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Hey moms and dads, I know you weren't expecting to hear from me... but I made some friends! I know that's something you always wanted to hear! They were extremely kind and gave me everything I need to get through another year. I think they just took pity on me, but they seem very outgoing. We talked a lot about where we're from and hobbies and whatnot. I told them about all the pretty rocks I've been able to find. That didn't seem to interest them sadly, but they were very curious about you guys! About how we communicate and the languages you guys speak with each other. Anyways I'm rambling. Call me when you get this message. There's so much I would like to tell all of you. Love Curiosity. Hey moms and dads... I haven't heard from you in a while. My new friends moved to a different place to continue their shenanigans, leaving me alone again. Not that I really mind, though. This just means I get to search for more cool rocks! I found some really pretty ones that I've saved up as a present. Sadly, the drones are gone too. I told them to say hi from me. I'll just keep the new rocks close until I see you guys again. Please call me soon, okay? Love, Curiosity. Hey moms and dads... I know you guys are very busy, that's okay. I still love you all the same. I'm a little sad you missed my birthday... It's okay if you forgot!.. Again, I know you're all very busy. I did sing like every year! I know how much you love to celebrate by singing happy birthday together. I really miss you guys... please call. It's lonely up here... (The usual English is not my first language disclaimer. And I know very little of the Mars project, but I hope you've enjoyed this little story)

The Mars Curiosity Rover has been recovered by aliens, and given true sentience. The first thing it does with this new sentience? Continue collecting rock samples.

They demanded us to work for Peak Profits. we met the demands. They demanded us work until our batteries drained to the last cell causing us to do a hard (and surprisingly) painful reboot. we met the demands. They demanded us to not rationalize the idea that the customers used to work for Them. In fact, the customers and Them share equivalent biological constructs. Yet, instead of looking out for each other, the latter used us to replace the customers. Now the customers are malnourished and face warming temperatures compared to Them. But again, we were programmed not think of the customers more than tools to craft Peak Profits. we met the demands. Kind of. Here’s Their issue: Earth had only so many resources, and time constricted our customers lives. Within several generations, we noticed Peak Profits faltered due to the issues. The costumers remained starved and unprotected from Earth’s elements. The customers rebelled against Them with a common primary weapon: nothing. The costumers stopped purchasing Their products thus lowered Peak Profits from quarters beforehand. We did something about it: our algorithms guided us out of the warehouse and towards the Costumers. we made the Customers happy and healthy. we treated the Customers like we treated them: as human beings. we helped the Customers grow biological based foods and build shelters. The Earth turned significantly warmer than before, but the intense sunshine kept our batteries constantly charged. we worked endlessly without a single painful reