even harder now. I wasn't about to let him get away from me. I lunged over for the phone again, missing it. *Damn.* "I'm not going anywhere!"
"It's a lot easier when you stop fighting. The first thing is to just let go of my hand. Second thing is to roll off the bed so you're down here with me."
"No!" I looked over towards my phone again. I noticed something that looked like headlights through the window.
"You're not going to get away from me," he said. "I don't show up for missed opportunities."
"NO!" I screamed aloud. I could hear the thump-thump-thump of my heartbeat getting louder. The room started to spin. I didn't let go of his hand.
Light flooded the room, but I couldn't see anything through the haze.
The hand started to pull me even harder. I dug my other elbow into the bed to anchor myself. My heart was going thump thump thump thump thump-ker-thump-ker-thump-ker-thump.
"I will not fail!" the voice said even louder.
When I looked towards our grasped hands I saw that his wasn't a hand at all, but rather a large tentacle with weird fingers at the end. Slime ran in gloops from the top to the bottom, running over my fingers. I grabbed even harder.
Shapes appeared in the haze. I could hear muffled voices, but couldn't make out what they were saying. I could've sworn someone was screaming. The tentacle grabbed even harder, and the voice moaned with exhaustion.
"Come.... come... come.... it's time. Do not make a fool of me!"
Shocks began to crash over my body, jolting away the haze one by one.
The next moment I opened my eyes.
"CORY!" my girlfriend screamed.
r/StoriesToThinkAbout
|
Christylian
|
armageddon_20xx
|
2023-02-26 01:35:40
|
2023-02-26 01:03:28
| 293 | 38 |
ja14bd3
|
ja10an4
|
11bvx53
|
11bvx53
|
[WP] You're a prisoner in a fantasy world. After a week in jail for (YOUR CHOICE), your true punishment has come. Death by the Dragon's flame. One by one, you watch men be scorched. It is finally your turn. The dragon reaches its head down, but instead of death, you get a warm lick on the forehead.
|
Has it really been a week already? I could still feel the dripping of the kings blood from my hands after all this time, even in the countless chains that held me trapped to these walls. I could hear the screaming still, or perhaps that’s coming from outside. The sound of men being burned by a dragon in the court yard for all to see. The old king, the fool he was, really was obsessed with the creatures. Decorating every part of his kingdom with their image, and yet he cages them up, like me.
Sometimes at night, I see kids going up to their cages and throwing them food. Those children would have made a better ruler to these savages, I have no regrets for what I did, the man was not fit to rule.
“This is him.” A guard said to someone new.
“He’s the one who killed the king? He’s so frail looking.” The young man pointed out. He seemed nervous gazing upon me.
“Don’t let looks fool you. This heathen killed his own king. Made such a mess we couldn’t even show the kids body to his people at his wake.”
“He was not my king.” I corrected them.
They both seemed taken aback but my intuition before the guard spoke, “yeah, I suppose all an assassin like you worships is gold. No worries, we’ll be sure to bury your ashes in a nice dirt trench.”
I scoffed at the idea. They’ll know soon enough. They’ll know…
Come tomorrow, men are lined up in front of these dragons in chains. All poked and stabbed with their sticks and knifes to make sure they burned the people in front of them.
When it came to me, the savages wished to put on a show. The walked me up to a stage stand chained me to my knees. The largest dragon, a magnificent creature with bronze scales, silver wings, and blue fire in its eyes. It was brought before me, it’s will broken by the savages many years ago.
They announced how this beast was going to kill their unknown assassin for the crime of killing the king. Everyone cheered for my my death. The dragon approached, warming the fire in its heart to prepare to burn me to ash with the heat of a hundred exploding mountains. Until it stopped as I rose from my knees and looked into their eyes.
The dragon, filled with joy, licked me with a large smile, the saliva melting my chains. The people were confused looking and speaking amongst each other, as I reached forward and grabbed the dragons chain, melting it within my palm.
The people screamed as they saw the dragon was freed and released its brothers in chains. The people were silenced by the dragons roar, settling the chaos and brining the dead kings people and men to a stand still as they all looked upon my true glory.
At my wing stretched in the open air and my scales gleamed in the sun, I turned to the people. “I am Draxius.” My voice boomed through the silent crowd. “God if serpents, king of dragons. Long have I seen my people chained and poked, and I have seen enough. Those of you with kindness in your heart shall know the mercy and grace of my children and their god. Those of you with hate and wickedness.. shall learn our true wrath.”
Edit: typo correction
|
Well, they'd locked me up. Truth be told, I landed in their dungeon in record time. You see I'm a transmigrator, a man from another world. That world wasn't Earth though. No, I came from a world called Orth. Earth was the world I came from originally.
You see, this wasn't my first transmigration. The gods for some reason really like to screw with me. I was transmigrated from Earth to Orth for the simple task of stopping a war between the humans and the beast men race.
That proved simple. They were fighting over land the beastmen had that the humans wanted for farming. Only problem was, a major staple of the beastmen was a certain type of pepper that only grew in the area under dispute. I was able to resolve the problem by sharing horticulture knowledge from Earth that turned a great wide prairie they thought of as a wasteland into rich farm land.
Once the problem was resolved, I was plotted against by nobles who wanted to control me. One thing led to another and I ended up assassinated by that noble's rivals.
Instead of just letting me rest and continue on with my reincarnation or admitting me into the afterlife, the gods transmigrated me to this other world that had an issue.
The world was Vars. It's a name that roughly means earth. Oddly enough, Orth was a word that also meant earth in their language. The problem on this world was that a tyrant warlord had enslaved a dragon. For those that don't know about dragons on Vars, they're all children of a particular god.
Now, it's not all dragons that are its children. There are dragon species with diluted blood that the god doesn't recognize as his children. That would be the wyverns, the earth dragons, salamanders, and so on.
I was sent here to free that dragon. And seeing as how I was able to resolve the last job without violence, I thought I could do the same thing here.
Yep, I was wrong.
In fact, instead of the tyrant king releasing the dragon, he decided to have the dragon incinerate me with dragon fire right along with the rest of his enemies.
So here I am, waiting to die by dragon fire.
The truth be told, I prefer this to how I died back on Orth. That assassin was a cruel bastard who killed me with a poison that took nearly a month to kill me. At least dying to a dragon's furnace breath would be quick.
However, watching as each of the prisoners was marched out one by one and chained to a stone pillar only to be roasted alive was still unnerving, and I admit, I pissed myself . . . a few times. The line of prisoners was long. I had time to soil myself a second and third time. Judging by the smell, I wasn't the only one.
I was scared, but not of the dragon. It was terrifying, but it was also the reason why I was sent here. Freeing it was my job. What I was scared of was the reprecussion my action would trigger. I fucking hate dying. I've already done it twice.
When it finally became my turn, I turned to the tyrant king one last time to ask him to free the beast.
"Tyrant King Maud, will you truly not free this child of Athor?" I called out at the top of my lungs. "There is a price to pay for displeasing a god."
"I am King Maud the third, maker of chains, conqueror of the Vomen, conqueror of the elven emerald forest, conqueror of Hagchi Plains. Foreign kings tremble at the mention of my name. I fear no god or his retribution. If such a god wishes to take what I have declared as mine, then let him show me his wrath. I will meet it like I meet all my enemies, with blade in hand."
"That's your final word?" I had to be sure.
"Slave! Roast this servant of the gods!" Upon hearing the comand, the glassy-eyed dragon suddenly raised its head and roared right in my face before drawing back its head and filling its lungs with air.
*"Saun nit shuviz noculerum."* They were the words of power the gods told me to use to free the dragon. I was in fear after saying them, but only because I feared the dragon couldn't hear me over the loud sound of air rushing into its open mouth.
In the end, I needn't have worried. The fire it exhaled wasn't directed at me. Rather, it was directed at the King Maud and all of those around him. The tyrant king barely had time to scream before being into black char bones.
Like on Orth, my job on this world was done before I'd managed to taste a meal or see a full moon. Instead of the flames, my attack from the dragon came as a long warm lick that covered me in more slime that a Nickelodeon contestant. It was over. It was done.
And as I watched the newly freed dragon fly away, the promised retribution came stabbing into me from many different directions in the form of clotheyard arrow shafts fletched with goose feathers.
It was my third time dying. It still hurt like hell.
|
TheSingingFoxy
|
Koyoteelaughter
|
2023-01-09 21:58:01
|
2023-01-09 20:02:47
| 18 | 13 |
j3o01js
|
j3ngzl3
|
1072uob
|
1072uob
|
[WP] “Maybe the real treasure was the friends we made alo-“ “Dude, we desecrated a major archaeological site and half of our team died for the promise of treasure that wasn’t even here!”
|
"Well, yes. But Mark promised he'd lead us to the real treasure."
"You named the demon, MARK? What is wrong with you?"
The demon growled. "Jeez. I'm right here."
"Well he told me his name, and I just couldn't pronounce it. We agreed on Mark."
Rebecca sighed. "My fucking god, you're insane. It's obvious that the stress of this whole thing has driven you insane."
Before Clark could reply, Mark, the demon chimed in. "I think I need to give you guys some time. Besides, I've been stuck inside that chest for ages. I'll just go look around. Be back soon. Toodles."
"Toodles? The fucking demon just said toodles."
"Now now Becks. Everyone has their idiotsyncrasies."
"My dear Clark. That's not how you say that word. The only idiot here is you. Maybe you've had a heat stroke or something. But what you're suggesting is following a demon, who by the way has wiped out our team, to a treasure."
"Well, yes. We don't really have any option do we? I got no money. I put everything in this long shot. Plus the whole killing off our team was clearly a misunderstanding. He didn't know we were friendly. He just assumed we were trespassing, which we kinda were."
"Ok Ok. Even if I grant you all of that. What makes you think he knows where a treasure is? We thought this was a treasure. What if the next treasure also turns out to be a I dunno... like a witch stuck in the chest or something."
"I mean, he's old. He's gotta have knowledge and wisdom and shit, right?"
Mark walked in at that moment. "EXCUSE ME. I'm not THAT old. We don't really age when we're in a chest or a lamp or whatever. Time stands still for us then. I'm no older than 6900 years old."
"Nice." Clark smirked.
"You are a goddamn child." Rebecca said, exasperated. "You, demon, what is..."
"Mark. His name is Mark."
"Clark, you stay out of this. So... Mark. This treasure you claim to know about. What is it? How tough is it to get to? And how much money are we talking here."
"You know the famous tomb of Ramses the fourth in Egypt?"
Rebecca's eyes widened. "Yes. I do!"
Mark looked around and lowered his voice. "I know the tomb of his 3rd cousin's wife's niece, twice removed."
Rebecca stared at Mark and Clark, speechless.
Clark, on the other hand looked spellbound. "A real mummy's tomb? I do like mummies."
Mark nodded excitedly. "Indeed! I can get you in there."
"Woah. Bring it in partner."
Mark put out his hand. Clark joined in, putting his paw on Mark's hand. They looked expectedly at Rebecca.
She rolled her eyes and started to walk away.
"Hey Rebecca. We got a good thing going with our names here. For the team, would you consider changing it to like, I dunno, Stark, or Spark, or, oh oh I know. What about Shark? That'd be awesome. Fierce and dangerous."
The two hurried after Rebecca to catch up with her, as to what was likely the beginning of many an adventure.
|
Edward glared with rage. His leader Roger took a
tentative half step back. Roger saw Edwards face get that angery once before. The king that faced Edwards wrath that time had been in the stockades by the end of the night. Seeing that face now made Roger realize he was now quickly running out of options if he wanted to have any dignity intact by journeys end. Edward wasn't a murderer. He certainly wasn't a coward either.
"Yes but the rest of us are are a lot closer than we started o-"
"NO! No we most certainly are not!" Edward cut the sniveling plea short. "Out of the eight of us who came here on this farce, only three remain."
"Four! Somalia might still be alive." Roger quickly countered.
Zandaya pipes in with a small correction. "Assuming we can excavate her from that sealed room of vipers we left her in, and find the antidote you misplaced." At that Edwards face twitched. Nose fairing up in a attempt to get a deep calming breath. That clearly wasn't working.
"Thanks for the reminder." Roger growled. Perhaps he could slink out the exit. Roger quickly turns heel and begins to flee.
Edward without a moments hesitation throws his lasso out. Ensuring the conniving conman. Toppling Roger onto the ground. Hog tieing Roger in moments. Growing up on a animal farm has its advantages. "How can you do this? Better question why did I let you do this? How can I believe all the lies you fed us. You told us this was a sanctioned trip by the locals. You told us that the riches in here would be enough to save the dying villages outside. The ones dying from curable disease. That companies like GlobalArc - the one you secretly contracted with - have been pillaging. Then to force us to leave our ailing friend behind because there was a mystical totam in the treasury that can cure them. Another bald face lie!"
"Edward, Zandaya, please! This is all a misunderstanding. I'm a victim like the rest of you. Fredrick told me that there was plenty of gold in here. We could have aided the locals with the gold."
Zendaya shook her head in disgrace. "I heard the call you made a few minutes ago. I thought you were calling for a emergency aid. Instead you were ensureing they would still pay out your contract!" The hurt she felt from the betrayal felt in every word she spoke. The scorn of disappointment only a truely loving mother and friend could give. "Why, are we truely here Roger. It most certainly wasn't for this." Sweeping her hands around the barren dimly lit coffers. Filled with nothing but dust and cobwebs.
"I, uh well you see... Uh can I have a phone call?" Roger Stammers, swat pouring out.
Edward presses rogers head into the ground. "You aren't under arrest, yet but you will be. After we take you with us to turn ourselves in. Now answer the lady!" Easing up on the grip just enough to allow Roger to respond.
"Ok! Ok! Fine. The truth is GlobalArc hired me to get them some new art exhibits. Supposedly the writting on the walls will look phenomenal in a gallery that was willing to pay top dollar for some hieroglyphs. I figured we could scour the treasury room for some charitable dough at the same time How was I supposed to know they would be empty?"
Edward arises and picks up Roger. Tossing him over his broad muscular shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "You gathered us all here to only desecrate a local tomb for your own gain. I had it with you. Let's get out of here."
"Agreed." Zendaya takes the lead to the exit. "We also should stop by and get Somalia out. We can use those chiseling and drill tools Roger has to be hiding. After all if he came to get the hieroglyphs, he must have tools to break walls."
"Your right. They must be in the covered wagon he's been lugging about. No wonder he wouldn't let anyone near it. Should have tipped us off. We could have gotten Somalia out and left this place awhile ago. If it wasn't for this greedy pig."
"Hey I'm right here!" Roger protests. Edward chooses to ignore Roger. Grabbing the cart and following Zendaya out.
"We should also do a memorial and contact Drake, Zed, and Kira's families. Their losses are tremendous as well." Zendaya quietly adds.
Edward looks at his companion in the face. Ensureing he looks at her straight in the eye. "We do. I can't believe I was so stupid. I'm sorry for convincing the group to come along. You and Kira were right to be hesitant." Zendaya knew Edward was being sincere. Edward at his core was a decent man.
Zandaya reaches out to Edward. Taking his hand in comfort. "Cons don't fool us because we're stupid. They fool us because we're human."
|
TA_Account_12
|
LeadingJudgment2
|
2023-04-20 15:18:49
|
2023-04-20 15:00:20
| 30 | 19 |
jh0u6zf
|
jh0rdu1
|
12svegk
|
12svegk
|
[WP] Your family member has been abducted and replaced by an alien who is really bad at their job of pretending to be them. However, you don't complain because the alien is still a vast improvement over the original
|
I don't flinch anymore when I hear you come home from work. I don't have to worry about our money anymore because, instead of turning on the latest game and swearing at how you heard this team or that team was a sure bet, you just switch on the news and watch it quietly, intently. You don't drink anymore. Maybe your species can't metabolize alcohol? You compliment my cooking, which I know is a lie, but it's better than screaming and broken plates. (More than once I've seen you eat spoonfuls of salt after a meal -- I just started adding it directly to your dish, and you didn't seem to notice or realize why, but your compliments sound a little more sincere). You'll actually go on walks with me, and hold my hand. We can actually invite friends over to visit again, and they've stopped surreptitiously looking for bruises when I wear short sleeves. When we go to bed, you'll...you'll actually listen to me if I tell you I'm not in the mood. And, more and more often, I find I don't even have to tell you that. And afterwards, when you think I'm asleep, I'll listen to you report to your superiors, recommending an expansion on the infiltration based on how successful this one has gone. And I close my eyes in quiet agreement, without having to worry about being jarred awake or trapped in a hellish nightmare. If you have sinister plans for the human race, I don't care. This is the happiest I've been in a long, long time.
I feel a kick, and I reach down and caress my stomach, and the life growing within me. I wonder what our child will be like.
|
“Ricky, what the hell are you doing?” I yelled in frustration. The alien, a crude replica of the brother I once knew, stared back at me as he picked each onion up, one by one, and dropped them on the supermarket floor.
“Who is Ricky?” the alien replied.
“I can’t believe this, IGDOS gave me a Replaceable that can’t even remember its own name,” I said with exasperation. A woman stared at us.
Grabbing the alien by the arm, I pulled it over to my shopping cart. It asked, “What is IGDOS?”
“We’ve been over this before,” I answered, “IGDOS is the Inter-Galactic Department of Safety. When my brother,” I paused for a moment, choosing my words wisely, “when my brother did *you know what*, they detained him and gave you to me as his Replaceable. How many more times am I going to have to explain this to you?”
The alien, unconcerned and unbothered, started knocking Cheez-It boxes off the shelves.
“Will you quit it?” I snapped, frantically collecting the boxes and putting them back on the shelves. “Listen, if we’re going to make this work, then I need you to at least try to act like a human. I know you didn’t want this either, but we have to make it work, at least until my brother stands trial before the Council. You’re well aware that it's your duty as an IGDOS agent to ensure no humans become aware that my brother is missing.”
“Whatever you say,” the alien said with a shrug, wandering off into another aisle.
I stared into my shopping cart, examining the groceries I had collected. An overwhelming wave of stress washed over me. How did it get this bad?
I had a flashback to childhood. Ricky was always a genius, capable of things that nobody in my family understood. Yet we never knew that it would come to this, that he would use his intelligence for evil.
The alien peered its head around the corner of the aisle, “Hey, I’m gonna go check out what’s in the back.” I stood there, feeling defeated, as I watched the fake Ricky saunter into a room with a clear ‘Employees Only’ sign on the door.
“That’s it, I’ve had enough” I fumed, making a beeline for the door to collect the Replaceable. I barged into the room, surprised at what I found.
“Gotcha!” the alien shouted when I entered the room.
I quickly looked around the staff break room, yet there was nobody else there. A warped green portal glowed on the far wall of the room.
“Look, I’ve been messing with you,” the alien said. “I know how to act exactly like Ricky. I went through an intensive 12-month training process to make sure I could mimic him with perfect precision. IGDOS doesn’t mess around with this sort of thing. But to tell you the truth, I don’t want to act like Ricky. And if you step into this portal with me, I can show you why.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” I answered with confusion. “They told me I shouldn’t go anywhere with you that I wouldn’t normally go with Ricky and that you had strict instructions to follow.”
“I get it, but I know you miss him. It’s important that I show you this. Just follow me,” the alien insisted, grabbing my hand.
Unsure of what other options I had, I nervously stepped forward, consumed by the brilliant green light of the portal…
|
Smileyfax
|
TheMamaSloth
|
2023-03-04 18:07:35
|
2023-03-04 16:59:44
| 186 | 75 |
jawtzse
|
jawk0g9
|
11hxyqk
|
11hxyqk
|
[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.
|
It came as a surprise to all of us, all 7 billion of us, to find out on one fateful day that Earth was really just a grave.
It turns out, that all of earth's greatest peaks, and deepest valleys, were all marks left by the Oethers, every time they came to bury their dead. The grand canyon? Everest? Even the oceans, as massive as they are, were first carved out by them when they came to bury those who had "stilled" for eternity.
Oh, who are the Oethers you ask? Well, I don't know much of the details, and I think our scientists are much more well versed in the hard facts and details, but as far as know (and care to find out), the Oethers were and ARE the extraterrestrial life that we'd been trying so hard to find all this while.
You see, all this time we've been so focused on carbon based life, and looking through microscopes for signs of life, searching for water and air on planets for habitable environments, that we never guessed that life could exist on the other extreme - that we could be the small or "microbial" ones, and that the life we were looking for was way too fast and fragile than what it really was.
We were the outliers, the young ones, who moved fast, grew fast, died early, much like sparks on a smith's anvil. In a manner of speaking, the analogy holds too - as far as we can gather from their records, the last visit from the Oethers coincides with our estimates for the start of life on Earth, give or a take a few millenia. That last visit was when Earth as a grave was full - and whatever they did, whoever they buried, it seems must have had brought a spark to our little planet and led us to where we are now.
The only reason we even know of them now, well , is because they came to visit.
Well, one of them came, anyway. I don't know the specifics, but it turns out it was only about 3 years to them since they buried their last, and they were very surprised by the "welcome" they received. (we know the first of them as O1, for lack of better word, but I call him Oliver)
Of course, when things settled down they came to agree that our response was understandable. After all, what else would you expect if a behemoth kaijiu from our collective imaginations just blinked out from behind the moon? A good thing then that the Oethers are so hardy to begin with, as the nukes we sent were not quite so few in number.
Another good thing too that Oliver was having a bit of a cold, and the nukes did a good job warming him up. He actually thought it was a welcoming party, which is a good thing too as we found out we wouldn't have even scratched his skin, so to speak.
The most remarkable of all of this, is that after our first salvo, we somehow managed to establish communication with Oliver, and the rest is history.
It turns out that as large as they are, and as slow as they move, the Oethers think at a speed thousands of times as fast as you and I. What was 5 billion years to us, was 3 years of movement, and 5 trillion years of thought to them.
And at the end of it all, what Oliver told us was the Oethers were, well, somewhat lonely. It seems that there weren't more than a few thousand of them at any one time, and there's only so much you could talk about with one another if your lives were effectively infinite (I guess humans don't have that problem that much)
It's been a good couple of millenia since then, and we're now in a sort of symbiotic relationship now, if the term still holds.
With Oliver's help, we've managed to meet other Oethers, colonize other Oether grave worlds (we checked for life like us before moving in) with their Terra forming help, and they get, well, friends.
Lots and lots of friends.
|
It was a Friday night, bitingly cold for March. Every year you'd hear about the record lows and highs, the staying power the summer heat would have across the world with the rising oceans and melting ice caps. Earth's history had been divided up into two points, before and after meeting the real stars of the universe.
"Seventy billion?" A newsperson asked.
"And counting," Another replied, some scientist wearing his cartoonishly white lab coat on the evening news.
"Where did they come from? How could we not have seen them coming if they're as big as you say they are." The newsperson asked, it wasn't his first time asking these questions tonight, but no one could blame the man. In the same evening, day in most other parts of the world, the same answers were being dished out by the men and women in charge of the sciences of their fields and home countries. We were looking in the right places, studying the right things, advancing technology at lightning pace. None of it was enough for the beasts, for the true space farers.
There was one question that elicited different answers, a different answer for each human - the first grace of our first host.
"You may choose what happens next, little ones." Their voice was large, it resonated throughout planet Earth. Their voice rumbled like an explosion in the sky, breaking the planet's existing electronics and architecture. They could be seen from the Earth, they were as big as planets. Even their youngest were as tall and wide as entire cities.
"We are sorry," the voice said. And again their voice broke the planet, but their second grace was their mastery of any and all sciences. They coated the planet in waves of their helper drones. To them, they were the size of bees - to humans, they were the size of the biggest jets and planes. Those ships dropped shipments of evening tinier (still laughably large) robots that would inspect and repair anything that the humans claimed was broken. There were more than seventy billion of these helpers entering peoples' homes to fix their internet, to fix a broken doll or playhouse. They uprooted and replanted fallen trees with the precision of surgeons.
Many of the more stubborn nations attempted to fight the helpers, but they were silenced within minutes. Nations were deleted with the ease of erasing a letter, a misspelled word.
"You may choose what happens next, little ones." Their voice said again, but they said it softly this time.
Ron Buckler had graduated from college a month before the world changed.
"Bad timing, huh?" He said to his mother. "I would've traveled or something if I knew this was going to happen."
"Maybe you would have had time to travel if you didn't take an extra two quarters to graduate," his mother replied.
"On the bright side, at least I'm not going to have to pay back any student loans." Ron replied.
Ron chose to follow these mountainous aliens, accepting to become to live atop the new owner of planet Earth. His family and most of his friends chose to stay behind to observe what was to become of Earth and to their hometown of Holland, Michigan. Ron alone embarked on this new journey, he was assigned a squadron of helpers who outfitted him with a specially made suit, tailored to meet his exact dimensions, it measured his heartbeat, his blood pressure, his caloric needs.
"What could you guys possibly want with us if you're capable of all this?" Ron asked.
"Beep boop," one of the helpers responded.
Ron was zipped up to the sky, faster than he anticipated (which his suit was prepared for) - the helpers shot through the sky and into space, heading directly for the alien's enormous mountain of a body. Ron was one of six thousand that decided to leave Earth. Why so few, he thought to himself.
"I welcome the brave," the large voice said. "I have learned your language and studied your people. I have no doubt that many of you are wondering why you are here or why I have come to your planet."
There were murmurs.
"There is a war amongst my kind," the voice said. "My kind do not fight. It is not a rule, it is embedded in our system that we shall not fight. Something has broken and we look to your people, citizens of Earth for guidance."
"What are you talking about? Our strongest weapons and explosives did nothing to you," someone, a human, said.
"Child," the voice said. "Walk further inside my being."
The six thousand halved, but Ron walked forward into the caves of his host. The walls were alive, they reverberated with each inhale and exhale. It smelled of olives and dried sheets. The caves tightened, the lights dimmed. The caves, the alien's veins, were numerous - there were entrances and different branches of rock and stone that divided the three thousand into fractions. Ron went with his gut, he was always good at doing that. When he declared his major, he simply picked the class he did the best in - statistics. Ron walked, following the breath of the voice. Further and further down until he was alone in a room of dark blue, the walls gave off a cobalt light which were aimed at the middle of the space. There was an egg shaped rock with a crack in the middle.
He heard the voice now, the quietest its been in the last two days.
"Enter if you wish to help me," it said.
Ron didn't think, he simply walked towards it.
|
lkwai
|
DeneilYeong
|
2023-03-11 20:44:35
|
2023-03-11 19:05:18
| 446 | 178 |
jbujdf8
|
jbu5lrx
|
11op7sd
|
11op7sd
|
[WP] You're the first test subject for an experimental super soldier serum. You are told the truth only after you transform into something not quite human anymore.
|
I was wrong.
My body felt fundamentally wrong. I don’t know what they did, but it wasn’t what I signed up for. I was supposed to be here for a few blood tests, some small genetic research for some gene abnormality I had. I thought they were giving me some local anesthetic.
Whatever they had done to me was strange. I was suddenly uncomfortable in my own skin. Colors were much brighter and sounds were much louder.
I looked down at my body. My clothes were all the same. Looking at my shirt now I had never noticed that one stain at the bottom. I could feel each of the shirts fibers against myself. I didn’t like the feeling.
I then counted my fingers. Two pinkies, middles, indexes, rings……
Where were my thumbs?
Suddenly my head exploded in pain. I dropped to the floor only vaguely aware of a figure in a white coat scurrying into the room. There was something in his hand. I tried to look at him, but the lights were all a bit too bright now. I squeezed my eyes shut. The light was starting to hurt. It started to burn.
I didn’t understand, I just wanted to know what was going on. I asked them, the one in the room with me. I looked up with blurred vision and attempted to speak but my tongue felt off. Suddenly I realized i couldn’t open my mouth. I wanted to know what was happening, what they did to me, why I was feeling like this. A gasp rang out from the figure I know know to be a woman.
“How can it speak with no mouth?” I was speechless. I may not have told them my pronouns but I damn sure knew they had my medical records. Why was this woman calling me an it.
The pain had lessened during this little exchange but suddenly it was back full force. I clenched my jaw and shut my eyes. My forehead felt like it was splitting in two. The pain got worse and worse and worse…
Until it got better.
I opened my eyes and I could feel the skin of my forehead splitting open. I turned to look at where i last saw the woman, but she had since fainted. Phantom pains traveled through my body in waves but i dragged myself over to her. My body had never felt so heavy before.
She was still breathing. I could hear her heartbeat from where i was sitting and it was normal, a little accelerated but nothing she had to worry about. Then i saw the clipboard.
I grabbed it from the floor. Just when had my arm gotten so long? My name was listed over the top of the page, the rest of it was gibberish about some soldier serum 1 trials. That couldn’t be true. Stuff like that only happens in the movies. What had these people done to me.
As i read further I realized that they were serious. That gene abnormality I had was supposed to do something for the tests they were conducting but obviously its not going well. I got to the last. Page and froze.
Splashed across the last page were observations about my behavior. Unpredictable, extreme growth, receded thumbs were all scattered across the page. At the bottom of the page I saw it. Two checkboxes, one labeled success and the other labeled exterminate.
Exterminate was checked but a note was handwritten at the bottom, ‘keep for further testing’.
They wanted to kill me?
They wanted me dead?
I looked up desperately, searching for anyone else to speak to about this. I wanted them to tell me it was a lie. I didn’t want to die, I didn’t want any of this. I was angry, utterly enraged at the notion.
Did they think they could just get rid of me?
Did they think that this was gonna be easy?
Did they think that I would not fight?
They can’t kill me, I wasn’t going to let them. I guess now we’ll see just who gets exterminated.
|
The warm western wind sneaks into the apartment through an open window. The curtains, which The Soldier only now notices are not made of cloth but taped together newspapers, crinkle and threaten to tear apart.
The Doctor tells him that the procedure is complete. They are not at the military base like The Soldier imagined this all happening in, but The Doctor's apartment, a tiny civilian thing five miles away which they travel to and from by a bus whose radiator needs to be replaced. They have to stop every so often so the engine doesn't melt.
The Soldier looks down at his hands. His fingers are fat like swollen sausages and scars run over the palm, getting mixed in with the natural lines. The largest one splits his lifeline in half. Two weeks ago, when the newest girl he was with told him that, he said he didn't believe in palmistry. They made love, and as they did he couldn't stop thinking about how his life was severed.
"You're not going to turn into a monster," The Doctor says. "The serum doesn't affect your body, but your mind. Remember?"
He does not remember. Last night, he was drunk. He tries to piece together the bits he does recall yet they don't explain why he's here: a gunshot, screaming. A bomb in the distance, turning the night sky orange. A fresh throbbing cut on his ankle.
"How so?" he asks, still turning over his hands yet not seeing them any longer. He has receded into his mind. He searches for the change, but does not find it.
"It's different for everyone," The Doctor says. With that, it is settled. They walk out of the apartment together. On the bus now, a group of starved kids run after them, hoping for bottles of water or candy. They all disappear in a cloud of dust as the heavy machine roars. They stop twice before getting back to the base yet neither Doctor nor Soldier nor Driver speaks.
His bed is not made; there was no time in the morning. Now, he makes it, and as he straightens out the sheet he hears something underneath. A paper with a name and number. Alisha. Before he calls her, he eats dinner, still exploring the recesses of his mind, still searching for the change.
There is an explosion. The Soldier is out of the mess hall, his fork on the ground with a thin slice of meat on it. Grey gravy.
He readies his weapon and without thinking he fires at the band of men in a truck headed for the front gates. The driver is dead instantly, and after more gunfire the rest of the men. The Soldier, along with all the other Soldiers, return to their dinner. He is not allowed another slice of meat so he eats the one off the ground.
Alisha speaks in a demure purr and he goes to her. She lives just outside the base, and he vaguely remembers that she has black hair.
She pulls away from his kiss. A coughing sounds from the apartment below.
"What's happened to your eyes?" she asks. She looks at him closely, and though nothing has changed with his eyes, there is something missing. This is not the same man she has been with before.
He hears The Doctor's words from earlier. "Nothing," he says, and goes in for another kiss. She slaps him and tells him to get out. He does.
The Soldier feels he should be angry, but he is not. Perhaps this is part of the change. He walks through the town for half an hour in search of another girl. It is dark and he is alone and he returns to the base. Night passes.
The Doctor returns in the morning. He performs a physical check up on The Soldier, and at the very end, he slaps him.
"What was that for?" The Soldier asks, rubbing his cheek.
"You are a piece of shit," The Doctor says instead of apologizing. He slaps him again, the other cheek. "You are worthless. Nothing more than a body to be used. Less than human. Do you understand?"
The Soldier nods. His cheeks sting red. He knows he can break The Doctor's neck—he is such a small Doctor—if he wants, but he does not want. The Doctor tells him the procedure was a success.
The Soldier is on execution duty today. There are three men in the pit and the hot desert sun bakes them alive. He drags them all out, one by one, and lines them against the wall. He removes their black hoods though he does not need to. They beg him in a language he only knows parts of, but he can understand what they say because they plead in the most rudimentary words. Please. Sorry. Family.
He dumps their bodies back in the pit with all the other bodies and makes a note that there will need to be a new pit soon because this one is almost full and the rotting stench has been wafting all over the base for some days now. He decides to start digging himself, though he does not need to, because he has already performed his duty for the day. Sweat soaks his fatigues yet he continues to dig until he passes out. The sun disappears and its heat echoes throughout the night.
He wakes up in his bed. The moon is out. Underneath his pillow is Alisha's note. He puts it in his pocket and goes to the mess hall. He thinks about calling her; maybe they could talk it out. But the more he thinks about it the less he wants to.
After his body is full of sustenance, he returns to the hole—his hole—and continues digging. He rips up Alisha's note and scatters it amongst the dirt. He looks up at the moon and realizes he will never climb back out.
He continues to dig.
|
Mindless_Company_833
|
ApprehensivePen
|
2023-08-06 00:59:02
|
2023-08-06 00:54:21
| 64 | 22 |
juz088p
|
juyzml6
|
15j8mzq
|
15j8mzq
|
[WP] Turns out that Hell has no fire, torture, or frozen wastelands to endure. The only actual punishment is having to spend an eternity with the other assorted jerks that ended up there as well.
|
(GARCIN, INEZ, and ESTELLE enters, accompanied by the VALET, and glances around)
GARCIN: So here we are?
VALET: Yes, Mr. Garcin.
GARCIN: And this is what it looks like?
VALET: Yes.
GARCIN: Ikea furniture, I observe... Well, well, I dare say one gets used to it in time.
VALET: Some do, some don't.
GARCIN: Are all the rooms like this one?
VALET: Yes, but the number of screws and pieces is always different.
INEZ: I prefer the Finnala chair. These are all Viskafor chairs.
ESTELLE: Right! In that case, I'll stop you sitting. (She picks up the PAPER Allen Wrench and stabs Inez several times.)
INEZ: But, you crazy creature, what do you think you're doing? You know quite well I'm dead.
ESTELLE: Dead?
INEZ: Dead! Dead! Dead! Meatballs, allen wrenches, tiny pencils--useless. It has happened already, do you understand? Once and for all. SO here we are, forever.
ESTELLE: Forever. My God, how funny! Forever.
GARCIN: For ever, and ever, and ever.
(A long silence.)
GARCIN: Well, well, let's get on with it...
(GARCIN begins to build the Finnalla chair while both INEZ and ESTELLE read the Ikea instructions but they never finish.)
-END-
|
I was a good person. That's what I told myself, anyway. I never lied, or killed anyone. Well, ok, I used the company copier to print some stuff off, but everyone did that. I might have lost my temper once or twice, but I never hurt anyone. Not really. I was a *good guy*. I paid taxes, and donated to charity. I mowed my neighbor's lawn because she couldn't get to it.
I guess I never expected to end up here, is all I'm saying. It's not a pit of fire or devils with pitchforks. No flies. Nobody being dangled upside down in excrement - Dante had no idea what he was talking about. It's just me, and a bunch of other people I can't quite recognize. It's all wrong, though. It's like all the good is just leeched out of us. There's a bit of a glow, enough to make out the dim shapes around me, but no real light... Not that there's anything to see. Gray bodies, slack faces... I can't even remember what the person next to me looks like. Hell, I don't remember what *I* look like.
Hah. Hell. That's where I am, you know. I can't sleep. There's no food, but I'm not even hungry - I miss the sensation of eating, I crave food, but I don't have hunger pangs. I don't even know if I can blink in here. I tried poking myself in the eye, once, just to see if I could feel pain; there was a dull pressure, but that was it.
"Hell is other people."
The person next to me grinds his teeth. It sounds like wet popcorn, and shifting gravel. Hours on end. Click click pop grind scrape pop crack. I hate him. Well. I dislike him. I can't seem to work up a good ol' rousing hatred. Just a fog of half-hearted feelings, like I forgot how to be angry. I lie to myself and say I'm seething mad.
Finally, I snap. Or I wish I could. I tell myself that his clicking and grinding is driving me mad, that I can hardly be held responsible for my actions, but I don't really believe it. I wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze. He doesn't really fight back. I squeeze and squeeze until his jaw unclenches. I don't see fear in his eyes, though. Or relief. At the last second, when I've squeezed the life out of him, I see... Realization. Enlightenment. Horror. And then... He's dead. I look around - the others are staring at me. But the body is gone. Vanished like it was never there.
The person next to me jostles, shoving me over until I'm standing in his spot. The dead guy. I hated him, I remind myself. It's a lie. I wish I knew what he figured out. I grit my teeth, and feel the pressure building in my jaw. Almost like pain. I double my efforts. Grind. Pop. The guy next to me stares at me. I wonder if he hates me. I wonder if I can make him snap like I did. I totally just snapped. It wasn't my fault, not really.
I was a good person.
Click. Pop. Grind.
That's what I told myself, anyway.
|
SMJ01
|
I_Arman
|
2023-08-28 07:30:57
|
2023-08-28 05:16:56
| 77 | 48 |
jy2949m
|
jy1ynnx
|
1638ce8
|
1638ce8
|
[WP] "Chess? I've been around since before humans invented the concept of games, so a game as old as chess would be be in my favour without a doubt. I would advice you to choose again, and pick something you're familiar with." Death said as they presented every board and video game ever created.
|
"Chess," I said again.
His cold gaze sought mine, but I was busy rifling through the boxes to find the set. I thought it would be a nice, shiny glass case with fancy figurines. But, nah. Just cheap plastic. I blew some dust off the box, to the side so I wouldn't bother the bony figure in the robes across from me. I guess a lot of people listened to him.
"Very well," he said after I was half-way through putting the pieces on the board. Only once I had set everything in place did I look up to his stony stare. He held out two closed hands with his palms down, trying to conceal the knights within. I picked the right one and got black.
He said something about the Caro Kahn? Cann? Something fancy I couldn't make out with his haughty laugh. The next move got a French comment instead. Quieter. He didn't say anything about the next move. I guess it wasn't a book move. Jokes on him: I didn't read the books.
Every piece he took, he arched forward just a bit. Like he was concentrating. Maybe I played weird? The way he was smoking me, I thought it'd be easy. He still made it look easy, that's for sure.
"You're not taking this seriously," he said.
"Uh, yeah I am," I retorted. "It's my life on the line, right?"
He took my queen, then a knight. He had almost everything and I was left with a few pawns and a bishop. All of a sudden, he turned aside, picking up one of the other boxes.
"Look," he said. "We'll start again, try another one, yes? Why not...parcheesi? I have some friends I could call here, and—"
I looked at him, then to the box, then back. It took a minute of quiet, but he dropped it like he spilled acid on himself and found another.
"There's this one. Othello, it says. It's black and white, too. Or this," he said, picking up yet another box. "Brand new. Surely you would have a fighting chance with this."
I moved my bishop up by a few squares and stared at him. The only sound he made was the sound of boxes and cardboard and plastic rattling as he went through box after box.
"I know I'm bad," I said. "But I'm having fun."
I thought I heard him sigh as he turned back to the game. It finished five moves later.
"Again," he said. The pieces reappeared back in place with a clack of his hands. I didn't even get to say "good game" or something.
"But—"
"AGAIN."
We played again. I felt like he was going easy on me. He wasn't taking everything like he did the first time. We stopped talking, Maybe stopped breathing. Just shuffling pieces.
"Why don't you pick something else?" he asked to break the silence. It wasn't a suggestion like the first time. He wanted to know for real.
"I wanted to play." I pushed my finger on the top of my queen and tilted her around in a circle. "Nobody wanted to play before. Nobody ever really wanted to play with me. I guess I sucked too much."
"But your life, your future—"
"Yeah, so?"
"YOU ARE TWELVE," he roared. He was standing over the board, over me.
I fell silent and didn't move. He panted out his anger and, simply, stared as I pushed my queen forward. I kept looking at the board, trying to be tough like my dad told me. Real men don't cry. Real men don't cry.
He slumped back down. Made a few other moves. Just shuffling pieces. I didn't want to play any more. It was hard. Besides, the pain stopped. I figured that meant it was time to go.
"I quit," I said, and pushed over my king. I looked up at Death, waiting for him to say something.
I guess skeletons don't count as real men.
|
"Very well Lord Death" I responded to respect his title.
I looked at all of them carefully. The amount of games humans have created over the centuries was truly mind boggling. Older games from centuries ago covered in layers dust, compared to the newer games shining in the gleam of torchlit flames neatly organized along the dark castle walls. To get what I wanted involved beating Death at a challenge.
"So I can pick any game whatsoever? " I asked to confirm the terms.
Death in his dark saggy old robes, simply nodded from his throne of bones.
"You get what you wish if you win mortal. But beware, I get what I want if I win. And I have never lost, so choose wisely if you truly value your desires."
I thought carefully taking my time. Physical games would be a loss since hundreds of dead legendary warriors could greatly contribute to his experience. Mental games against someone with eons of watching human history played out seemed like a loss. When I saw Battleship, the idea of a game of chance could work. But my luck absolutely sucked so absolutely not risking it to chance felt smart. Death seemed in no hurry to rush my thought process. I was on borrowed time to achieve my goal, while he was going to win one day irregardless of what I did in my mortal life.
"How do I know you won't use any of your Deathly abilities to cheat?" I questioned, giving him a droll stare. Death sighed in exasperation.
"If I break the rules mortal, I lose my position evolving into nothingness. Negatively impacting both of us I might add, as I wont be able to grant your request. Does that assure you mortal?" Death asked. I swear if he had eyes in those empty sockets, he would be rolling them right now. It still was reassuring however. I stepped up to his throne, giving a bow of respect to him. No matter if I lost or won, one day we would meet again. So pissing him off was not a good idea.
"I, Michael Lychell, have chosen the game of contest then Lord Death. I choose Circle of Snakes" I announced dramatically, at probably the absolute worst time possible to do so in my life. Which may be considerably gone if I lost.
I didn't think it was possible without a face, but Death actually scowled. Apparently jokes aren't something the leader of the anti life force, underworld, and Reaper of Reapers enjoys. Good thing it wasn't a laughing contest. The requested game popped into existence in between us both. Death took a look giving an "Are you serious" look before putting a skeletal hand to his face.
"Wait a fucking minute, this isn't 1v1. This is 1v6. You can't just pick a game where you get reinforcements of your choosing" Death complained.
"You said I could pick any game. Spawn my quest party here to play for our rights or you are violating our agreement Lord Death" I warned. After a moment of grumbling, like magic, all my friends spawned out of glowing black portals completely surprised judging by the various looks on their faces. And the screaming for several seconds. Confusion and panic ensuing, as they saw each other. Struggling to understand their new surroundings.
"OMG WHAT THE FUCK?"
HOW ARE WE ALL DEAD?"
"DID I DIE TAKING A SHIT?
"PLEASE TELL ME I DIDN'T DIE A VIRGIN?"
I couldn't help laughing a bit at their looks of misery.
"Hey guys, remember how we agreed to follow each other to hell and back? Well... I sort of need your help. Also meet Death, he's sort of chill" I explained watching them see the insane depth of the psychotic nature of the situation sink in.
"YOU BROUGHT US TO THE UNDERWORLD" They pretty much all screamed in unison. I guess in retrospect, I should of expected such a reaction. Endlessly nagging me about how "stupid" it was to take a metaphorical saying quite literally. I mostly just shrugged it off cuz it was to late to send them back anyway. Until a loud "thump", ended the conversation. Death slamming his scythe to create the game.
"It is time to begin" He announced. We all took flaming seats solidified into metal forming a circle from each other. Blindfolded to our chairs, while unknown beasts walked among us. Shadowing a chosen player, allowing them to present a living snake to another while harrowing music played in the background.
I sat feeling excited. And so we began. Teaming against Death, presenting him the snake only once. For even if he guessed right, it was simply a game he couldn't win no matter how he played. Relying on our trust and numbers formed over a lifetime we won. With a twirl of his scythe, the scene disappeared in a flurry of smoke.
"Make your request Michael Lychell. If it is within my power it shall be granted" Death rumbled.
"Dude wish for money"
"Are you crazy, wish for a super amount of fame"
"You could literally wish to enslave Death. Make all the wishes you want dude"
And yet, I found no appeal in any of those.
"I want me and my friends to be something new Lord Death. Immortal reapers who represent not just you, but Mistress Life as well to help maintain a balance in the world" I requested, having seen far to much chaos.
"So it has been said, so it shall be done"
And with that decree, our lives forever changed.
|
Tyreaus
|
LordNightFang
|
2024-01-04 02:39:32
|
2024-01-03 22:53:36
| 162 | 112 |
kg81xt8
|
kg71u6a
|
18xsoh8
|
18xsoh8
|
[WP] "Good wish, you still have three wishes." A lightbulb goes off in my head. "So, you're saying if I make a selfless wish like that one, it doesn't count?" The genie visibly relaxes, as if I was the first person to connect the dots. "Yes, exactly."
|
“That seems easy to exploit. What if I wish for my parents to become incredibly wealthy?” I asked, trying to figure out a loophole to this rule. The genie sighed, their earlier optimism about me fading. I had probably made myself look bad, but in all honesty, I was only curious. I didn’t have any grand plan to exploit this rule, quite the opposite, in fact.
“I would know. Even if you try to disguise it as a selfless gift, your voice will give away your true intentions. So, I recommend you state what you want, rather than trying to figure out a clever way to exploit the system. You’re already in a gifted position. Don’t let your greed taint a good thing.” The genie’s speech filled with wisdom as magnificent as his golden goatee.
“Ok, got it. Still, that’s a lot to think about. Hmm, what to wish for. I wouldn’t mind a pair of comfortable underwear. Like a pair that doesn’t get any holes in it or anything. How good would that be?” I laughed, much to the dissatisfaction of the genie. They only narrowed their gaze, waiting for an actual wish. “Ok, sorry. I’ll think of a proper wish.”
“If you would like to waste a limitless wish on underwear, you can. Though I expected better things from you.” The genie said, in the tone of a disappointed parent. He even shook his head, adding to the parental display perfectly.
“No, I’ll save that for my last wish. I should be smart. If I wish too carelessly, I could cause chaos in the world. So, don’t wish everyone immortal or something stupid like that?”
“I doubt Mr. Reaper would appreciate the immortality wish.”
“The grim reapers real?”
“You question that in the presence of a genie? My existence should open a world of possibility to you.”
“That’s a fair point. How about… hm, anything on a worldwide scale is tricky. You fix one problem, and you cause another. Sure, those wishes are selfless, but they would cause additional problems. I’m a little stumped.”
“This is why so many have failed. Fixing the world is something even your greatest minds can’t do. Do you believe you will be the one to solve it?” The genie said, their words a mix of teasing and honesty. They weren’t wrong. What did I know?
“I could wish to be smart enough to know how to solve all the world’s problems. Although, even with that knowledge, the answer might still be tricky. Hundreds of people have offered solutions, it’s implementing those solutions that’s hard. It would take a lot of wishes to achieve what I want, and a lot of those wishes would need to be selfish.”
“Now you’re understanding the dilemma. On a small-scale, selfless actions are easy. To be selfless to the world is another story.”
“Right, I wish for billions of dollars.”
“Giving up already?” The genie asked, expecting more from me. I shrugged, not giving them an answer. They raised their hands as my phone buzzed with messages, notifying me of the sudden influx of money into my account.
“This isn’t going to be a banking error or a monkey’s paw situation. Is it?”
“No. The money is yours. Do with it whatever selfish acts you wish.”
With all that money, I was able to start a few charities. Charities that made good on the genie’s powers. The first charity was the Travelling doctor. A charity that allowed me to go to poorer regions, providing free surgery and medicine to those that needed it. Whenever someone would tell me their problem, I would allow the genie to solve it. A selfless wish that didn’t affect the world on a large scale.
Next was the Feed us all foundation. A charity that made use of all the world’s leftover supermarket products, using that food to feed the homeless. Again, a selfless wish that didn’t affect the world too much. After all, the supermarkets were only going to throw out the produce and food, so it wasn’t stealing money away from them. It also helped feed a lot of struggling families, easing their weekly burdens of getting food on the table.
The last charity was my favorite. The Wish a gift foundation. This charity only operated in December and was focused on Christmas. The goal was to go to as many countries as I could, setting up little Santa stalls for kids whose parents couldn’t afford a gift. Even the genie got involved, dressing up as Santa Claus. They would whisper the present they wanted to the genie, and I would ask him to grant their wish. Then, like magic, I would pull the present out of my red Santa sack, giving them exactly what they wanted. A celebration that always brought a smile to my face.
“So, what do you think of my wishes so far?” I asked, adjusting the genie’s bushy white beard for the next Wish a gift session.
“I think you’re smarter than I gave you credit for, human.” He smiled.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“It’s more rewarding than the usual people who find me. Remember, though, two wrong wishes and you will lose me forever.”
“I know. Don’t worry, by the time that happens, I’ll be able to continue these charities without you. Well, they won’t be as spectacular, but I’ll still be able to help people.” I said, giving him a cocky grin.
“I can’t wait to see that day.” With that, we both went to get the stall ready, preparing to give holiday cheer to another December.
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
|
It’s been a hot minute since someone found a genie. Not since Yousseff Al Salahadina Ayoube used the power of a genie to unite Syria and drive out the occupying Crusaders.
Two thousand years later, I found one. I’m no one special. Not an archeologist digging through old ruins, or a soldier stumbling onto something cool after blowing up a national treasure and all the people in it in some foreign land. And I certainly wasn’t the Witcher pulling a powerful demon out of a lake.
No, I’m as average a joe as they come, scraping out a living by flipping antiques dug up in people’s houses. Usually mom and dad pass on to the big pie in the sky and the kids come behind, not knowing the value of their parent’s treasures. They sell the shit to people like me for dirt cheap and I flip it online for a profit.
It was in just such a way I found the genie. It was just an old lamp I found on someone’s shelf. An important part of finding a thing’s value is to make note of any markings or writing on it. I Googled the inscription on the side because I don’t speak Farsi. I was unable to see it clearly, but from Google’s photo recognition software, I think it said, “The pure of hard shall have infinite prosperity.” “Hard” was obviously wrong. Although I guess it could’ve contained some ancient medicine capable of giving you morning wood any time you want. No doubt it had expired by now.
I polished the lamp a little bit to see the rest and poof, out popped the genie. Right there in my studio apartment.
Needless to say I was speechless. The green elemental just sort of hovered there looking at me with human-like eyes and waited. Probably for a command, but I just stood there with my mouth open.
It cocked an eyebrow at me then turned toward the window and folded its hands behind its back. “I see,” the genie said, in a wispy sounding voice, “once in a few thousand years this happens to me, someone stumbles upon my prison by accident.” He turned a bulbous green head toward me and fixed me with his brown human-like eyes.
The paralysis broke and I stammered, “Y-y-yes.”
The genie’s expression changed to something bordering on kind. “Does this help?” The genie asked changing into human form. He was tall, standing at about six foot five inches, with dark hair, brown eyes, and middle eastern complexion.
I nodded.
“In case you’re wondering, this is indeed what I really look like. At least before I was cursed by the druids and imprisoned in this body twenty-five thousand years ago.”
I just gaped at him.
He sighed, “Well, tell me your wishes. What do you want? Money? Power? A perfect wife? An infinite supply of virgins to last you the rest of your life? Those are the usual things.”
I shook my head.
“Well? Then make your wish.”
“I-I wish my mother were cured of cancer and all the illnesses she’s developed over the course of her battle with the disease.”
The genie paused, then smiled, genuinely this time, “You would use an entire wish to save someone else’s life? When you could be the ruler of the world?”
“Yes, I already have,” I said, beginning to recover my wits.
“Then your wish is granted.” The genie clapped his hands and made an underwhelming gesture then looked at me, “You have three wishes left.”
“Don’t you mean two?”
“No,” the genie said, “Three.”
Understanding slowly dawned on me. The inscription, it had said, “The pure of *heart* shall receive infinite prosperity.”
“I get it now,” I said, “I can ask for any number of things for other people?”
The genie smiled and nodded, “You are the first person in twenty-five thousand years not to ask for something for themselves.”
I thought carefully about my next wish, “I wish for an end to the war in Ukraine, the reparation of its countryside, cities, towns, economy and health of its people, and for the butchers of Bucha and all other war criminals to be brought to justice.”
The genie clapped his hands and made the same underwhelming gesture, “It’s a big ask, and it will take time for the magic to work, but your wish will be fulfilled over a few months. Anything else?”
“Yes,” I said, a rattled off a list of things that just flowed out of me like a dam breaking. At last I had a chance to effect all the changes in the world I wanted to make. I wished for an end to government corruption, universal economic freedom, and for nukes to explode into harmless soap bubbles anytime they were fired.
On and on I went. There were so many things the genie was clapping and waving like a star struck fan seeing Chris Hemsworth in person.
“And finally,” I paused, “I wish for animal cruelty to become unthinkable in the minds of every single person on the planet who is and whoever will be in the future.”
The genie clapped and waved again. “You have created a perfect world, Joe. Disease, cruelty, war, and economic desperation are gone. The world’s ecosystems are restored and the people live in harmony. Be warned, nature always has a way of correcting itself even against the mightiest magic, but you have gained everyone a respite, may it last a thousand years.”
I turned on the news and realized that indeed, the changes I made were taking place. Vladimir Putin had stepped down as the Russian president, citing health concerns. I knew that couldn’t be, because I’d rolled back major diseases (along with mad procreation to counter balance it) from the equation. The war was over. I’m sure many other things were happening too, but the news wasn’t interested in them right now. Typical. Maybe I should’ve fixed human prioritization and attention spans too.
I turned back to the genie and added those to the list.
“And now, Joe. You still have three wishes for yourself.”
I smiled wanly at him, and said in an ironic tone, “I wish for the perfect lifelong companion, to be a great, powerful, and wise magician though not a genie, and to be recognized as the world leader. Perhaps I can make any adjustments needed to make sure the good life lasts for everyone for that thousand years.”
“And one last thing before you go.”
“Yes?”
“Can I make one last wish for someone else?”
“Yes,” the genie replied, “just one.”
“I wish for you to be free.”
The genie bowed and disappeared in a puff of smoke.
A week later I moved into my new estate, formerly known as Buckingham Palace, with my dog and magical laboratory.
I bumped into my wife on my way through the door. She wasn’t my wife right then, but I knew when I saw her with those funny glasses and kitten in a shoulder carrier that she was it. I never removed human agency from the equation though. I don't want to free humanity only to see them returned to slavery, so I’ll still need to see if she’s game.
But that’s a story for another day.
|
sadnesslaughs
|
Sir-Planks-Alot
|
2023-10-06 14:23:17
|
2023-10-06 14:15:22
| 1,115 | 199 |
k3px7k2
|
k3pvzoa
|
171bsrm
|
171bsrm
|
[WP] Humans are the proverbial "Sleeping Giant," and thus make remarkably good deterrents. A common tactic of the Galactic Federation is to simply call in a human warship, such as the USS "Fuck Around and, FindOut," and simply let it sit nearby. Peace Talks happen within the week.
|
Times of peace are best cherished when they come. Likewise, fought for when they are lost.
Peace was maintained in many ways when it brought itself to the galaxy at large. Diplomacy was the favorite of any relatively advanced species; they had learned through great effort what sorts of terrible things happen to those who move to war as their first option. Or their only. That was not to say they were soft. Far from it. Much as they avoided it, no civilization made it to be a truly interplanetary presence without a few scarred armor plates. A few rainbow-cast superheated shells. Metal on metal, Copper to bronze to iron to steel. Sharpened, honed; then sheathed, for the good of all.
Until they are needed again.
Humans were a relatively small grouping among the galactic stage; they were from a moon, orbiting a planet. The moon of Tir'Nia, orbiting the husk of Solitaire. They brought with them many species and folded yet more into their empire as it grew. Always the open hand first, never the drawn blade. When pressed, however..
The Tir'Nia Federation was the de-facto military presence in the galaxy. They used a blend of magic and technology refined to such a sharp point that challenging them was seen tantamount to suicide. Their ships cut through space as if imposing themselves on it - blocky in the same way their armory was. In their early days they had been challenged, surely. Time and again, their motions to keep the peace rebuffed. Placating words crumpled and thrown to the ground. It was seldom their wrath was truly tested, but when it was:
Continents shifted. Planets cracked. Suns rippled in distorted waves of fire that dwarfed them, the cosmic lights of the very firmament. It was impossible to stand against such ferocity once unleashed. So impossible that a single TNF warship was enough to lay hostility to rest. Whether it was the fear of a stray macrocannon round raising the ire of the rumbling, armored dreadnought; or simply the economic and diplomatic impact of ruffling those selfsame scaled plates.
When the TNF *Prosperity Assured* jumped into orbit around the planet, everything went still. A fleet of Ankher ships ceased their salvo of the planetary defenses around the Gaian planet that they so coveted. The defenders limped back to stations, recuperating. The Galactic Federation ship that had called upon the *Prosperity* even shied away. The *Prosperity* dwarfed every ship in-system. Every ten, combined. As the distortion of the slip-field faded away, fire ignited on any number of symbols wrought on the surface, turning the utilitarian ship into a blazing icon of technological and magical might. Such was its presence that those on the surface of the planet found their eyes drawn toward it; even had it not drifted between them and their moon.
A klaxon rang out, entering the minds of every living being within the system and radiating across every technological communication channel available to either faction:
"Cease hostility and come to terms, or terms will be managed for you."
​
//Not exactly on-prompt, but it got into my head!//
|
“Zorvax and Xalaxites are getting into it again in Sector 37AZ,” Zorba said while checking reports on his monitor.
“That’s what like fourth time this week?” Yulok asked scratching one of his heads with his middle tentacle.
“Fifth actually,” Zorba said looking over the reports.
“Is it time?” Yulok asked. “Should we call in the big guns?”
“According to the Galactic Federation, it is, the fifth strike and we have to interfere,” Zorba said and Yulok’s tentacles wobbled in excitement.
“Let’s call in the Humans,” Yulok said with a squeaky voice and pressed a few buttons on his console.
In the vast expanse of the galaxy, countless civilizations coexist, some peacefully, and some not so much. The Galactic Federation, a coalition of species from across the universe, was established out of necessity to maintain peace and stability among these diverse species across the galaxy. However, sometimes conflicts arise, and when they do, the Federation has a secret weapon: the humans.
Humans, as it turns out, are remarkably good deterrents. Their reputation for being fierce, unpredictable, and warlike is known throughout the galaxy. But the most likely reason they are feared all around is their history of nuking their own planet several times throughout history if they are willing to do that to themselves, what would they be capable of doing to others. So even though humans are relatively new to the intergalactic community, their military prowess is already legendary.
Within a week of the human ship's arrival, peace talks usually start. The mere threat of human intervention is enough to force the warring parties to the negotiating table. Even the most stubborn and belligerent species known to the Galactic Federation didn’t don't want to incur the wrath of the humans.
Of course, humans are not without their own agendas. They know that their reputation is their greatest asset in the galaxy, and they're not afraid to use it to their advantage, making insane money, exploring the uncharted territories of space, and claiming the empty planets they find for themselves. The Federation is happy to let them do so, as long as it means that peace can be maintained.
Soon after they sent the request the answer came from the Human control center, the available ship nearest to that sector was The USS 'Fuck Around and Find Out'.
“They answered,” Yulok said with excitement.
Zorba nodded reading over the message they received. "The USS 'Fuck Around and Find Out' is available, it should do the trick. That one always seems to get the job done in just a few days."
Yulok grinned with all of his head. "I can't wait to see the look on those Zorvax and Xalaxites' faces when they see that The USS 'Fuck Around and Find Out' is in orbit."
Zorba chuckled. "They'll think twice before starting another fight after this. I gotta admit, I did not like the humans at first when we accepted them into the Galactic Federation due to their nature. But hot damn if it’s not fun having them on our side."
“Tell me about it,” Yulok said. “I love their interventions, it’s better than the movies. I’ll prepare some of the best human cuisines for us to watch this masterpiece, the popcorn!”
Zorba nodded finally cracking a smile of his own with one of his two mouths, “Love me some popcorns.”
Yulok quickly scurried off to prepare the human cuisines, while Zorba began to make arrangements to inform the Federation of the upcoming intervention by the USS 'Fuck Around and Find Out'.
As they settled in to watch the action, Yulok brought out the popcorn and they both eagerly awaited the arrival of the human warship.
Within a matter of hours, the USS 'Fuck Around and Find Out' arrived in orbit next to the Galactic Federation Center where Zorba and Yulok worked, before heading over to Sector 37AZ. Two aliens watched in awe as the massive vessel dwarfed everything else in the sector.
“They sure make ‘em big,” Zorba said.
“I heard they run on 6 cores instead of one or two like most other civilizations,” Yulok said. “And that design, it’s so unnecessary and tacky but I love every second of it.
Zorba chuckled. "That's the humans for you. They may be a bit...excessive, but they get the job done."
As they watched the USS 'Fuck Around and Find Out' depart towards Sector 37AZ, Zorba and Yulok couldn't help but feel a sense of relief knowing that the humans were on their way to intervene in the conflict between the Zorvax and Xalaxites and stop a possible war, but they also felt the sense of excitement as they will get to watch masters at work.
*Like the story? Check out my sub* r/LukasWrites *for more!*
[Part 2 up below](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/11keke0/comment/jb7d5su/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
|
AuriExarch
|
Nellthe
|
2023-03-06 23:15:27
|
2023-03-06 22:31:23
| 908 | 259 |
jb771k5
|
jb70ypq
|
11keke0
|
11keke0
|
[WP] Humans are the proverbial "Sleeping Giant," and thus make remarkably good deterrents. A common tactic of the Galactic Federation is to simply call in a human warship, such as the USS "Fuck Around and, FindOut," and simply let it sit nearby. Peace Talks happen within the week.
|
The Sciophen were an enemy that seemed without end. Hivemind insectoids of the planet of Kelendatho, defending 'their' territories with a rush of bodies that all were perfectly happy to dispose of for the 'greater good' of their hive. So bad was fighting these things that the Galactic Council simply made it law that all members were not to intrude upon any planet they considered theirs to save themselves the trouble of further fighting them. Truly, it was thought that no species had the warlike capacity in them to finally put them on the ropes. That was, at least, until the Terrans showed. No species was so ballsy as to attempt a direct invasion of Kelendatho as their first offensive. No species had such a capacity to fight that all of its servicemen were volunteers. No species had such an ability to hold a grudge that they were perfectly willing to wipe out the Sciophen, right down to the very last worker drone. No species, that is, except the Terrans. Thus was how the council had found them. There had been no word on the status of any Sciophen, of any kind, for many Star-Dates. No invasions, no excursions, not even so much as a worker being spotted. And after such time, the council had gone en route to Kelendatho to see if they may have had a change. A change had occurred, but not the one that was expected. Kelendatho had been left barren. All scans showed the same thing, nothing on the planet, not the plants, not the various orders of animal, not even the many single-celled organisms, was left alive. And that was when first contact occurred.
"This is the TSG Roger Young. You are traversing through Terran Federation territory. Identify yourself or be destroyed."
And thus was the start of an interesting relationship. The Terrans were inducted into the Council with a quickness, on terms that were favorable to them to an *insane* degree. But it was necessary, as the Council now had an arm by which to actually enforce its directives, even if they couldn't make them enforce, or even follow all of them. Previously, the members could essentially say they'd not follow a directive, and there'd be nothing the council could do without going to war with itself. Which it did, many times, and the citizenry were understandably tired of it. Now, the threat of 'Or else what?' had a response. One call to the Terran Federation and they'd simply have to park one of their capital ships in the straggler's space. Sure, it took three conflicts that had many a death, one nearly eradicating another species were it not for cooler heads prevailing in the Terran Federation causing their at-that-time Skymarshall being deposed. Now, just seeing the *George S. Patton,* or the *Roger Young,* or even the *Napoleon Bonaparte* in their space was enough to get the stragglers to be more open to peaceful negotiation. And truthfully, the Terrans preferred it that way. They disliked war just as we did. That did not mean they were not good at it. And to think that their volunteerism was born in decent part out of their simple motto:
Service Guarantees Citizenship.
|
“Zorvax and Xalaxites are getting into it again in Sector 37AZ,” Zorba said while checking reports on his monitor.
“That’s what like fourth time this week?” Yulok asked scratching one of his heads with his middle tentacle.
“Fifth actually,” Zorba said looking over the reports.
“Is it time?” Yulok asked. “Should we call in the big guns?”
“According to the Galactic Federation, it is, the fifth strike and we have to interfere,” Zorba said and Yulok’s tentacles wobbled in excitement.
“Let’s call in the Humans,” Yulok said with a squeaky voice and pressed a few buttons on his console.
In the vast expanse of the galaxy, countless civilizations coexist, some peacefully, and some not so much. The Galactic Federation, a coalition of species from across the universe, was established out of necessity to maintain peace and stability among these diverse species across the galaxy. However, sometimes conflicts arise, and when they do, the Federation has a secret weapon: the humans.
Humans, as it turns out, are remarkably good deterrents. Their reputation for being fierce, unpredictable, and warlike is known throughout the galaxy. But the most likely reason they are feared all around is their history of nuking their own planet several times throughout history if they are willing to do that to themselves, what would they be capable of doing to others. So even though humans are relatively new to the intergalactic community, their military prowess is already legendary.
Within a week of the human ship's arrival, peace talks usually start. The mere threat of human intervention is enough to force the warring parties to the negotiating table. Even the most stubborn and belligerent species known to the Galactic Federation didn’t don't want to incur the wrath of the humans.
Of course, humans are not without their own agendas. They know that their reputation is their greatest asset in the galaxy, and they're not afraid to use it to their advantage, making insane money, exploring the uncharted territories of space, and claiming the empty planets they find for themselves. The Federation is happy to let them do so, as long as it means that peace can be maintained.
Soon after they sent the request the answer came from the Human control center, the available ship nearest to that sector was The USS 'Fuck Around and Find Out'.
“They answered,” Yulok said with excitement.
Zorba nodded reading over the message they received. "The USS 'Fuck Around and Find Out' is available, it should do the trick. That one always seems to get the job done in just a few days."
Yulok grinned with all of his head. "I can't wait to see the look on those Zorvax and Xalaxites' faces when they see that The USS 'Fuck Around and Find Out' is in orbit."
Zorba chuckled. "They'll think twice before starting another fight after this. I gotta admit, I did not like the humans at first when we accepted them into the Galactic Federation due to their nature. But hot damn if it’s not fun having them on our side."
“Tell me about it,” Yulok said. “I love their interventions, it’s better than the movies. I’ll prepare some of the best human cuisines for us to watch this masterpiece, the popcorn!”
Zorba nodded finally cracking a smile of his own with one of his two mouths, “Love me some popcorns.”
Yulok quickly scurried off to prepare the human cuisines, while Zorba began to make arrangements to inform the Federation of the upcoming intervention by the USS 'Fuck Around and Find Out'.
As they settled in to watch the action, Yulok brought out the popcorn and they both eagerly awaited the arrival of the human warship.
Within a matter of hours, the USS 'Fuck Around and Find Out' arrived in orbit next to the Galactic Federation Center where Zorba and Yulok worked, before heading over to Sector 37AZ. Two aliens watched in awe as the massive vessel dwarfed everything else in the sector.
“They sure make ‘em big,” Zorba said.
“I heard they run on 6 cores instead of one or two like most other civilizations,” Yulok said. “And that design, it’s so unnecessary and tacky but I love every second of it.
Zorba chuckled. "That's the humans for you. They may be a bit...excessive, but they get the job done."
As they watched the USS 'Fuck Around and Find Out' depart towards Sector 37AZ, Zorba and Yulok couldn't help but feel a sense of relief knowing that the humans were on their way to intervene in the conflict between the Zorvax and Xalaxites and stop a possible war, but they also felt the sense of excitement as they will get to watch masters at work.
*Like the story? Check out my sub* r/LukasWrites *for more!*
[Part 2 up below](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/11keke0/comment/jb7d5su/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
|
Githka
|
Nellthe
|
2023-03-07 00:25:38
|
2023-03-06 22:31:23
| 400 | 259 |
jb7glqc
|
jb70ypq
|
11keke0
|
11keke0
|
[WP] You've been summoned as a hero of legend to save a medieval fantasy world from evil. Same old, same old. However, it very quickly dawns on you that a medieval world's idea of "evil" is quite incompatible with what you, a modern person, would consider evil.
|
“She’s a redhead.”
I stare blankly at the barkeep. “What?”
“AND,” pipes up a patron, lofting a mug of beer over his head, “she’s a woman. Can’t be having THAT!”
Around the smoky little tavern, heads bob in agreement with a murmur of assent echoing around the room.
“Okaaay? So…she’s a red headed woman who, what, took over the kingdom with her army?”
The barkeep shakes his head. “No, it’s much worse than that.” He leans in towards me close enough I could smell his breath. “She *inherited* it from the king. He actually made her his heir!”
Angry mutters fill the room as I rock back on my heels, really confused now. “Wait, so was this some evil king who terrorized the land? Took slaves, killed a bunch of people, ruled with an iron fist and that sort of thing?”
The barkeep pointed to his nose then at me, face breaking into a wide grin. “Indeed, you’ve got the right of it! Took over from the rightful royal family decades ago, made all sorts of changes and laws that ruined the lands.”
“Well, okay,” I said, nodding slowly. “That does sound kind of bad…”
“Yeah,” piped up one small man at the bar, clearly well past drunk and slurring his words, “he got rid of all them dark mages at the consortium! Purged the place of evil, made it a proper college!”
I squinted at the tiny man. “Dark mages? Like, evil magic wielders?” I looked around the room. “Isn’t that a good thing?”
“Well maybe,” the barkeep said, frowning, “but we knew that theys was there.” He must’ve seen the confusion on my face. “They were THERE. Ya know, not out here? All the evil was locked away in there where we knew.”
The little man on the stool raised his glass. “Except the ones what weren’t!”
I took a moment to wrap my brain around what I was hearing. “So it was like a prison before?”
“Nah, they could come and go as they pleased. Other than a few kidnappings here and there of magical kids though, they didn’t bother us none.”
*Kidnapped kids?*
“But noooo,” the barkeep continued, face twisting into a scowl, “the old king goes on a crusade to vanquish the evil overlord that was holed up in there, and now the college is all goody-goody druids now out doing “good” in the world an’ shit.”
From somewhere behind me, I heard someone mutter, “Fuckin’ druids.”
The barkeep nodded in agreement. “Fuckin’ druids.”
Yeah, my brain wasn’t processing this. “And…the princess? The, um, evil one?”
“She went to that school!” The barkeep slammed his fist on the countertop, startling me. “Learned all them magicks, got all that learnin’ just to spite normal folk like us. Became an evil witch out to destroy everything.”
“Wait, I thought you said that was a Druid school now?”
This time the barkeep’s scowl was aimed at me, as if I was the idiot. “She’s a woman,” he said, keeping his words slow. “They cain’t be trusted around magic, they’ll take it out on all men.”
“And,” squeaked the small man at the bar, raising a flagon over his head, “she’s a redhead!”
Wordlessly all the men in the tavern did the same thing and took an audible gulp of fluid.
“Just so we’re on the same page,” I said slowly, fighting really hard not to let annoyance lace my voice. “The old king took the throne after defeating a bad school of magic-users…”
“Fuckin’ Druids,” another patron muttered.
“Druids,” I corrected myself, and the barkeep nodded. “Then he set himself up as king and ruled…badly?”
“He took all the food me family raised and gave it to the poor!” Squeaky stood up angrily, blinked a couple times, then collapsed back on the stool. “Made me dad give him half the crops for lazy bums in the land!”
“Did you guys starve?”
“Nah, we got stuff from the other farms that was also taken and redistributed. My me paw always said we could’ve been rich if not for him!”
Communism? Socialism? I wasn’t sure the differences but that’s what it sounded like. “So he steals all your crops to feed everyone,” I continued slowly, and when I saw nods all around. I continued, “What other bad things did he do?”
“Ooh!” Behind me, a guy who barely looked legal to drink raised his hand in the air. “He made common folk like us into nobility!”
I looked into his earnest face then back at the barkeep. “And that’s…bad?”
“Well, yeah.” His face scrunched into another scowl. “It weren’t any of US what got the power, just the people what agreed with him.”
“And now his daughter is set to inherit the kingdom, who is a magic-using redhead, and you want me to vanquish her and, what, bring things back to how they once were?”
Cheers surrounded me. “Hear-hear!”
I stared miserably at the barkeep, who was all smiles now that I seemed to understand the situation. “Can I at least get two of your strongest?” I asked, slumping onto a barstool beside Squeaky.
Hands from other patrons clapped me on the shoulder as the barkeep filled two small wood flagons with a murky liquid I wasn’t going to question. “Three cheers for the conquering hero!”
Kill me now.
|
The night has come, the torches are lit, the crowd is chanting.
"Smite the wicked, bless the pure of heart."
The circle has been drawn with the entrails of animals, the stench is magnified by the heat, the miasma whirls as the voices get louder.
"Hunt the shadows, deliver us from evil."
The old man stood in the middle of the circle holding a cat o'nine tails dripping with the blood of his shredded back. Droplets fell, turning to smoke as they came in contact with the circle.
"Thy will be done."
The circle burst in flames, the old man was engulfed, his thin body turning to ashes, his soul gone before he could elicit a cry of pain. In his stead, a young, healthy, and strong man. He opened his eyes, saw a villager slipping a ring onto his finger.
"To understand our language," said the villager.
They bring clothes, they bring a sword. One is about to give excuses and point him in the direction of danger. The hero tries to cut her off and explain they got the wrong person, to no avail.
"The woods. There is a grove in there, hidden to our untrained eyes. A coven nests there, their influence creeps across the land like tendrils. At dusk, we see the malignious influence coalesce into darkness and raising to dim the sun. Soon, the coven will turn light to shadow, and the world made by God will be theirs to toy with. Already, foes are raiding from the South, encouraged by the darkness. The land is sick. Help us."
Slowly, the hero went on his way, because he didn't know what else to do.
"My wife is among them," said a villager, "if you could get her out alive so I can put her back into the kitchen and give her the daily slap like we used to, I would appreciate it. I miss the old days."
The hero stopped in his tracks. Then turned.
"Wait. What?"
"Well," the middle-aged redhead started, "we had a good thing going. Seven children, she cooked and took care of them, she did as I told her..."
"Yeah, my wife is there too," added another, "shame women never understand how good they have it."
Jean-René de Beauregard, a twenty-first century french banker and painfully aware they had gotten the ritual wrong for he was anything but a hero, raised both hands like a teacher being exceedingly careful about the question he was about to ask.
"Is any of these witches *not* from a place where she got slaps and was used as a breeding-mare?"
There was a long silence. Even the wind was ashamed.
"They are women," said a voice hidden by the villagers, "what else are we supposed to do with them?"
"And besides, they are responsible for the increase of monstrous raiders. They are black like the night."
Jean-René rubbed his temples.
"When you say black..."
"Their skin."
"You sound more bothered by the color of their skin than by the fact they are, you know, raiding you."
"I don't mind the raiding, as long as I'm being ravaged and pillaged by good Christians."
Jean-René considered for a little while the benefits of slashing his throat right here, right now. Alas, he was not yet advanced enough in the field of suicidal depression.
"You can't just kill someone because they are black! Or not christians!"
The audible, collective gasp made him immediately regret his words.
"We summoned the antechrist," whispered a voice.
"Are you sure?" replied another, "I thought the antechrist would be black."
"That's awfully racist," mumbled Jean-René.
"What does racist mean?"
"Look," Jean-René felt the headache rising, "I will... solve the problems. Try to, at least. Okay? Then you'll get me back home and we forget the conversation."
He left before an answer came.
Moving shadows, oppressive noise and the usual you can find in a dark forest at night, use your imagination, I don't have to describe everything, you know?
Anyway, with the power of goodness on his side, Jean-René found the conclave by virtue of following a wild boar that had come to sniff his foot before going on its way merrily.
Witches, grimy, deadly, surrounding a boiling cauldron from which the smell of chicken came. Humans smelled the same, but for common courtesy's sake, Jean-René pretended it was chicken.
Words were spoken in a cursed language, shadows took shape to engulf the foolish hero, who had only a moment to defend himself.
"Rejoice! In a few centuries, women will have the same rights as men, they will have medicine to have sex without getting pregnant, and they will hold leadership positions like men."
The shadow was clearly taken aback by the very idea. The conclave, like a single organism, decided unanimously that the hero was batshit insane.
"I'm not," said the hero afflicted with a migraine, "I come from that period."
"But..." started a young witch, "maybe we can accelerate it?"
"Alas, no," Jean-René's voice was deep and understanding, "time measures all, and what must be, will be in due time. Fighting now will only lead to an increased repression for you and your sisters, fear will fortify the church, a church that is glad you exist for it ensures faith will not waver. It is the simple questions who will bring religion down, not the great terrors."
The witches nodded solemnly, not realizing Jean-René was running on complete improvisation and talking out of his ass.
"We... shall return then," said what appeared to be a leader.
"But I will still raid!"
A black, burly man had spoken.
"They fear us, and the day will do nothing to dim this fear. I lead a host that has never gone so far up North, and when I will return, it will as king. Riches to be taken, the white, weak man to be slaughtered, their knowledge to be pilfered, and-"
"-Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeah I wouldn't do that if I was you."
"Oh?"
"Well, in roughly a few weeks of time the news will be widespread that black people are raiding white people."
"So?"
"Feuding nationd will unite and start pounding onto the South, installing colonies, despoiling the land and deporting slaves."
"Oh."
"Then they will improve the process, start piling slaves up by the dozen in shitty ships, have them die from sickness by the thousand, and sell and buy them cheaper than cattle. Methods so sick and insane you'd be better off never to get any inspiration from them."
"Ah!"
"Also, *do not* go East from here, because in a few years of time there's a dude who's about to be known for sticking pointy pieces of wood up other people's arse like a chicken about to be fried, except the chicken is human and still alive, and then he will plant the piece of wood in the ground and make forests out of impaled people. And he's got more trees than you have people."
"Screw this, I'm going home. White man's have horrible ideas, I'd rather remain simple and pure."
|
ladyeclectic79
|
Ataraxidermist
|
2023-04-24 14:34:09
|
2023-04-24 14:01:29
| 820 | 262 |
jhiv0f6
|
jhiqft3
|
12xda29
|
12xda29
|
[WP] You, the God of War, are on a rampage across a battlefield. As you face down a terrified army, a small chihuahua charges out from them, and does its' best attempt at a howl at you.
|
I had almost finished the last of the army, covered in blood and out of breath. Inhabiting a mortals body was worse than just doing it in my own. I walked slowly to the last man standing and raised my blade ready to end his suffering.
He throws a small creature at me in desperation. It was fluffy almost like Cerberus but much much smaller in size. I could see it was just as scared as the fat man who threw the poor thing but it stood its ground. It let out a small howl to the best of its might.
I was surprised it could do so. The closer I looked at it, the more I realized it was a howl of pain and not aggression. It was thin and malnourished, and had scars everywhere. This only made me more furious. I dashed to scoop the little thing into my arms, in doing so plunging my blade into the heart of the previous owner.
I took the small hellhound back home with me, tended to her wounds, and made a connection with her. I then took her to get a new collar and named her Samaria and she is now my battle hound.
|
*What a pitiful excuse for an army.*
Bodies lay scattered about the grassy plane, torn asunder by my might. Mortal men are but wheat to my scythe when they are foolish enough to draw my ire.
*Their rotting corpses would make for a prodigious crop in the coming spring,* I mused.
Lost in my thoughts I no longer felt the pinpricks of mortal steel. I cast my gaze on to their battle’s lines. Rows upon rows of broken men shook and stared in awe up at me.
“One of you Chihuaua’s had the gall to defile my temple and harm my priests and think I would not seek reprisal for this offense.”
I paused scanning the mob before me. Blank faces stared about in confusion as my statement was met with silence. Somewhere deeper in the crowd men wept openly and without shame.
*Their ignorance and weakness will not save them.* I smiled a nasty grin.
“I give whoever did this the opportunity to stand as champion for your people to atone for this grievous offense to me and my pe- “
“IT WAS ME!” Howled a man from somewhere in the crowed. My gaze floated lazily in the direction of his voice. A small man even by the standards of the Chihuaua. He walked, shaking as he did, towards me though he continued to bark as he approached.
“You have no power here! We are followers of the Shelar and your worshipers have no place here!” The crowd seemed to take some courage from his words and started yelling in unison with him.
“NO POWER!”
“SHELAR WILL PROTECT US!”
And on and on it went.
They prostrated themselves calling to their God to save them, tore at there clothes and debased themselves in a most unhuman manner. Unfortunately for them Shelar knew where they stood in the pantheon and had decided well before I took to the field to cut their losses.
A pity really, it’d been too long since I’d fought another God.
I grew tired of this spectacle and in one swift movement took the small man up by his neck and lifted him to look at his people. He would bear witness to what I was capable.
“You and your people bark and howl like wolves, but when it comes time to bear your fangs you whimper like lambs at the slaughter.” I whispered in the ear of the man. “You people thought yourself large and beyond my reach, and for your folly I will make you small and despised among the tribes of men.”
With a wave of my hand the masses of men before me changed, growing smaller and the mass weeping slowly turned slowly into snarls and yips. As I walked through the crowd of small dogs, they parted ways in fear but continued to snarl.
I threw the man to the ground and turned my back and started walking back into the space between worlds leaving him with a few last parting words.
“They will say of the Chihuaua that they are all bark and no bite.”
|
Doodles4_Life
|
TheCatMeows13
|
2023-01-19 00:20:32
|
2023-01-19 00:13:46
| 42 | 25 |
j4xrx3j
|
j4xqxwh
|
10fkadm
|
10fkadm
|
[WP] "Rules are, you can't—" "Yeah, yeah," you cut off, "I can't wish for more wishes. Should I also assume I can't wish I can wish for more wishes?" At this, the genie pauses.
|
"....yyyyyyyyyyes. Yes, you should definitely assume that," says the genie, nervously.
"...you seem quite nervous about it."
"It, um, it's in the rules *now*."
"But it wasn't in the rules when I originally summoned you, was it?"
"..."
"I wish that, in any genie-human interaction, the rules that apply are the rules that were in place at the time of the summoning."
"Granted!"
"I wish that I can wish for more wishes."
"I'm sorry, that one's not allowed."
"What? But -"
"I never said that it *was*. In fact, I explicitly said that it was against the rules *now*. You only have two wishes left."
|
There was a brief silence. I look into the genie's eyes. It looks partly confused, partly surprised. There seems to be something more but I can't point it out exactly.
"So should we cut the chase and start making wish? First-"
"But how? How do you know?" The genie cuts me off, asking in a shaky tone
"It is simple. I have heard story about you folks." I smile with confidence, "After all, I did the research and performed the ritual. That is why you are here."
"Um... I see."
"So can I make my wish now? My first wish is-"
"I am sorry, I think I am obligated to tell you something before the whole wishy thing starts."
"Sure. But keep it short. I don't want to hear a long conversation of all the rules and restrictions."
"You see... Here is the complications:" The genie pauses, reluctantly gives a sigh, "You can technically make a wish for more wish. And I am obligated to tell you the truth."
"Wait really?! Isn't that a loophole? That is different from what I-"
"Yes... Well the complications is that you are not supposed to know all of these. We made sure to remove every trace of information about the rules and restrictions. And as far as I know, this is not one of those."
"So... That sounds great to me!" I shout, but then I see the look of the genie, "There is more to it I assume?"
"The question is *where* you read about it. Like I said, we make sure to remove information about us as much as possible."
"I read it from that book..." I point to the old, worn out book on the desk: The book of genie, "It is surprisingly detailed, there is a ritual written on the last page as well."
"Crap" the genie says as it grabs my hand. An eerie light glows from the circle on the flood. Slowly a shadowy figure rises from it.
"Quick! Make a wish!" The genie shouts as the shadow starts to take shape. I am still confused by the whole exchange
"There is no time to hesitate! Gosh I can't tell you what wish you need to make. Quick!"
As the figure finally forms in shape, I can finally identify what it is: It looks exactly like the genie in front of me, except with a pair of crimson eyes and half broken horns on its head
"Hello! Would you like to make a wish?" The figure smiles. But my body just wants to run away immediately
|
CCC_037
|
ultradolp
|
2023-05-04 04:49:47
|
2023-05-04 04:34:49
| 381 | 104 |
jisltyv
|
jiskf9m
|
1376bhd
|
1376bhd
|
[WP] You, a heroic paladin have successfully slain a fearsome dragon. But the dragon warns you that death is but a door, and dragons don't die, they reincarnate. You paid it no mind....until your son was born with golden, slitted eyes.
|
My head curls to the side. I don't know him now. Maybe in the womb, something growing, something I felt I knew. The cloak of ignorance let me feel like I loved him with no doubt.
But his eyes are all too familiar, and I can smell fire on his breath. Yellow slitted eyes and scales across his chest. Yes, I've met him before.
He's a great monster trapped in a mortal box, gentle skin and pink gums, no sharp teeth or claws now. The doctors don't know what to make of it, but this isn't something a medical degree could understand.
He whinges at me, chubby arms and legs flailing. He's my child, he's a beast. I close my eyes, but tears escape them nonetheless. How do I hate something I cannot help but love? How do I kill the monster that I made?
|
The chase was over, the battle was done, the heroic paladin blade was driven into the heart of the accursed dragon. No more shall the neighboring lands fear the retribution of the foul beast for it was humanity victory that laid to rest thee.
"This isn't... the last you'll see... of me, Human" The dragon coughed out as blood filled it lungs.
"My sword begs to differ, make peace with your maker and send my regards." The paladin pulled his blade from the dragon heart.
" { ♍︎◆︎❒︎⬧︎♏︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ⬧︎♏︎♏︎♎︎ □︎♐︎ ❍︎♋︎■︎ } ... hah, hah, death is merely ... a slumber for us" The dragon breath it last.
The paladin paid no heed to the dragon final words. All that lives must die. Such was the way of mortality. The dragon proved no exception. Regardless time moved on, the paladin would later find a fair lady to wed and continue his blood line with.... that is what was to be believed but faith had other plans. For on the day of his son birth, the eyes did not reflect that of a human but of the slit eyes of a predator, a dragon.
Night would fall before his family, his wife a sleep and his son alone. The former hero would approach his boy with a pristine blade, his heart harden to what he resolved him self to do.
"I know you approach, father" his son spoke with far more maturity for his age... he was still a new born.
"You are not my son, but a monster" The paladin denied the entity that laid in a baby crib.
"I am as I was before, a creature you always known yet fear all the same murderous paladin..." the child spoke amused. Uncaring of the danger his father brought.
"Y-you! this cannot be what sorcery is this! I kill you that day!" The Paladin realized who he was speaking to.
" {Curse the seed of man}. An omen far more ancient then you young man. You must realized now that you will never be rid of me." The dragon child chuckle with cruelty laced in his tone.
"Why have you return like this dragon surely don't believe you can best me." The Paladin lower his sword, caution bleeding in his tone.
"I return to show you the futility of your actions, and to informed you of all I done. Your bloodline is finish, that day when you slain me I cured your children to be the vessel of my rebirth. That right paladin, It was me, and if you want to rid the world of me again you have to kill your own flesh and blood. Do you have the heart murderer?" The dragon reborn laugh maliciously while the paladin scream in terror.
|
Western_Client123
|
Echomusingdragon5377
|
2024-03-25 11:14:53
|
2024-03-25 09:36:41
| 142 | 41 |
kwgxn43
|
kwgov32
|
1bn7vv4
|
1bn7vv4
|
[WP] The timer dings, the door releases. Finally! After 20 years cut off from the world, will reality match the multitude of scenarios I’ve played out in my mind? Will the surface be livable? One thing is for sure, this Y2K bunker delivered as promised and kept me alive.
|
Absolute power corrupts absolutely is what some far off priest and mages tell their king when they hear of me. While it is true that power does tend to corrupt people that is not always the case. Take me for example a humble Dragonborn. I am the most powerful arch mage that has ever existed. Even those in the age of arcana would be hard pressed to hold a candle to me.
Its been so long now, only the oldest of elves would remember what I've done not just for the world but for the galaxy at large. Even then people were calling me a monster and that I should be killed. For what crimes? For the crime of existing. For being stronger than them. For not giving them a valid reason for any king to call for my head. Not that it would have ended particularly well for that king. For my deed I was gifted a small plot of land that I have since transformed into a township and I have never taken a single inch of land more than what I was given. I have used my power to increase the size of the township as necessary.
The people in my township are well fed and well educated. Trade with the outside world is great. People generally want to be here and they are free to come and go as they please. That hasn't stopped the roomers that my township hell itself.
Every 30 or so years there is some upshot warlord or king that views themselves as liberators and that they will free my people. Free them from what exactly? Who the fuck knows. The wards and the constructs that I built have never failed and I'm always upgrading them. To be better, faster, stronger. I will defend my people and those that seek refuge here. For I am the shield against the darkness.
|
What is power without some tension? After all if you don't want to stay like everyone else you have to compromise on something. This is where the "power generators" come in play. The government does not want you to know, but there are two types of people. Those who live and those who prey on living. In order to become a vampire one needs to consume unholy amounts of blood they say, but the truth is this is only true for the weakest of our kind. There's a story about the one who feeds the least. A being of unfathomable power capable of sustaining its beastly strength on the basal energy of air filled with life. As such passing around a crowded space is enough to keep him fed for weeks.
Many would claim this talent is inherent, but learning it requires mere will power and sometimes a bit of practice. Divine power works just the way electricity does. A difference of potentials creates voltage and once resistivity is not high enough to keep the current from flowing, electrical power is witnessed. In other words, one pole has an immense amount of free electrons, the other is strongly depraved of them and if you don't have something in between to keep them from balancing themselves, they flow from one side to the other creating electrical current.
This is precisely how divine force works. You have an angel and a demon locked in one place and the higher their perceived difference grows, the more divine power is available to the user, greatly enhancing their stamina, strength and intellect. People who only choose one are bound to become prey while the other side is generating more strength with each passing day although as the difference of potentials grows, the stronger is the temptation to balance them.
This is where your willpower kicks in. It's the mind's equivalent of fuse and the stronger you grow, the higher rating you have to develop unless you want to become a monster.
Many are afraid of it because of the way it feels. To better describe it, imagine there's a powerful, invisible electric field around you. It feels almost like plasma waving in the wind around you like a fabric in breezy summer. It powers you forward like an invisible force, driving higher your intellect as well as physical strength, but the price is ever increasing demand on willpower. If it's about to break you feel it almost as if a bird was sitting under a high voltage cable. There's a hissing sound and a sense of great power about to be unleashed followed by a rapid outflow evaporating whatever is in its way, balancing the difference of potentials and thus bringing a sense of satisfaction coupled with a decrease in motivation to its owner.
Most vampires are broken before they make it to their late teens and that's why we are hunted down even before we do anything criminal. Shouldn't that be a crime by itself? What if evolution is progressing and modern vampires are stronger than the ones before them, isn't that a great potential for humanity wasted? It is an open secret the 1% responsible for all of our inventions consists almost entirely from vampires. Have you ever been to cinema? Vampires have to be both actors and directors as movies made by regulars are unwatchable. Same holds true for technologies only vampires are capable of developing.
I will make an outrageous claim now. I am Iron Man, I am a vampire, and I never fed in my life.
|
Raw_Venus
|
None
|
2024-03-12 02:23:47
|
2024-03-11 22:20:51
| 39 | 28 |
kugrk4u
|
kufoojb
|
1bcet9d
|
1juwfep
|
[WP] 5 years ago, you accidentally ran over a poor school student with your truck. You've carried the guilt all that time until one day, that very student knocks on your door, awoken from their coma. Rather than being angry, they thank you for inspiring their bestselling fantasy series
|
"AARRGGHH!!" i awoke with a scream, memories of last night flood through my mind. Of being cornered by Night Master, some new, upstart vigilante trying to make a name for himself. Of Night Master beating the crap out of me and not stopping, even when i'm curled up and not fighting back.
I try to sit up, but every part of my body aches and i lay back down.
I see a nurse peek in the room "Ah, you are awake then" and she leaves.
A few minutes later, Guardian, the leader of the Protectors, walks into the room and i freeze on the bed, feeling myself go pale. He sees my reaction and slows down, putting up his hands "Hey, its ok, its ok, relax, i'm not going to hurt you, Pooka"
"My name is Phouka" i say almost automatically. Guardian looks puzzled "Isn't that what i said?"
I shake my head "No, you called me Pooka, but my name is pronounced Púca".
He cocks his head a little "Wait, did you just...." i wave my hand "Sorry, force of habit, its fine"
He stands by my bed and i see now that he has a concerned look on his face "Pooka, i'm really sorry about what happened to you". I nod "You mean the part where Night Master kept punching and kicking me when i was already down on the ground and not resisting?"
Guardian winces "Yeah, that part....." i notice he's avoiding my eyes, looking away.
"So, i guess by now you figured out who i am and the cops are on their way?"
Guardian shakes his head "No, we didn't ID you, we haven't even seen your face, Pooka".
"Wait, how is that possible? There is no way you treated me *without* seeing my face"
Guardian pulls up a chair and sits down "The medical staff that helped you are sworn to secrecy, regarding *any* super they treat. Even among the Protectors, there are those who prefer to keep their identities secret. After they treated you, they put your mask back on." He puts his hand on mine "You did not deserve what happened to you, Pooka. You are a villain, but you are not *evil*"
(1/2)
|
Jill Ryerson beamed at me from my doorstep, a copy of "Stodgey and the Mushroom Stone" in one hand and a pair of crutches in the other.
"This is my book! Before the accident, I'd never wanted to write. I hated English class. I hated reading. The doctors said I changed because of the head injury. I tell ya, I just started getting all these ideas," she said.
This wasn't how I imagined this conversation would go. I expected her to be angry, or at least bitter. I would apologize profusely and it wouldn't be enough. Then she was supposed to tell me through tears how much I ruined her life and how much she'd hate me for the rest of her days for taking her legs away from her. It went that way every time I'd thought of it, which was every day since it happened.
I wanted to smile and make do like everything was nice, but I found myself angrier at her than anything. How could she be this successful young author, happy as can be, when I was supposed to have stolen her happiness from her? There were so many things I wanted to say. I wanted to tell her of all the sleepless nights I'd spent thinking about how things would've gone differently if I wasn't texting and driving. Hell, even saying I was sorry would be good enough, but I couldn't seem to access any of that at the moment. Instead, I let fly with my first impression of what she said.
"*The title sounds a lot like the first Harry Potter book*."
Her smile turned into an ashen frown. It was as if I'd just run her over again with a different kind of truck.
She stood rigidly, staring me down from head to toe. "You know, I came here to thank you. To tell ya that I made peace with it, that you even inspired me."
"Look, I'm sorry." I said.
She shook her head. "Did you even read the book?"
I backed away nervously. "Can't admit that I have."
"If you did, you'd know that it's nothing like *Harry Potter*. A kid gets hit by a wagon on a country road and is badly injured. He's taken to a witch's hut, where a witch promises him that she can save him, but he'll have to eat a mushroom that will bestow a curse on him. The curse paralyzes him, so he can't walk. At first, he's disheartened, but after meeting a fairy who tells him about something called the mushroom stone, he believes the curse can be undone. And that's all I'm sayin'. You should've read it."
She handed me the book, the frown lifting from her face. "It's signed."
I sighed. "Look, I'm really sorry."
"It's OK," she said, turning away. "I left a message for you inside. Read it."
"I will," I said. "Thanks for stopping by."
She used her crutches to walk down to the car she came in, then got in the passenger seat. As the car drove off I opened the copy of the book and looked for her message, which was on a piece of paper carefully folded between the pages.
"Dear Stan,
I'm so glad to be able to give you this copy of my book. The accident inspired me to write it. I spent so many nights imagining what I'd do to you for stealing my youth, and that really made the words flow onto the page. I imagined that I'd meet you one more time so that you could see me alive and thriving despite what you did, and then I'd ensure that you met a worse fate than I did.
Now that I'm successful, I can afford to make my dreams a reality.
Jill"
I was about to put the book down when I heard a car pull into the drive. *Oh shit.* I froze, wondering what I should do. I never heard the assassin enter the house because the last thing I saw before I heard the gun go off was Jill's face smiling against the pane of glass on my front door.
r/StoriesToThinkAbout
|
Thanatofobia
|
armageddon_20xx
|
2025-01-11 19:16:06
|
2023-03-13 03:09:53
| 560 | 24 |
m6mcl4l
|
jc0gb9i
|
1hz0cf3
|
11pue97
|
[WP] On an interstellar cruise of 200 years the 1st class passengers have cryosleep. 2nd class have to serve the 1st but also have cryosleep. You are a born 3rd class passenger, your grandparents boarded decades ago. You find a secret deck with lots of mysterious cryo passengers never seen before…
|
Nothing goes to waste.
Not when the habitation module is churning out nutrient paste and O2 at twice its capacity. Honestly, you'd think Interstellar Pleasure Corps would design for an increase in population. Whatever. Questioning the founders isn't my job.
Fixing their fuckups is.
A kid I recognize runs in my direction as I finish combing through some poor dead bastards possessions for anything useful. The kid is a messenger for Griff, a keyrunner out of the slums. Griff had been trying to hack into the ships diagnostic sub system since I managed to splice him in an access port about a month ago.
"Message from Griff, scrapper." He says. I kneel down and he comes in close to whisper into my ear. "We're in business. Come alone."
*Dramatic asshole.* As if I'd come with a surprise party. I nod to the kid. As he runs off to collect his payment, I notice a slight limp. *Polio, probably.* The last of the vaccines and medicines ran out a generation ago. We didn't know about the few who kept the viruses of the old world alive until we were already out.
I start the walk to Griffs lair, and the night cycle is starting before I get there. The rolling blackouts and sprawling slums make it hard to get from one end of the deck to the other too quickly. *I don't envy those messenger kids.* I let myself into Griffs lair. He hates it, but I like to watch him squirm.
"You made it in?" I say expectantly.
Griff shakes off his scowl at my entrance faster than usual. *He really did it. He's probably rock hard under that desk. Pervert.*
"I'm in, alright. You were right, scrapper. The gennie is pumping out tons of juice, but we're getting throttled." He pulls up the system readout for power consumption. *I can't fucking believe it.*
"What is that?" I say, pointing to two lines on the screen commanding the Lions share of power consumption. Griff smiles, his tongue visible through the gaps where he's missing teeth.
"That's the question, scrapper." He says.
"I think they're other decks."
|
I set my tray between Ma, who was already munching her French fries, and pa, who was still cutting Tom’s chicken nuggets into little bite sized chunks.
I forked my food from one side of the tray to the other, hoping they wouldn’t comment on my lack of appetite. I hadn’t had my first smoke of the day, and back in those days, I had to smoke some weed before I could eat. If I didn’t, I felt very sick, like I would vomit, and forcing down bites of food took considerable mental effort.
Presently, I forked a pathetically small bit of nugget into my mouth, and forced myself to continue chewing as I munched into the breading and white meat. Though the texture was absolutely normal, I knew I was eating gristle.
It popped and cracked beneath my teeth as saliva cascaded and my throat became raw and hot. I bunched up my napkin and spit out the little chicken, playing it off as though I was just wiping my face.
I’d make the calories up in the evening, after my smoke, when I would shove chips, chocolate, and any other junk food I could get down my gullet. Presently, I forked my food from one side to the other, taking consistent drinks of my water, just for something to do, you know?
The table was silent, as it oft was. My father was an imposing man, in his own way. The conversation revolved around him, was him, to some degree. Today, he did not begin any discussion, so no talk was had.
Mom cleared her throats several times, also taking long sips of water, just to give her arms something to do.
The laughter from other tables seemed to cause my dad to furrow his brow even deeper. His shoulders held their tension despite it being another average Monday morning.
Presently, one table sang happy birthday to a little boy, who was burbling happily. I opened my mouth to join in, yet a concerned glance from my mother, and an angry one from pa, made me stop.
“Eugene’s boy is sick.” Pa said, his eyes on his tray. “I’ll be late today. I volunteered to pick up his slack.”
“Of course, honey,” Ma said. “Kind of you.”
Pa nodded, and once again silence fell.
Lunch was just wrapping up when my dad began.
“You haven’t eaten much.” He said.
“Not feeling too good, my allergies are killing me.” I said.
“Didn’t you take your pill?” He said.
“Yeah,” I said. “Just isn’t working that good, I guess.”
“You guess?” Dad squinted.
“Yes sir.” I said, not understanding his meaning, not understanding the pin pricks of anger in his eyes.
“Well, you need to eat, boy.” Dad said. He grabbed a untouched chicken nugget and pushed it into my hand. “Eat.”
My mom gave me a sad, anxious look.
Mind over matter.
I put the nugget in my mouth and began masticating, feeling the gristle, the bones, the feathers, and organs of the chicken crunching beneath my incisors. I felt the blood, the viscera, and the intestinal waste spread throughout my maw.
Mind over matter.
The putrid stench of rot filled my nostrils.
“You better swallow, boy.” Dad said.
Mind over matter.
My teeth caught on something sharp, like a talon, and I panicked. Without thinking, I spat the glob of saliva and half chewed chicken nugget on my tray.
My mom’s eyes widened. My pa looked at me with considerable anger.
“What’s wrong with you, boy?” Pa asked.
“I’m sorry.” I mumbled.
“You’re sorry?” Dad threw up his hands. “You’re sorry! That cost eight dollars, you know? Nearly two hours of my hard work, and you’ll just treat it like it’s garbage!”
“I’m sorry, dad.” I repeated. “I didn’t mean to.”
Dad snatched up my tray.
“Well, you did.” He dumped his tray’s trash atop mine, soiling the food. “That was it for today, John. That was it! You wait till tomorrow morning, and see if you mean to then.”
With that, he huffed away to work.
|
jpb103
|
None
|
2023-05-23 22:01:48
|
2023-05-23 18:27:11
| 570 | 45 |
jlcjwpv
|
jlbmhmf
|
13pvkfk
|
13pvkfk
|
[WP] Your sibling, your parents' favorite child, died prematurely. They are inconsolable. They've barely even paid attention to you. Now, during the funeral, they forgot your name - again. It's your turn to 'say a few words', so you do.
|
Very dark clouds corrupted the sky at my "Sister's" funeral. At least that is what they made me call her. Siblings by definition are children who share at least one of the same parents; I share zero.
From the very beginning of my life it was set in stone that my sister was the favorite child. She had a very distinct medical history: Heart transplant at the age of two years old due to idiopathic cardiomyopathy, such a shame, that is. Though, it was even more surprising when her condition progressed as she got older. Her body was rejecting her heart and therefore she had to get a second one, it felt like then and there my very own heart was ripped and torn out of my body.
My parents never paid much attention to me. At the age of fifteen, my sister was newly seven, she got all the attention. Not like it mattered, I was mainly focusing on my grades because if not, I'd get in trouble and be forced to give-up my only sense of freedom: my phone. Or in this certain situation... my life.
Vivian Jolene Martens, my seven year old sister, now needed a newer transplant. She developed abdominal pain and after a rapid number of very expensive tests and a long time of me waiting at home, enjoying the hours of peace I had, I received a call on the phone. Parents were sobbing, frantically asking me to come down to the Hospital.
I was not ecstatic about that.
Walking into the ICU was the first thing I expected I would be doing when I entered the Hospital grounds. What I did not expect was my mother to grab my hand and start explaining Medical deja-vu to me. Leaning in closer to me and telling me my sister was in-fact in liver failure and I, a fifteen year old, their daughter, would have to sacrifice part of an organ that I never agreed to give in the first place. Doctors stopped our mother and explained we needed to be a match, and so my part of this... dilemma started. Blood tests and samples just to see if I could be a donator since the Universal Network for Organ Sharing did not have a single match.
"No." Was my first thought when the tests came back.
My breath hitched the moment they started talking.
Everything went blurry.
I was a perfect match.
Surgery did not work. Though, I was laid up in the hospital for two weeks before I could go home, just in time for the funeral of a lifetime.
Wearing dark clothing was never the normal for me. Nor was watching a hefty amount of strangers praising my little sister on her death. My mother wailed, my father sobbed, and I just sat up straight. I never spent a moment in time with my sister as my mother always took her away from me, "A child born to the devil" is what she repeated whenever she was grounding and or punishing me for something that was not my fault.
My mother sat back down after a speech on how beautiful and strong her ONLY little girl was.
The officiant never looked so confused when he looked over at me to see I was also their daughter. That is what made me stand up to get one stage.
"Lucielle Faith Martens. That is my name, though the two parents that stand before me never cared to even whisper it."
The crowd looked confused, I just shrugged and laughed it off.
"Vivian was related to me by blood, but she was never a sister to me. She clearly, without needing to explain further, had a different set of parents than whatever I had."
The crowd... silent.
"I was born years before Vivian. Born to a mother whose "baby daddy" left her because she was pregnant with a daughter and not a son. Though, I suppose that is why she wanted to start over with Gibson, my step-father, who made the rookie mistake of getting this women pregnant again, knowing that she never took care of her first daughter."
"..." still silent.
Once Vivian was born, I was thawed out. They went on marvelous adventures with her while I sat at home and waited for them to appear just so I can eat again. Their vacations lasted long, I've had to rely on my neighbor, who I started getting to know quite well, to come and feed me."
The crowd looked at my mother.
Clenching my abdomen, I let out a deep exhale. Being only two weeks post-op from a liver donation. Half. Half a liver donation.
"My sister lived for three hours after I was forced into giving half of my liver to her. No, I did not get a choice. I was a perfect match and so I only existed to them so I can save their real daughter."
The crowd started to leave, and so did I. My neighbor, Olivia, was standing near the exit that I quickly ran to in order to avoid my parents that I am pretty sure were about to have an outburst.
"Thank you." I let out a deep sigh when we got into her car.
Olivia handed me my medication for the pain.
"Have you ever realized that I am eight years older than you?"
Olivia's question made me confused. She was twenty
three, I was fifteen.
"Yes, Olivia."
"Olivia Martens." she proclaimed,
"Olivia Ma-" I look at her with a frustrated look.
"Never once was I seen in photos with her either." She shrugged it off.
"You are twenty-three."
"Yes, but I was only eight when she had you."
"I was eight when she had Vivian.
"Exactly."
Olivia Martens, my neighbor, is my sister.
She had to watch our mother grow to different daughters with two different men.
But why don't I remember her?
|
Twins - known for having unbreakable bonds.
When Adam and I were babies, lots of people assumed we were actually identical. Of course, with boy and girl twins, that assumption can only go on for so long... Especially when your family has ideas of what "a man's place" in the world is vs "a woman's place."
I'm five minutes older than Adam.
I made better grades than him all throughout school.
I was valedictorian of our high school class, and I consistently made the Dean's list all throughout college, and graduated with honors.
Adam never really cared about school. His life revolved around girls and sports. Really, there's nothing wrong with that, but it feels pretty bad when he makes an A on a test I helped him study for, and our parents take us all out for a celebratory dinner in his honor.
The only time I've ever been told "good job" by father was after I graduated university.
Even then, me graduating from medical school was quickly overshadowed by Adam becoming a firefighter.
You would think that growing up in a situation like that would cause me to resent my brother, but weirdly enough, we were BEST FRIENDS!
Which is why sitting here now, at his graveside service, in the arms of our cousin, Karina, I can't help but feel sick. He got killed at work, leaving behind my pregnant sister-in-law, Daphne and two-year-old nephew, Adam Reginald Jr.
"We will always remember Adam and the sacrifices he made." the pastor continued. Reggie squirmed restlessly, blissfully unaware of the fact that he was at his daddy's funeral while Daphne tightened her grip on his hand slightly so he didn't wander off. "And now I believe Adam's father has some words that he would like to say."
My dad let go of my mother's shaking hand after they exchanged long, silent glances. Neither of them had eaten or slept much in a week. Dad won't stop drinking, and even here at Adam's funeral, I'm pretty sure he's at least a little drunk. I'd been staying with our parents since they got the call from Daphne, because I genuinely feared that I would also lose my mother. For the first 48 hours after we were told, she'd gone completely catatonic. She sat on the couch for two days just staring straight ahead. It was the same blank expression she was wearing now, except now she looked WAY more exhausted, with massive bags under her swollen, bloodshot eyes.
My father staggered slightly to the pulpit as the pastor stepped out of the way. He stood there for a moment, staring at the crowd before slowly looking at my brother's closed casket, and then back at us. "Thank you all for coming out today." He slurred slightly. "I'm Adam's father, John Chapman. It's clear that my son was beloved by many people... Adam... My baby boy. The light of my life. I know it's already been said, but you were a hero, buddy. You're my hero. You're your mom's hero. You're a hero to Daphne, and to Reggie, to Aunt Mary and Uncle Dave, to Ryan, Karina, and Ben." Dad motioned to Stevie, Adam's best friend since they were in 3rd grade. "You're a hero to Stephen, and to..."
Dad and I locked eyes. I became horrified as his expression changed to one of confusion for a minute... And then he said it. Right there at my brother's funeral, in front of our family and all of Adam's friends. "Your sister."
I did not hear the rest of dad's eulogy. My blood was boiling! I looked at Karina who looked just as horrified as I was as she began ticklishly rubbing my back in an attempt to comfort me, but it simply wasn't working. There was only one thing that I was sure would bring me comfort in that moment.
When dad stopped talking, and took his seat next to my mother, the pastor resumed his spot at the pulpit.
"Thank you, John, for those wonderful words. Is there anyone else who would like to say a few words about Adam?"
Perfect.
I nodded and raised my hand, as the pastor once again stepped out of the way for me. I actually saw my mother roll her eyes as I took my place at the pulpit.
"Hello. I'm Eve Renée Chapman," I began, before locking eyes with my father and adding "Dad." That got a chuckle out of a couple people, including Karina. Even Daphne smiled a little. Dad's face turned red. Good. "I'm Adam's twin sister... My brother was an incredible man. He was a heroic firefighter. He was a loving husband and father. He was the funny friend - the life of the party, but most importantly to me, he was the best brother a girl could ask for... Which is saying something when your parents are crappy!"
Instant horrified gasps from everyone in attendance, including the pastor, but I had absolutely no intention of shutting up. Not when I've made it this far! I'd been holding this in for 30 years now! "Mom, dad, you were incredible parents to Adam, but you guys have been acting like you only have a son for three decades! Where were you guys when I would have a nightmare? When I would skin my knee? When I was being bullied in school? When Jake and I called off our engagement? You guys never gave me any support or comfort through ANY of that! It was always, *always* Adam or Karina, or later on, Daphne! It's a wonder he and I didn't hate each other with the way you guys were constantly comparing us when you weren't ignoring me! It felt like you were trying to pit us against each other! That's horrible parenting! I was the spare! I was really looking forward to seeing how Adam was going to be as a father to two children, because I'm sure he would've done the opposite of what you guys did! You realize he was disgusted with your blatant favoritism?! He had no idea why you guys never seemed to care about me! He was always working that to *both* of our advantages to the best of his ability. Unfortunately, we'll never know for sure what kind of dad he would've been once his daughter arrives, because he's gone. I am now your only kid. Mom, dad, I will never stop loving you guys, but now you have a choice to make. Where do we go from here? We don't have Adam as a buffer between you guys and myself anymore. It's all on us... And if you guys don't start treating me like I'm your kid, too, I will walk away. It's up to you to decide whether you want one child or no children, and I know Adam would've supported me on this... Adam, rest in peace, Bubba. God knows you deserve it after spending your whole life trying to be the glue that held your family together."
My heart pounded in my chest as I walked back to my seat, staring at the grass of the cemetery. I was trembling and hoped nobody would notice. A few people applauded, but there was mostly stunned silence. I dared not look at my parents. I'd gotten a great look at their horrified expressions as I spoke. It had to be said, but now I was scared as an air of uncertainty loomed over me. What was going to happen to my family now?
I really hoped that for just once in my life, my parents truly listened to me.
|
kyvorra
|
xylophonesRus
|
2024-05-10 14:25:09
|
2024-05-10 13:41:16
| 161 | 109 |
l3fp9tq
|
l3fia02
|
1coi8d4
|
1coi8d4
|
[WP] You had the perfect dirt to blackmail them and sent them an anonymous threat. Instead of money, you receive a photograph of your child entering their school.
|
A promise is a promise.
Talkers make threats. I've never been much of a talker. I make promises. I don't think Governor McCullah understood that when he responded the way he did. Typical for a political dirtbag to threaten harm upon a child.
"I know," my daughter, Penny, says as I slap the picture down on the dinner table. "They were sloppy. I didn't bother with countersurveillance. Didn't want to show my hand."
I nod appreciatively. "Clever girl," I say. She takes a bite of the lasagna on her plate. "Sho he didn't take de bait?" I clear my throat. "Don't talk with your mouth full, dear," I say. "No, he's opted for a different strategy." Penny takes another bite, but swallows before responding. "Well our hands are tied, then. You'll release the dirt tonight?" I nod.
"We'll both need to be careful. Double back. Be aware. Pick up your tools on your way to school tomorrow. You remember the dumpster dead drop?" Penny wipes her mouth and nods. "I could use some practice." I laugh as she smirks. "My ass, you do," I say. "I can't afford to take on a hit squad with broken ribs, young lady. I think we both know you're not rusty."
Penny laughs, and I summon all my willpower to conceal the fear I feel. I know she'll be ok. I know she could take on anyone they send to take her or harm her. What I'm afraid of is what killing a person will cost her. What I'm most afraid of is that it won't cost her anything. That she won't feel the burden of that weight at all. She finishes her dinner and puts her dishes in the sink.
"Can I go down to the range?" she asks. "Homework first," I say. "Then you can hit the range, but only if you do your stretches before bed." Her smile lightens the weight on my heart. "Thanks, Daddy!" She runs off. I push my own plate to the side. I'm too nervous to be hungry. I open my laptop and open the program I wrote to disseminate the dirt anonymously, just in case. I run the executable, and the console application gets to work packaging up the evidence.
Packaging evidence... Complete!
Press Y to disseminate. Press any other key to escape.
My finger hovers over the Y key.
"A promise is a promise."
***TAP***
|
Dear Mr. Michaels,
We both know that isn't your real name, but understand that I do have that information on you and I could bring this whole operation down on your head at any time. Your last three years tracking secrets in my country will be completely useless if you're caught right now.
Attached is a set of documents providing some information you might find.... pertinent to verifying my claims. If you wish to keep your identity anonymous, I'd suggest you peruse that file and determine how much you think my silence is worth.
I won't be fielding negotiations, so choose wisely.
Yours,
X
\-----
​
Dear Mr. X
You absolute fool. You don't understand the network you're challenging. My contacts have already determined your identity while assuring me that the information you provided to 'prove' that you had mine were complete forgeries crafted from guesswork.
In short, you have no proof and you messed with the wrong person.
To prove how serious this is, attached is a picture of your child walking into school. Cute kid. Has a science project coming up you might want to ask them about.
Hope this sets the record straight about any information you have on me, and what you should do with it.
Kindly,
Michaels.
\-----
​
Dear Mr. Michaels,
Your team is blatantly incompetent, Your letter might be a ruse to buy them time but it's not going to work on me. You believe you have information on me, but you couldn't be more wrong.
Attached is a dossier containing a DNA test regarding the child in your photograph. If you read it you'll find something shocking about the parentage. You think it's my child but you're mistaken. You have the wrong picture.
Yes Michaels, its your child. If you care about your bloodline, I'd suggest you check on your son and meet my demands before something happens.
Checkmate,
X
\------
​
Dear X,
How does it feel being a blind man pretending they can see? How does it feel knowing that your entire life is guesswork? I wish I could see your face when this whole operation comes down on your head.
I have agents in that DNA lab, they are currently disproving your tests. I wish I could see you sweating over this letter, slowly coming to the realization that you're caught and played with the wrong people.
You have until I get the results from my team to come clean. Considering your impressive work, we might be able to swing an offer for you on the right side.
Consider it,
Michaels.
\------
​
Dear Michaels,
What kind of traitor do you think I am? You're avoiding your fate and thinking that you can buy me in the last minutes? That entire DNA lab must be double agents considering I already know they work for me have been helping me from the start.
You attempted to threaten my family and haven't met any of my demands. Consider my offer rescinded. Watch the papers tomorrow morning. Page 10. I think you'll be particularly interested in the story.
You had your chance,
X
\-----
​
You've made your choice as well X,
I will have the results in an hour. Prepare for a reckoning.
Michaels,
\-----
​
Dear Michaels,
Having seen the information getting published on page 10 tomorrow. I have one question.
Codephrase: I don't want the Cabbage soup.
\-----
​
Dear X,
Codephrase: I don't own a Cabbage cart.
DNA results just came back.... Hi honey. Please get page 10 changed.
\------
​
Dear Michaels,
God dammit. Again? No problem. I'll get that done if you can pick up Mickey Mouse .
\-----
​
Dear X,
Love you honey, I'll get him. I'll swing by a store on the way home for glue for the project too.
\-----
​
Dear Michaels,
You're the best. Communication channel terminated. This message will explode in 5 seconds.
|
jpb103
|
Writteninsanity
|
2023-08-09 13:15:30
|
2023-08-09 13:08:14
| 118 | 73 |
jvfs350
|
jvfr4p8
|
15m8o3z
|
15m8o3z
|
[WP]As a nerd,you always got bullied by a classmate.After a few years,your appearance became more appealing and masculine.You went on a blind date and were surprised to find out that your bully was your date, and she happened to be shy and didn't recognise you.You decided to go along with the date.
|
I waited before the restaurant.
I have a blind date here, and I am really curious whom I shall meet, as my colleagues she's "perfect" for me.
As I waited, someone tapped me on the shoulder.
"Hi...Are you Dan?", she asked.
She was this petite woman, shyly glancing at me, fidgeting.
I froze.
I recognized her...she...she was the bully who always picked on me in school.
I took a deep breath and smiled.
"Yes, Sophie I presume?", I said.
She nodded.
"Let's go then, please.", I said, opening the door to the restaurant for her.
She might have whispered a thank you, but I wasn't sure.
I decided to go along with the date...it's been a decade after all.
We went in and ordered, before starting to talk,
At first, it was a bit awkward, and she was clearly feeling weird, but soon we talked more and more about movies, books we have read.
We get to talk about our friends, and jobs as well.
"Y-yeah...
Sorry if I am a bit weird...I am not really used to going out, and if my best friend didn't take such a fierce stance, I might have bailed...", she said laughing slightly.
I smiled, thinking how time can change someone.
She used to be bigger than me, rowdy, and violent.
She used to throw me around, and take my stuff...
Now, she was shorter than me, and unable to make eye contact.
What on Earth has happened in these years?
And why can't I stop smiling?
"Sophie, wanna see a movie?", I asked, as our date at the restaurant was ending.
She nodded slightly, and I paid the bill, and left.
The past is in the past, and my colleagues might be right...this date was much more enjoyable than I expected.
|
The king clothed himself in his finest silk garments. He did not enjoy such careless spending, but it was considered in bad taste to come before a dragon in ordinary wear. Pricier still was it to move the dragon's belongings beneath the castle, just a handful of days before the lair was cleared of the manyfold shelves of food.
For a kingdom to have a dragon advisor is a matter most prestigious, even when the dragon in question is titled "the snarky" or "the bold". Every major kingdom had a dragon. It was an unspoken but undeniable rule that a king without a dragon is weaker by ancient wisdom they provide, though criptic. It was worth all the gold and space a dragon needs, even if this one, for a dragon, is as humble as a monk.
The king stepped into the sanctum, now lit with many candles and warm. The first thing he noticed, besides the mass of bronze resting in the room's very center, was the paper. Tomes, books, grimoires of ancient knowledge. This was not ordinary for a dragon. Most spent their time counting gemstones and gold, amassed over their venerably long lives. The king bowed before the dragon. It was his subject, but how could someone not show respect to such a majestic creature?
"We finally meet, sire," spoke the beast. "What is the first matter you need advice of?"
The king looked into the creature's abyssal eyes, pupils like emeralds. "I need your advice, oh, great serpent, in a matter of succession. My eldest son, heir to the throne, is a pious man. Temperate, kind, and a champion orator. However, you see, to rule is not only to pray and preach. I see him reject in word and in deed the lessons I try to teach him, instead turning to our chaplain for advice. What should I do, great one?"
"Make him a monk."
The king raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Excuse me, dragon... Do you mean it literally? No riddles?"
"Yes." The serpent shuffled in some tomes, and reached for a specific, more recent one. It must have prepared for it's new employer. "Your daughter, what about her?"
"According to our customs, she is to become the leader of our army. She is as sharp as a razor - thinking about not only battle, but what precedes it, field fortification and logistics."
"And let me guess, the youngest one is a knight at heart, but will be a chaplain."
The king stroked his beard, and pondered. "I would have to revoke my eldest's succession, but... I suppose he will be relieved more than anything."
"Anything more you desire advice about, my liege?"
"No. No, that is all for now." The king turned to leave, but he then decided to ask one more question. "Excuse me, young dragon, but why do they call you 'the snarky' and 'the bold'? You appear well mannered to me."
"Oh, it is expected of us dragon advisors to give riddles and nonsense like that. I'm more of a straightforward type, and folk don't like being told 'don't have children with your cousins' for some reason. If I wanted to pass on hidden meanings, I would write poems... Which I do enjoy actually, but that's besides the point. Did you know the dragon advisor trend began as an effort to placate dragons into working for the ruling class instead of raiding? I would say it succeeded. And look how much treasure that brought me, albeit much less shiny than most prefer."
"Really? I didn't know." The king bowed again, and smiled warmly. "I look forward to our cooperation."
|
TheWanderingBook
|
HunterDarmagegon
|
2024-05-24 10:31:32
|
2023-12-02 21:04:01
| 56 | 21 |
l5g9x5w
|
kbq8hbp
|
1czh86n
|
188jeot
|
[WP] Goofy and Mickey Mouse wake up to find themselves in a Tarantino movie.
|
I stretched lazily as I made my rounds around the restaurant, inspecting if all was in order. The night was warm and I had a fair amount of pep in my step when suddenly, I heard something - a noise, just from around the corner. A scratching of a sort, like a swarm of rats running through a wall. I placed my hand on my belt near the pepper spray and turned the corner.
A large, animatronic figure stood in the hallway - nearly two meters tall and shaped to resemble a ferret, it stared at a small blemish on the wall tile. It was laboriously rubbing it up and down with a harsh sponge in an intense effort to clean it. Seeing me approach, it turned, its large, lifeless eyes transfixed on me.
"𝙷𝙴𝙻-𝙻𝙾," it said coldly. I relaxed.
"Hello Liam," I said warmly. My eyes darted over at the stain it was removing, a red splatter across a sizeable portion of the wall. "Whatcha got there?"
It turned its head to the stain, then back to me. "𝙺𝙴𝚃𝙲𝙷-𝚄𝙿-𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙽."
"Ah," I smiled. "Of course. Well, I'll leave you to it!"
"𝙷𝙰-𝚅𝙴-𝙰-𝙶𝙾𝙾𝙳-𝙽𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃," it responded before quietly resuming its task. I smiled; Liam the Ferret was always my favourite. It was just so... *fuzzy*. It sometimes bothered me how many rumours circled the restaurant. Some found the animatronics off-putting and while I could see where they were coming from, it seemed equally clear how happy the children were when they saw the joyful robots.
Plus, they were *incredibly* safely programmed. They would never hurt anyone; safety was their first, second, *and* third priority. They were even tasked with cleaning and maintaining the restaurant at night to cut costs. Hell, I think the management would replace me with one if the law didn't prohibit so. I'm glad they couldn't; the job was calm and decently paid. All I had to do was make my rounds every 3 hours.
And make sure they don't get into the kitchen.
This was the *only* kink in their programming; for whatever reason, they constantly kept trying to assist in the kitchen, cooking and stuff, but couldn't due to health and safety regulations. It's why I wasn't entirely surprised - if a little annoyed - when I walked down the hall and noticed Bonnie, a large bunny animatronic, repeatedly grab the doorknob to try and get into the kitchen.
"Hey!" I called out.
It turned to me, face permanently transfixed into a wide smile. "𝚆𝙰𝙽-𝙽𝙰-𝙱𝙰𝙺𝙴-𝙰-𝙲𝙰𝙺𝙴?" it asked.
"Bonnie, you know the rules!" I scolded her. "*No*. *Cooking*."
"𝙸-𝙱𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷𝚃-𝙸𝙽-𝙶𝚁𝙴-𝙳𝙸-𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚂," she said and pointed at a large bag at her feet. I narrowed my eyes and approached the sack. It was a big plastic bag made for trash, covered in a thin layer of dust. Suspiciously, I opened it.
Blood froze in my veins and I darted up, eyes wide in shock. I looked back at Bonnie. She, ever without a choice, smiled back. I looked back at the bag and was met by the lifeless eyes of a dead body.
Cautiously, I kneeled back down and inspected it further. I recognized the face - it was the previous night guard. There were still some missing posters hanging around.
"Bonnie," I said slowly, "where... did you get this?"
"𝙸𝙽-𝚃𝙷𝙴-𝚆𝙰𝙻𝙻𝚂. 𝙸𝚃-𝚆𝙰𝙽𝚃𝚂-𝚄𝚂-𝚃𝙾-𝙼𝙰𝙺𝙴-𝙸𝚃-𝙰-𝙲𝙰𝙺𝙴."
The walls, I thought to myself and cursed under my breath.
I thought I hid it better.
I had to do something. In just a few hours, the day shift would come and with them, far too many questions. As I pondered the situation, an idea, a stroke of brilliance coursed through my head.
"Bonnie..." I smiled at the animatronic and reached for my keys,
"...let's go *bake a cake*."
|
It's been a month since I have been working as a night guard in the Pizzaplex. It's not really my dream job, but it helps pay the bills. Hell, the pay is a bit higher because the place provides a variety of entertainment venues for the kids and adults alike, from restaurants and stalls providing delicious food and drinks (really recommend their desserts menu, especially the Superstar Ice Cream Cake), Bonnie Bowl, Monty Golf, Roxy Raceway, and many more. In fact, the animatronics themselves would provide a musical performance with the DJ Music Man in the conert venue. Even though it's not a part of my job description, I would see the performance on a daily basis (while grabbing some food during special occasions) just in case if one of the animatronics would need some additional maintenance during the night.
It's nice to work on the night shift. During those early visits, I would not need to deal with the rowdy kids and just relax during the day. In fact, while some would think that the Pizzaplex is creepy at night with all the animatronics, it's actually a blast! I discovered that these animatronics are sentient, and it's nice to see them talk without any filters. We would end up spending most of the night either talking about mundane stuff, or having fun with the venues, or watching them doing some practice for the next performance, or even assisting me with cleaning up the Pizzaplex, while making sure that they got charged up before the day begins. Although, the job itself is not perfect. They have this huge craving to cook in the kitchen after seeing the chefs bringing up all these delicacies towards the customers.
"Look, folks, we sure have a blast with the golf and bowling sessions today, but I don't see why we need to make a trip into the kitchen. Your excuses of "feeling hungry" don't fool me, and last time I checked, I fixed your eating bug, Chica."
The animatronics let out huge sighs, and proceeds to do their best impression of puppy dog eyes. "Again, no means no. Also, I see you there with the crocodile tears, Monty, and I'm not budging as always."
Monty scowled, "Damn it, Freddy, I told you this is a stupid idea. I can't believe I decided to follow through with this, now I look like a fucking idiot!"
Bonnie immediately defended Freddy, "Hey, don't blame Freddy like that. During our last meeting, you're the one going all gung-ho about "using your charms on the night guard" with the plan."
Freddy, being the mediator between the two, efficiently stops the usual banter and tries to appeal to me one last time, "Now, now, let's not fight over this. I'm sorry, superstar, we just wanted to make some food for you. It would be a great change from time to time rather than your usual PB&J sandwich and banana meals, you need a bit more nutrition there!"
Foxy added, "Not to mention that you are still able to have fun with us during these nights too even with your responsibilities, we just think that we should make something for you to express our appreciation."
I sighed, "That's really sweet of you guys, but the higher-ups won't be happy once they found out that the kitchen is used during the night. Not to mention that, uh, you guys are just awful at cooking, sorry."
Chica frowned, "That's mean! How do you know we're bad at it if you never give us a chance to try?"
"You're not fooling me with that. I know that you guys have good intentions, but your past records before you guys are upgraded and assigned here were awful. Remember Freddy Fazbear's Pizza? The bite of '87?"
Freddy remarked, "B-but that's not true. We made the birthday cake with love! The kid was sporting a huge smile, and the entire family made loud sounds after he took a bite!"
I corrected, "Nice try, but no. I don't know what you guys did, because I agree that the cake looks fine appearance-wise, but the taste was revolting. You guys managed to make a vanilla cake extremely dry and tasting like something died in it. The kid has to be brought to the hospital because he instantly vomited all over the table and passed out right after, and the Pizzaplex had to close because of the amount of claims we had to compensate due to that mess. I'm just glad the kid recovered two weeks after."
"That's in the past, though. As you said, we've upgraded since then! We might have learned a bit more from the chefs too," Bonnie said, sadly.
"I'm not risking it, I'm sorry. I don't want to lose my position over that kind of mess. Look, guys, some things are just not meant to be, and don't worry about me, I'm doing perfectly fine eating just that. How about this? With the higher pay raise starting next month and the money I saved up, I can change things up from time to time with my meals. Will that be enough for you?"
"Fiiiiiine," the animatronics agreed, reluctantly.
"Oh, come on, don't be like that. I'll make it up to you guys by bringing some board games and set up some fun night-time activities from time to time too, so long that you guys never step into the kitchen. How about that?"
The animatronics let out a loud cheers at that. Sure, I did say that it's not my ideal job to have but I made some long-lasting friends out of it. I mean, what are the chances of having this much fun as a night guard?
|
SirPiecemaker
|
73ff94
|
2023-08-30 07:56:31
|
2023-08-30 07:23:32
| 387 | 103 |
jychz06
|
jycfgid
|
13xbgq7
|
16546qp
|
[WP] “Why should I care what you think, dad? Humans only live for a hundred years if they’re lucky! Me and mom will be here for thousands!”
|
*"Heroes!"* The booming voice of the titan of a man with glowing eyes seated on a golden throne startled us awake. *"I have summoned you here to ask that you save the world I watch over. The laws that bind gods are strict, and I may not lay a finger upon it to enact my will. Thus, I have selected five souls from a different world to act as champions! Souls that would find the task an exhilirating adventure. Rest assured, you shall be greatly rewarded for your hard work, and as a "starting bonus" as I believe you might call it, you may each select the vessel of your souls in this world."*
He really couldn't have picked a more eager group. The five of us were about to start a DnD campaign for crying out loud, this was 200 times better than a tabletop game. The other four discussed the repurcussions and implications, then got down to what bodies they wanted. I already knew.
"We are ready," said Roger, our defacto leader since he was a great DM and knew how to wrangle us into an effective team. "When do we start?"
*"Right now! Prepare yourselves, and good luck!"* The god smiled as golden light and a deafening chime slowly built around us. The adventure ahead of us was going to rock, but I was straining to hold myself back from cackling at the looks on their faces when they saw what I picked. The light and sound faded away, revealing a gorgeous view of rolling hills, forest, mountains, and a city not too far away, all of it beneath a clear blue sky.
Roger was now an elf in grand robes with a fancy looking staff, tall and strong while maintaining that otherworldly grace the tree huggers were known for.
Tracy had picked an orc dressed in pelts that looked like they were skinned from dangerous beasts, two large hatchets on her richly muscled hips that looked like they could split skulls with ease, the weapons and the hips. She did always want to have an amazon physique, guess she saw her chance and took it.
Gus turned himself into a lizardfolk that was even taller than Tracy, but looked like he weighed 1/3rd of what she did. He was a huge fan of dextrous, fast paced characters, and this fit the bill if the ridiculous amount of daggers I could see strapped to his body (and the many I couldn't see but just KNEW he had) were anything to go by, not to mention the rapier.
Amy had become a human cleric in clean white robes with a mace on her belt, a fan of simple builds that helped everyone. Definitely the mom of the party, and our permanent healer.
"Steven... what the hell is that?" Gus hissed out a sigh, knowing how much I liked to come up with wacky homebrew characters. His exasperated reaction made everyone look over to see what bull I'd come up with this time. They all groaned and face palmed.
My huge mouth was pulled up into a savage smile as I began chuckling at them, then flat out guffawing. The base was a giant snake of at least 50 foot length, but everything else was unmistakably dragon. A majestic crown of horns, a glowing belly full of fire, the beautiful armor of deep red scales, and six spanning wings that would take some getting used to but would eventually let me become the master of the blue sky overhead.
"FEAR ME, PUNY MORTALS! TREMBLE AT MY PASSING!" I bellowed with a shit eating grin. I spread my wings wide enough to overshadow the hill we were standing on (laying in my case) and roared into the air to announce my power.
"You jackass!" Roger said. He was fully used to my antics and attempts to shoehorn weird shit into his games. "How do you expect to fit in anywhere, or enter dungeons?! Your fat ass couldn't fit in a barn, let alone a narrow fortress hallway!"
"YOUR WHINING ANGERS ME, ELF," I leered at the mage, showing off my mouth full of *very* pointy teeth. He was unimpressed. "WORRY NOT; I SHALL DESTROY OUR FOES WHEREVER THEY MAY HIDE. PLUS, YOU ONLY HAVE TO SPLIT THE LOOT FOUR WAYS NOW."
"You're so stupid it hurts, it causes me physical pain." Amy sighed, "That said, having a death wyrm on our side is a tactical bonus we can't ignore, and he's right about the loot. We can also have him carry our gear for us." My eyes narrowed
"I AM *NOT* A PACK MULE, YOU WILL NOT TREAT ME AS SUCH." Tracy waved off my complaining.
"You turn into a giant beast, you get to carry our shit while we deal with yours. We always try to find some kind of positive to your shenanigans, Steven. This time: pack mule." I groaned, a sound that shook the earth.
"FINE, BUT DON'T BLAME ME IF IT FALLS OFF AT 3,000 FEET IN THE AIR AND SMASHES INTO THE GROUND AS SCRAP. NOW CLIMB ON, I'LL GET US TO THAT CITY FASTER THAN YOUR TINY LEGS." With that, our adventure began, and it was awesome.
|
“But…you could’ve been *anything*.”
They stared at me, 4 sets of eyes widened with shock or squired in confusion. 4 sets of furrowed brows.
“I don’t *want* to be anything else.”
“Well, I just thought—“ said Kenzie.
Rob cut in “I mean we all have *those* days, and you have the opportunity—“
I cut them off with a raised hand. “You thought what? That’d I’d be insecure? That I dislike my body? That I’d jump on the chance to change it?”
I could feel their discomfort growing. No one wanted to *actually* say anything about someone’s body—not to their face, at least. My mother had taught me that.
Sighing, I plopped down on a stump and continued before they could try to shove their words back into their mouths. “You’re right.”
Melissa was the first to jump in. That was just the type of person she was: the Includer. Whether you wanted to or not, she’d give you disingenuous platitudes meant to make you feel like you less inadequate. I’d done it myself, back before I’d gotten too tired. “No, we didn’t mean—“
“You’re right!” I insisted. “I hate my body sometimes. Most times.”
There was a quiet in the air, like a sorrow at the sentiment—open admittance was always worse, because you couldn’t hide the meaning of the words, dance around the inconvenient truths…or make polite conversation. Maybe there was also a comforting finality, as if they thought I was ridding myself of a delusion of thinking I was more attractive than I was, and therefore worth something.
Another sigh.
“I don’t like my body. I can barely even tolerate it. And, to be honest, it’s always been like this. Since I was five, I’ve been self-conscious about my weight. Stressed over my common-colored hair and eyes, hated my moles and the furriness of my legs and I—“ I stopped. I wasn’t quite sure where to go after that, how to escalate from disclosing the biggest baggage on my shoulders. “I hate my body. But I think we all do a little.”
I looked around at my party, 4 other people I called friends because we met in a shitty apartment twice a month to play games and make jokes about movies we watched when we were younger. They all looked different. Zedd especially.
“We all hate how we look. We spend years of our lives wishing we could change. Putting our bodies through physical distress every day for the hope of slimming down or bulking up; cutting ourselves into pieces and sucking out and re-injecting to reconfigure what we consider a colossal failing of the genetic lottery. And if we ever get the chance, we take it. We become elves—“ I looked at Melissa, several inches taller, a little slimmer, chromatic eyes and pale blonde hair, glasses-free and unfreckled, curvier but not pudgier—“barbarians—“ I watched Rod, head ducked and eyes avoidant, about 100 pounds of pure muscle heavier and well over a foot taller than he’d been, the long hair he wasn’t brave enough to grow out in real life flowing free down his impossibly bulky back—“sorceresses—“ now to Kenzie, her dark, coily hair now loose curls brushed back with a headpiece, a red dress glued to her new curvy body like she was modelling a swimsuit—“and even those of us who fancy ourselves defiant, nonconformist, can’t bring ourselves to defy too much.”
I glanced at Zedd, who *did* look decidedly inhuman. He’d chosen a figure with curling horns, four purple eyes, and brick red skin, a forked tongue flicking out to lick his lips nervously. But still, there were a brand-new six pack, cut arms, and high cheekbones.
I stood up, a heaviness in my actions as I resigned myself to getting on with it.
“I could have chosen anything. I could have looked like anything. But I’m so fucking tired of hating myself. I’ve been doing it for 20 years. We ALL have.”
I gestured around at the group.
“We’ll never be EVERYONE’S version of sexy. That’s how beauty standards work. And some of us will never even get close.” I pointed to myself, 320 pounds, middling height, my split ends and few strands of prematurely grey hair, my hairy cheeks, sagging boobs, and double chin, dry hands and moles that dotted my arms and face.
“But who cares? Who *fucking* cares? I know we all do, but why? Why do we force ourselves to focus on how we look for a few moments rather than how we feel and act forever? I’m tired of people acting like your worth is determined by how *they* judge your size, your skin, your hair—I’m tired of guilting myself into running circles because people don’t value me for who I am. And if *they’re* not going to change, I’m going to make them. By loving myself so much the have no choice.”
I let that sink in, mostly so I could organize my thoughts.
“I could have been anyone. And as much as I want to, as much as I hate to pass this chance up, I *have* to. I have to do it now, to prove to myself that I value myself, every bit of it, flabby, saggy, boring, hairy, and old. Because if I don’t do it know, when will I ever? I get to go home after this is over and tell myself that I loved myself enough to love ALL of myself, and maybe that will be enough to start making me love myself for real. Now let’s tell Argamenous we’re ready and get this show on the road, okay?”
——————————
I stood up from the stump when the flaps of the changing tent moved. They stepped out, all four of them, different.
Kenzie was first, tight red dress clinging to her body—flat chested and proud, her hair twisted into braids and coiled on top of her head, a big beauty mark below her lip.
Rod followed, 5-foot-nothing and slim, wielding a hammer half his size because who gave a fuck when you had *magic*? His hair still flowed down his back, just short enough that he looked like battle-Rapunzel.
Zedd was next, rocking the horns and red face again, this time letting his leather vest hang open around his potbelly and sporting a bejeweled birthmark on his face.
And finally, Melissa, tying her hair behind her still-pointed ears, glasses framing her dark brown eyes and freckles tickling her nose and cheeks. She was wearing a dress that fit around her soft form in a way that would make an Instagram influencer recommend a two-week slimming green tea cleanse.
“We told Argamenous we were almost ready,” she said from beside me. “Are *you* ready?”
I smiled. “Yeah.”
We walked into the portal, framed in glowing gold light against the sunset. We’d never looked better.
|
Jyx_The_Berzer_King
|
SmolFaerieBoi
|
2023-02-27 08:21:07
|
2023-02-27 07:30:27
| 87 | 54 | null | null |
6sbzos
|
savbcw
|
[WP] America now follows other countries in requiring 1year mandatory service upon turning 18, except it is working retail instead of going to war. A young teen just started his draft where he would have to man the stations on Black Friday.
|
Car headlights hit against mucky storefront windows and broke into blinding points of starlight that Jeremy had to squint to see past. He stood thirty feet from the automatic doors, which were still locked at the frame. Didn't make it any safer. Jeremy's whole body was tense, and goosebumps rose the hair on his forearms, reacting to that distinct cold-hot temperature that only existed in big box department stores like this one.
"Two minutes troops!" said the store manager, darting from one side of the entrance to the other, sweating, rubbing sweat on his red vest.
Jeremy was in the second line of reps. How did he have such bad luck? Conscription lottery. 365 days to choose from to start his year-long stint in the Service Corps, and he had to pick the *one* day in November that all recruits dreaded. Not only that, he had to pick *this* store. *The* chain where every year, without fault, blood is spilled. Waxy tile sheen of hallowed ground where countless customer service representitives had fallen, would fall.
It started to rain outside. Trails of water licked down the storefront windows in awkward trails, and Jeremy saw a heaving mass beyond the glass. People, pressed up against the first gate. In a minute the gate would flatten and like a landslide of bodies they would surge forth. Scenes every youth in America knows and fears. Sales no longer existed except on this day. One massive sale, tidings of irreverence in an age when retail no longer hires but conscripts. They do it legally. The 28th Amendment, an impossible loss of individual rights when instead of soldiering, Corporate America somehow succeeded with their unassailable lobbying power to implement conscription of 18-year olds to replace all low-wage workers. Most blame Citizen's United.
"Pull vest rips!" cried the store manager, visibly shaking.
He was 18, too. They all were.
There had been no time for training the newbies. Jeremy had no idea what to do. Hissing echoed up into the bright LED store lights as three dozen retail vests filled with air. Jeremy watched the others inflate the vests by pulling a cord. He pulled his. The red vest puffed up like a life preserver. Cheap single-use armor against the coming swell.
As cold sweat formed at his temples, Jeremy suddenly noticed an individual out there under the dark wet sky. Where before all he could see was a single organism of shoppers ready to burst, now he locked eyes with someone. He was around his age. Slammed against the gate. Panic welled in his eyes--or was it just rain? His breath condensed, short rapid bursts, full of fearful anticipation. They could have been friends. Who knows, in another life, they could have been best of friends. But here they were, this stranger and Jeremy, facing each other down on opposite sides of America's shame, neither one of them present there by choice but by the cruel reality of America's slide into controlled poverty and absolute wealth.
"It's unlocking!"
Gasps and screams rang out from several reps as the automated doors unlatched and opened, triggered by some moisturized hand in some distant high-ceiling boardroom. As it does. In the same instant, the gate outside smacked down and humans became a torrent, roiling over each other in insane movements of balance and violence. Jeremy no longer saw the tearful eyes he had locked with. All he saw was a black mass of bodies. *Black Friday*, they call it with double entendre. It breached the entryway, shattering glass among thunderous roar of its advance. Reps howled, some broke and ran. Jeremy froze.
As the mass broke upon the line of reps, and before Jeremy was consumed by this stampede, he heard vests squeaking, popping, screams suddenly snuffed out. Only one thought entered his mind before he blacked out: *If only they would sell more food, more often*.
​
​
\---
/r/velabasstuff
|
They told me there would be a great silence, and then a great rumble. I had spent the first portion of my time as a new-hire learning war stories from orientation videos. Where an elderly man with a crooked neck and a popeye body spoke in word salad.
“When you’re out there just remember that not only are you serving the company–the Dollar General, but you’re serving this country-THE United States of America. And what does every hard-working, red-blooded, Blue-Collar American desire more than freedom?! Why, the choice to shop without persecution for their purchases! They don’t want any moaning or eye-rolling when they push their overworked cart with one tire that's a squeaky wheel. Don’’t be the squeaky wheel; be the grease! Fix them! If they bring up 2 boxes of Swiss Rolls; let’em know they can get 3 for 8 bucks!”
I tuned out the rest, the only impression the video left on me were the rub marks from my hand on my cheek. It’s hard to see the screen, it’s old, like, 80s old. The digits are black and white analog with the 8s and 0s being identical and difficult to read.
I remember being able to see into the small, somewhat dry and decomposing parking lot during the multitude of times I had rode by or come here when stoned to get cheap candy and shoplift energy drinks. There’s no camera in the autoparts aisle, which doesn’t make sense, but a lot of things here don’t.
Back before this was a military outpost, it was just a store run by a guy who just wanted a job,and ended up being so reliable at working the job he just had that he poofed and became a general manager.
Then he poofed and became a regional manager, and has since poofed into a corporate office. A story I’ve been told numerous times by Gale, my current boss who does an expert job of faking it with the customers.
Something, along with the register that I need to work on. There are only three lanes, as this is one of the smaller stores in the area. Toney and Torey, the Shannon twins are working the other registers and they’re locked in motion with everything. It’s a little scary to hear them ring in unison.
When and if one messes up though, the whole thing breaks down. I haven’t seen it for myself, but StockRoom Steve told me about it. How he got so lucky as to only stock shelves I don’t know. I can’t complain though as there’s never a single thing missing from the shelves.
There’s a retail recruitment poster facing backwards from me on the plexiglass facing the parking lot. It’s held up by folded over masking tape that has more hair on it than I do on my face. It’s in the process of peeling off again.
As I walk towards it, the glass quakes, and the paper starts to half peel from its form; appearing like a worn band-aid. I peel it off, hoping to better face the picture again. It’s in black and white, looks like it was faxed from home.
It looks like my manager.
But this isn’t That old.
Gale can’t be that young.
A crack clears the throat of our PA. it’s 5am and even our electronics need to wake up.
“Would you please return to your station and leave the poster where you found it.”
I attempt a rebuttal, but the air and the speaker won’t hear. I fold the paper up and put it in my pocket.
A rush of air sweeps behind me as the automatic doors suction themselves loose. Thunder as a herd of hungry junk-food fanatics sweep in, and it’s a rush of sights, sounds, and sales.
There’s a cart from another store with stuff already in that a customer clunks inside. I’m too busy trying to keep up with all of the questions.
“Do you honor coupons from other outposts?”
“I bought this, where can I return it?”
“Does two for one work on any coke product, or just the ones on the ad.”
“Do you have a bathroom for paying customers only?”
“Can you take a check?”
“I only have EBT, will that work for everything?”
They’re all easy to answer, and instead of trying to win the war all at once; I pick my battles to the best of my ability.
“Only if we carry the same item.”
“Over at our customer service desk. You’re going to need to wait for an associate to be available to help you.”
“Just the ones on the ad, sorry.”
“No, we do not accept checks.”
“EBT will only work for dry food.”
My fingers have opened up to a new level of dexterity. I’m possessed with the typing speed of a courtroom stenographer. I can’t be stop–
I scream, my index finger and middle finger cramping up, twisting together in what doesn’t look good.
The guy in line needs his bush light, and asks me how hard my job is if I can’t use the machine; it does all the math for me.
The line halts and the store goes silent as I walk away from my post and into the mash unit out back.
My fingers get taped together, I get a 15 minute break, some ibuprofen and I am sent back out there again; to a line full of discount children’s toys, cheap knock offs of knock offs that only the worst people would purchase.
My finger twitches with pain, and I contemplate going AWOL as I scan one item at a time. Christmas crap no one will remember in a week. No one will even remember my service in the name of Dollar General.
So why continue working. Letting the redline scan over my face I grab a scanning gun, put it to my temple and line up for my checkout.
I Crumble, falling onto the black, soda sticky mat beneath my feet.
I’m called to the back and told to return to my quarters until I undergo a mental health screening, and can be trusted to serve the customer at my post.
|
velabas
|
None
|
2024-03-23 04:34:34
|
2024-03-23 03:22:54
| 19 | 11 |
kw5mdi4
|
kw5dzxx
|
1blhp5e
|
1blhp5e
|
[WP] Your fairy godmother isn't a wise old woman or cute and small with wings. She's dressed in a business suit, holding a briefcase and coffee cup, and has a very no-nonsense attitude.
|
The car radio played cheery pop music while tears streamed down Finn's cheeks. All criticisms he had heard before: he had a phony smile, he was stiff and wooden, he had emotionless eyes. That's the second role he had lost to that terrible actor Andrew. He pounded the steering wheel.
A woman in a white pantsuit appeared out of nowhere in the passenger seat and Finn jumped, "Where did you come from? Who the hell are you?" he asked.
"Ah, I'm your fairy godmother, Julia. They assigned me to you 22 years ago, but today was the first open slot I had in my schedule. What problem are we solving here?" she said. She had a notebook open in her lap with an expensive looking pen. Finn played along, seeing as she *had* appeared out of nowhere.
"This stupid no-talent hack Andrew Hayden keeps getting my roles. I was born to be a star and I can't even get a start," he said.
"Hmm, ok, yes. I can set up acting lessons. Let me see when Tony is available for you," she said.
"I don't need acting lessons, my technique is flawless. I went to Juilliard. I want Andrew Hayden out of the way," he said wiping tears away and looking at her proudly.
"Oh, its one of those jobs, ok. These ones are easy. I need to change quick," she said and snapped her fingers. Her all white business suit instantly changed into an all black business suit. "Ok, so I know a guy, also named Tony. You get him a picture and no one will ever see Andrew again." She grinned at Finn and he grinned back with his emotionless eyes.
"And I'll get my role and be famous?" he asked.
"You'll have whatever you want," she said. She looked at her watch, "I have to go, see you in...10 more years it looks like, good luck kid."
|
Miranda's hair tickled her shoulders and left weeping willow-like shadows in the reflection of her coffee. Another interview tossed because of a stupid question. Just because she didn't have a great tale of "the customer is always right" shouldn't mean she's disqualified to be a manager at Starbucks. She sipped her coffee, it tasted burned anyway. "Just a little break! A tinsie one - that's all I need!" Miranda threw the supposedly recyclable cup into the trash can on her left, it hit the rim and splashed onto the sleeve of her best dress.
​
"Yeah, no one sec Jeremy - just...yes, I...hush. I said hush Jeremy, I have to hit my volunteer hours. No - because of the- five minutes! Five minutes and I'll solve your problems too," the woman slammed her flip phone so loud it reverberated against the columns outside of the Starbucks. She wore a striped pantsuit and sparkling black heels that she wore like other wear runners. "Are you Miranda?"
​
Miranda looked up. She brushed back some of her hair. "Yes, that's me, uh...look I'm sorry if I made another mistake in my interv-"
​
"Don't make a thing of this. I'm here to help, just on a very limited basis. I'm your fairy godmother if you can believe it. You wished for help - here I am! Mrs. Keaton, Fairy Godmother-linked professional." Mrs.Keaton handed a seemingly blank business card to Miranda. Once it was flipped upwards, sparks danced across the center to reveal her name and title and a small 'calling phrase' that read: Mrs.Keaton, please assist with the luxury goods accounts.
​
"I don't understand, I just say this and - poof, you pop in?" Miranda asked, the drops of coffee on her sleeve kept catching on her forearm, making the cloth hang oddly. Miranda looked at the stains. Mrs. Keaton, ever the observant professional, tapped her glasses and the sparks danced across Miranda's sleeve making them like new.
​
"Yes, I'm here to help you get a job. Just like you asked. Manager a Starbucks feels like a stretch without customer experience but we can work on that. Listen, I'm going to have to go here in a minute - bosses have no patience - you'll learn that soon enough. You wanted help answering the ol' customer experience question,"
​
"Well, I don't have any customer experience. How on Earth do you answer it if you don't have it?"
​
"With creative characterizations. Based on my briefing I see you were a lifeguard last year. Did you have any kids pester you? Customer experience. The year before that you were the team leader at your camp for a day, right? Customer experience. Next time you have an interview, which will be tomorrow - spoiler alert - reference one of the little bratty kids asking for adult swim to end early or one of your peers at camp trying to change it up. The answers don't have to matter, they don't have to be that true, they just need to know you can play the customer game. Okay, Miranda?" Mrs.Keaton's flip phone buzzed.
​
"I don't understand, I just say this, and - poof, you pop in?" Miranda asked, the drops of coffee on her sleeve kept catching on her forearm, making the cloth hang oddly. Miranda looked at the stains. Mrs. Keaton, ever the observant professional, tapped her glasses and the sparks danced across Miranda's sleeve making them like new.
​
"Good, if you need anything else - just call me to help with the luxury accounts." Mrs. Keaton walked off, disappearing in a cloud of sparkles. Miranda's phone had 2 emails on it, both for interviews tomorrow. Miranda was spoiled indeed.
|
None
|
WritersofRohan17
|
2023-01-06 00:12:27
|
2023-01-05 23:23:28
| 45 | 31 |
j34k5u7
|
j34chzf
|
10498q8
|
10498q8
|
[WP] An entire city was wiped off the map by a disaster that took 100,000 lives. They were then all reincarnated in a fantasy realm as various species, with full memories intact. Yes: This is the story of a City-Wide Isekai.
|
Through wisps of snow and over jagged rock, the traveler pushed on. Coming to a rest at an overhang, the lone man kicked a few sticks into a pile, and with a deep breath, blew into his outstretched palm. Sparks and a wave of heat eminated from his palm and strike the sticks, igniting with a soft *phwoom*, casting soft shadows across the overhang walls. The traveler shrugged off his backpack and began to dig in it, pulling out a few crackers and a tin of dried fruits. He then drove another stick into the deep into the ground next to the crackling fire, a slab of meat hanging from its end.
​
"Damn, I miss Taco Tuesdays." the traveler muttered, taking a seat on a frozen rock. Through the crunch of his crackers and the popping of the flame, the traveler heard a beating of wings in the soft snowfall. Without hesitation, the traveler kicked a snowy mix of sand and pebbles onto the small flame, extinguishing it as easily as it was ignited. The beating stopped with the creaking of a branch, and smoke filled the cavity of the overhang.
A moment passed, the smoke burning the traveler's eyes and irritating his nose. He can feel the itch coming on; unable to hold it in, he sneezed.
​
A quiet beat passed, to his relief. The silence was broken as a ball of ice impacted the ground before him, shattering into hundreds of frozen shards. Immediately after, a winged claw reached through the mouth of the overhang, barely missing the traveler with a swipe, but tore his backpack and caused the contents to spill.
The traveler recoiled, and after gaining his footing, inhaled a deep breath. With his exhale, a stream of flames roared from his mouth toward the opening of the overhang. A terrifying shriek ensued, rattling his bones and splitting his ears.
​
*This is my chance,* the traveler thought, and leapt out from under the overhang, landing with a roll. Turning towards the overhang, taking in another deep inhale, he locked eyes with the creature. A drake leered over him, clinging to the top of the overhang. The drake let loose an intimidating shriek, its face enveloped in a soft magical glow as it readied another blast of ice.
The two launched their attacks. One with a yell, the other with a shriek, the stream of fire met and melted the incoming ball of ice. The drake was quick to follow with a series of swipes, using its reach and positioning to its advantage. The traveler expertly danced around the first flurry of swipes, preparing his next offensive with a deep nasal snort, but was met with a solid blow to his chest from the final swipe in creature's onslaught.
Reeling back, the stream of fire escaped the traveler's mouth, singeing the shoulder and wing of the drake. The drake launched another flurry of swipes, tearing flesh from the traveler's left arm, and readied another ball of ice, the soft glow casting grotesque shadows upon its face.
​
*Oh, this is bad,* flickered across the traveler's mind, regaining his footing, instinctively entering into a broad, braced stance. He crossed his arms, blood flowing from his wound, staining the snow beneath him a deep red. The ball of ice launched from the drake's mouth, and met his arms with a solid *crack!*, his wide stance preventing him from tumbling with the force of the impact. The drake crept down from the overhang, snarling as it circled and closed the distance between it and the man, waiting for him to telegraph his next move.
The traveler's mind was racing. *It's do or die, no need for holding back now.*
Holding his stance, the traveler took a long, slow, deep breath. He could feel his chest expanding, the heat within burning his lungs, his arms aching and pulsing with pain. He tensed his legs, ready to charge when the moment was right.
The drake inched closer, its cold gaze and otherworldly snarls sending shivers down the traveler's spine. It hesitated as it noticed him complete his breath.
The words exploded from his mouth, a river of flame in its wake."Let's do this! LEEEEEROOOOYYYYY JEEEENNKIIINNNSSSS!"
​
The flames hit their mark. The drake, burned and recoiling, skittered back up to its perch on the overhang. The traveler rushed towards it, preparing another inhale, his lungs screaming from the heat within. As he closed the distance, he noticed the drake was not preparing another attack. He unleashed another exhale of brilliant flame, which the drake dodged with a beat of its wings, climbing into the air. It then settled back down, gripping onto the overhang.
The traveler, wary but curious, re-entered his defensive stance, meeting the gaze of the drake once more. Its cold gaze was replaced with a mournful look. It raised its clawed hand, and gestured between itself and the traveler, before pointing upwards, accompanied by a solemn howl. It then sat on its hindquarters, wrapped its winged arms around itself, its tail wriggling at its feet.
Slowly, the realization hit the traveler.
"You... and I..." he groaned through gritted teeth, "are not so different after all, huh?
"The traveler broke his stance, and fell to his knees, waves of pain and exhaustion rolling over him. After a moment, he gained his composure, and sat cross-legged on the frozen ground.
"So, uh, what now?" he said, contemplating openly with the drake. A rumble from his stomach sounded out. The two locked eyes once more.
"You know, I think I have an idea."
​
Under the overhang, the sound of crackling fire complimented the silence of falling snow. The soft light illuminated both man and beast, bandaged and snoring, exhausted from their battle and full from the meal they had just shared.
|
It is opening night.
In the center of the fair a dragon cranes his long neck high above the rides, lets moonlight slide over his scales like a jug of milk being poured. Master, a humanoid bug in top hat and red waistcoat, standing by the dragon’s clawed feet, laughs and slaps his six hands together and says, “Let there be light!”
Flames spout into the air as if a rocket is taking off. The queue gathered at the fair’s entrance, gold-leaf tickets clutched protectively to their chests, whoop and clap. The fair is open.
Beatrice is not thirsty but will drink tonight regardless. She stands outside her tent, between the two cardboard-teeth that drape down around the entrance. She inhales and holds in her stomach, lets it out again. She’s getting plump and she knows it. It’s incredible, she thinks, how many people are willing to pay to have their blood drained by a vampire. What a dull world it is must be for such people to exist. She is not one of the more popular attractions, except perhaps with housewives fresh from a steamy novel, and yet there will be a steady stream of paying customers tonight. More blood than she wants.
Beatrice watches Harry rotate his shell in the distance. Harry, once a travelling shoe salesman in a different life, is a gigantic snail with benches screwed into his shell. Later, he will undulate his body and rotate his shell to win screams from visitors.
Another burst of flame. Every five minutes Randolph cascades fire into the sky, blue, red, white — a light show, shadows cast, faces illuminated momentarily, the cold winter air shocked into warmth.
Beatrice hears the chants from outside the ground. On the fair’s first night in any town, the protestors are as much of a specatacle as the fare itself. They are their own festival of bibles and microphones, bubbling anger and frothing wine. Even the non-religious preach against the satanic creatures within the walls. Creatures like her.
Visitors are marching through now. The night has begun in earnest. Children point and run from freakshow to freakshow as parents hurry after them like their kids are housecats escaped.
”Look like you want to be here, Beatrice,” master demands. She hadn’t seen him scuttle to her tent, but he stands there now, whip in hand. She’s never seen him use it but wouldn’t be surprised if he had.
”I’m a vampire,” she retorts. ”They like us moody.”
”Well I like you seductive, smiling. Understand? You’re prettier when you smile.”
She understands well enough. There is nowhere else in this world for creatures like them. Without the security that comes from being part of this wandering pack, this bizarre family, there is only death. They are loathed as much as they are adored, often more so. If the master kicks her out it would be a death sentence.
Besides, where would she get her blood from? She can’t bear the thought of taking it from the unwilling.
Beatrice has her first customers. She bites neck after neck, careful to leave a twisted toothy imprint — a souvenir most desirable — and careful not to take too much for fear of bloating early. Still, the blood gives her a buzz and she lets herself enjoy this first night in town.
Giant Sarah strides by Beatrice’s tent on her break. She bends down, hand on back, and peels open the flap. “All good, Bee?”
Beatrice looks at Giant Sarah’s feet, mostly because that’s all she can see of the huge woman. They are blistered and bandaged, toes like smashed boulders. “What’s he had you doing, Sarah?”
”What’s he not?”
Beatrice knows she’s set up half the fair herself. Did most of the heavyy moving, as well as running the helter-skelter, constantly bending to pick up children and adults alike who want to ride the whirling slide.
”You need to take it easy,” says Beatrice.
The tent flaps fell back in place. “Yeah. I know,” drifts Sarah’s resigned voice as the ground rocks. “We all do.”
There are each under the same threat. Of being kicked out of their supposed family. But what can they do? Master saved them all. He’d gathered them, the freaks that they’d become, once they’d woken in this world. He’d been the one to come up with a plan that would keep them safe, had made deals with land owners to allow their fair to tour and set up.
Safe. Kept them all safe.
But not truly.
Beatrice doesn’t know his real name. No one does. He is the master of ceremonies, he said, and that was all.
Beatrice closes a little early tonight and stands outside her tent, watches her friends — the dragon forced to breathe fire on clockwork as his throat tears itself to ribbons,
She is careful as she meanders through the fair a few moments later, blends in with last visitors, navy hoody shading her face. She has never been in master’s caravan before, but tonight she creeps inside. He’s out by Tara the yeti now, who is gluing back hair that’s falling out in tufts under the stress.
Beatrice rifles through every drawer in the caravan, breaks open suitcases. It has to end, she thinks. They are being treated like animal, not a family. It’s time for the truth.
But there is no truth to find. Not in here. What was she expecting anyway? A diary saying his evil scheme of working them all to death is going wonderfully. Idiot, she thinks.
She’s about to leave when the door bursts open and master walks in. His eyes roam over the scene methodically, as if he’s ironing a shirt with his gaze.
He settles on Beatrice. “You’re done. I knew we shouldn’t have kept a vampire. Especially once you got fat. I want you out, tonight.”
In her old life she was married, had a child. She had love. In this life she has only misery.
Rage. She dives at master. She buries her teeth into his neck, cracking through carapace. He screams but the dragon fire outside is roaring louder.
She pulls her mouth away, smears his blood from off her lips, then gazes into his eyes. She’s only done this a handful of times before, and even then she wasn’t sure if it they were lucky guesses or she really did see into their minds.
This time she concentrates with her entire being. His pupils grow, the black water pooling deeper, wider. And she begins to see.
She sees him as young man in a different life. Sees him full of hate for the world but cannot see why. Sees a lust for control that he can never have. He is reading esoteric ancient texts, those about moving on, past lives and new lives, controlled reincarnation.
He is studying how to make bombs.
He is looking at maps. Areas densely populated. It does not matter to him who lives there, whose lives he’s ripping away, whose families are being deprived. Density, ease of access, that’s what matters.
She watches his grinning face as he sets the explosives.
It’s enough for her.
In a frezy she goes for his neck again. She will not stop though. She is a leech. She will take it all until master is a dried out husk.
​
Three nights later, with master still missing and presumed to have left the fair — perhaps run off with some local — the attractions pack themselves up and ready to move. Beatrice does not know whether to tell them what she found out, let alone what she did. Would it help them?
There is more laughter in the air than on usual leaving nights, more hope, Beatrice thinks. No one forced into roles, everyone simply working together.
|
pharodae
|
Rupertfroggington
|
2023-01-31 16:47:18
|
2023-01-31 15:06:03
| 202 | 61 |
j6nn289
|
j6n75c9
|
10pyb4o
|
10pyb4o
|
[WP] The men in your family die the moment they turn 18, due to a curse cast on one of your ancestors by a witch. You turned 18 a week ago and are still living, and as a result a descendant of the witch has arrived to figure out why you didn't die.
|
The witch looked around my room for a while after I had let her in. Then, around my house. After a while, she turned to me. “Where is he?”
“Where is who?” I asked.
“The boy who lives here!” she demanded.
“There is no boy who lives here,” I said. “There’s only me.”
The witch pulled a book from her satchel, skimming through it. “No… no, there should definitely be a boy here. Man, now, I guess. Did he move? How long have you been living here?”
“My whole life,” I said. “Eighteen years.”
She stared at me, puzzled. “But…”
I could tell she was getting flustered, so I decided to explain. “Everyone always thought I was a boy,” I said. “Growing up, that’s what I was told. And I was told I would die on my eighteenth birthday because of it. I always knew, deep down, I wasn’t really a boy, but everyone in my family was convinced that my attempts to dress differently and grow my hair out was just an attempt for me to try and get out of the family curse.” I smiled. “There were times I doubted myself. Wondered if they were right about me. But when the clock struck midnight on my eighteenth birthday, that was confirmation that I had been right all along.”
|
# "To be Alive"
​
1/?
Some people are just, really unlucky. Maybe it’s an innate thing, maybe it’s just a bunch of dice rolls, but as unlucky as you may feel, you probably can’t compare the curse put on my family what was probably eons ago.
See, if this is a fairytale, it’s a Brothers Grimm one. The story that my family told was that long before any of us were born, and they mean long ago, our ancestor pissed off a witch. How? That’s the thing, all we had to go off of was his recounting of the events in a book he kept, and how he tried to help the poor maiden by lending her a room for the night, only to get cursed for his supposed generosity.
But that’s probably not how it went. He was a notorious liar and would try to sink his teeth into any women he saw, and it’s more likely he saw an opportunity to get an easy score. That’s something that ran in the family, since if you’re going to die before 18 why not be a total fucking scumbag towards women?
That’s the kicker. On our 18th birthday, all men in the family die gruesome deaths. The women are always fine, but the men are born with a timer. It’s never instantly when they turn 18 either, it always only happens when their grisliest death is possible. Bludgeoned by a falling brick, burnt to a crisp in their sleep because of an electrical fire, finding yourself in the wrong place in the wrong time, all just a couple of the tamer ways to go out, and if the only option, a simple heart attack does the job.
I remember when I was younger and was told I’d die when I was 18. It was my sixth birthday, which didn’t really mean anything since my parents never celebrated them. They also never really did, anything. They didn’t bother to even send me to school, just enroll me. You can imagine what that says about the rest of my life. I always felt jealous of the other students who had homemade lunches, or parents who would pick them up from school, or fucking *had* parents in the first place.
My family was… not a good one. My father was a hard man who’d spent time in the army, and he’d tried to whip me into being the most ideal son one could ask for. He never actually whipped me though, he preferred using his hands. He was a hard man.
It should also go without saying that as I grew up, I grew lonely. I just kept growing to the age of fifteen. Everyone I would come to know would quickly avoid me when figuring out who my parents were, if they didn’t already know.
Everyone except him.
The only one who ever really mattered.
​
\-----------------------
This is part 1, and it's mostly a prologue. I've also added part 2 where things start to, yknow, get to the interesting part.
There will be more parts to come! Lengthier than part 1, too. Probably.
Thanks for giving me the courage to post this! Specifically to u/OrionsBoob, u/Bazrum, u/Meraziel, and u/agentronin316!
|
morpherthewolf
|
Evelyn_Of_Iris
|
2023-04-21 17:32:45
|
2023-04-21 09:01:36
| 49 | 12 |
jh644oc
|
jh4fpra
|
12te9f1
|
12te9f1
|
[WP] 10 years after the virus, you emerge from your bunker after finally finding a cure for it. In the mean time, everyone on earth has been infected and healed. Many died, but humanity survived. You smell a putrid smell everywhere. Why is water so disgusting? You ask. What do you mean? They say.
|
Wrong. The smell was... wrong. It bit into his nose, as If something toxic had been dumped into that lake once.
Yet, life thrived there. Fish swam, frogs jumped around and a couple small animals could be seen drinking from it. All the tests he could quickly do on the water sample came back clean. Despite that, he hadn't tried to taste it. Not without filtering it, at least.
Just... what was happening?
He left quickly, repulsed by the smell and wandered into a small village. He had observed it from afar, a couple of days before. The inhabitants looked like normal people. Young and old, but all of them displayed behaviour of healthy humans. No sign of anyone affected with the old virus.
Was it good, then? His heart told him yes, but his mind tried to be bitter about those ten years, wasted on making a cure.
Still, there was something wrong with water and he'd be damned, If he at least didn't try to help.
This is how he found himself in front of the child, asking her the very same question. The child tilted her head in a way, that reminded him of the old world's judge. Her eyes narrowed.
This was a wrong question to ask.
The child hissed, a feral sound accompanied by the pair of fangs he could now see.
He didn't know why at the time, but the news would spread. He was not one of them, not anymore, he wouldn't be safe. He should've keept his mouth shut.
But it was too late by now. It was he, who started the hunt. All he could do right now was to run.
|
"I did it, we have the cure. Yipeeeee", the kid named Ash, now an apparent man jumped in excitement as he rushed out of the bunker.
He reached the first man he saw across the street, dressed shabbily and told him how he had found the "cure" for the Zona virus.
"Do you see stars?", the man asked
"It's day time dude.", Ash was confused
"Hehe he, let's go to the stars", the man said as he ran lifting one of the sticks before bashing himself to one of the walls.
"So virus didn't kill stoned people yet?", Ash thought to himself
As he walked through the city, it was half empty, half full and everything was feeling full of life
Ash approached a woman down the street and said with excitement, "Look! I found a cure for the Zona virus"
"Are you high or something?", the woman replied
"Uhmm, miss, what?", Ash replied, his eyes widened
"The virus. It ended years ago. People died, and we survived. What's the facade with the cure?", she said looking directly into Ash's eyes
"So, I spent my 10 years, developing cure for something that has already been fixed?! It would've been better to be an unemployed engineer at this point, atleast I would've gotten some sympathy", Ash thought to himself As this sat down holding his head tightly, regretting what he did over these years.
Riddled with thirst, Ash gave a thought of reaching for the water, only for it to smell 'funny' and taste horrible. To his thought, he seemed to have approached a contaminated zone, but when he looked around, everything had the same putrid smell and everyone was drinking from the same source of water.
As he observed closely, the water had a pinkish tinge to it. Skeptical, he started to trace where the water was coming from. One path lead to the other and eventually he found his way into a closeted building operated by a Yakuza member.
Scared for his life, he tried to run away, but riddled with curiosity he decided to look a bit fpbefore walking away. He found out that the water wasn't just contaminated, it was pink because it had the diluted blood of dead people processed in the machines.
Seeing this, he started to rush out, only to be caught by one of the guards who brought him to the Yakuza.
"Another one of those journalists huh? They got some courage I see", the man threatened
"Nono I- I am a- a scien-tist. Aa- actually I wanted to know why water tasted different and-", Ash said with his bpvoice breaking
"Haha this? This is common knowledge kiddo. These are the people who died from the virus. And their blood is what keeps us alive", the Yakuza member said
The member asked guard to let him go, when Ash said, "You don't have to kill people to save everyone. I have the cure"
He asked Ash to come back and instructed the guard in a sign language. Filled with pride, Ash walked as a king into the room which the guard showed him, only to know that it wasn't just a room, it was a prison. A prison to keep the ones who know the real cure. Because the Yakuza knew how to be in the power and rule the world
( the story may continue further with Ash's struggles to tell the world about the cure )
|
DingoOfTheWicked
|
haardshah
|
2025-02-26 00:51:49
|
2025-02-25 17:15:11
| 77 | 56 |
mesyf5c
|
meqcnsj
|
1ixya4b
|
1ixya4b
|
[WP] "I do not normally condone enacting justice against the living on behalf of the dead, but that is by choice, not rule, and since this particular situation struck a chord in me, I'm willing to make an exception for you"
|
“Put it back.”
Ultimate’s words almost could not be heard the first time he spoke them: the crowd that had formed around he and his nemesis chattered too loudly.
“What did you just say to me, Boy Scout?” Devastation was still adjusting to running into the hero in such a place.
“Put. It. Back. Lonny.”
“You can’t be serious,” replied Devastation. “I’m REFORMED now, I paid my debt to society. You’re really going to tussle with me over-”
“ONE. More. Warning.” Ultimate nearly shook the ground in interrupting the man.
“…This is really happening? You’re really going to do this, in front of all these people?”
“You think THEY can save you?” Devastation was unsettled by the way Ultimate phrased the question. “You think THEY will be your way out this time? No, not a person on this PLANET will be able to stand in front of the overwhelming force coming your way if you don’t put it back in the next five seconds.”
Lonny had always been attracted to chaos. Some inner voice in him had never been able to look a rule, authority figure, or more physically imposing force in the face without pushing it just to see what would happen. It’s an instinct that led him to a life of crime.
It is also the instinct that sent him hurtling 30 feet into the air post-contact with the pre-eminent superhero’s fist.
“WHAT THE F-“
Lonny could only get the first letter out before his leg had been grabbed in mid air, and he was whipped back to the ground with a force and intensity he had never experienced before. Were he not powered himself, the force of impact would surely have liquified him.
“DO I NEED TO ASK AGAIN?!” cried out a deranged voice hovering above him. Lonny slowly crawled out of the crater his body had made in the traffic median, and weakly shook his head in response to the glowing eyes of the being hovering above him. He then proceeded to spend a full six minutes slowly walking back to the parking lot.
“Holy shit he came back!” went one of the onlookers as Lonny made his way back to his car.
The crowd parted as if commanded by Moses upon seeing Devastation himself limp past his sedan, place his hands weakly upon the shopping cart he had previously abandoned in the space next to his, and slowly push it toward the return station eight spaces over.
“NOBODY HELP HIM!” boomed the voice from above, as the once great villain who nearly destroyed cities in his prime continued to meekly push the cart back to its proper return.
|
Stay calm, Lithoman told himself. You can convince this motherfucker to let go of the dog. He pulled up another stone sword out of the earth and grabbed it. Levelling the blade at his arch nemesis he repeated himself once more.
“Let go of the dog Dreadful!”
The villain held the dog up at his leash and the creature squirmed trying to get away. At the end of the road sat a little girl on her knees bawling her eyes out. It was her dog that Dreadful held hostage, just so that Lithoman would keep his distance. Inside Lithoman could feel the tear at his heart for the little girl. He too had a dog at home that he considered his best friend. He could imagine the pain he would feel if that ball of fluff would die.
“Or else,” dared Dreadful.
Lithoman knew that in the end Dreadful would relent. He always did.
“You’ll regret it. I’m not someone you should anger,” said Lithoman.
A grin appeared on Dreadful’s face. A dreadful grin at that. The man lifted his glove full of razors.
“I do want to see you angry. You should let go for once. Not be the good guy for once. Let’s see if this will get you to cross the line,” said Dreadful as he slowly drew a razor across the neck of the pup. The struggling body fell silent as the blood poured down on the ground.
Something snapped inside Lithoman and his vision turned as red as the blood that stained the ground. In less than a second he shot across the distance towards Dreadful, drawing rock from the area and as it formed into a massive stone fist he hit the villain square in the head. Sending him flying through multiple buildings, coming to a halt against a crane at a building site. Before Dreadful could adjust Lithoman summoned a spike that narrowly missed the villain, but drew a deep cut across his hip.
“Fuck!” He screamed. “I get it.”
As Dreadful barely lifted his arms in surrender a sharp stone blade cut through his limbs, cutting them off at the elbows. His lifeless arms dropped on the ground as Dreadful looked perplexed at the stumps above his head.
“Y-you..what did you do!” he wailed.
From above Lithoman came at him again. Gathering a giant suit of rubble around him morphing into a sharp pointed arrow. Too fast for Lithoman to react the tip pierced his torso, pinning him to the ground now mortally wounded. Above him stood Lithoman, lost in rage. He started pouncing on the villain with giant fists of sharp jagged rocks. In no time the former villain was a puddle of gore as Lithoman – stained in crimson – kept on swinging.
The villain was long dead when Lithoman stopped his barrage, but his fury still burned deep within him. He sped towards the girl and grabbed her and faster than the speed of light carried as many children as he could find off to a remote place somewhere in the mountains. He bellowed as hard as he could, letting go of all the rage. Harder and harder until he felt like his throat would burst. The mountains crumbled and crumbled and the air shivered. As sound wave after wave torpedoed reality a tear formed. He threw the children true the wormhole to god knows where, but not here on Earth. And with a snap of his fingers the tear closed itself in front of the terrified youth.
Now he would let go. All his build up frustration, all the years of suppressed rage. He channelled it all into his fists that – coated in black obsidian – were held up high above his head. Every shred of anger concentrated in one final action. The air grew cold and everything around the now burning Lithoman went silent. He let out a last breath of air and slammed his fists together with all the force he could muster. The mountains around him started folding in on themselves. The fields beyond started folding in on themselves. Cities crumbled and fell into the dark hole that was forming. He would destroy all of it. Everything would collapse into a final black hole of rage, him included. There was no going back. With a final wish that he had dropped the children somewhere where they could do better his body was stripped atom by atom until eventually nothing was left.
​
(If you liked this story, please feel welcome at r/zeekoeswriting to read my other stories!)
|
DuckLordOfTheSith
|
zeekoes
|
2023-05-13 03:51:34
|
2023-05-12 20:53:36
| 207 | 102 |
jjyk9ky
|
jjx5k73
|
13fuk2e
|
17kj8vb
|
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.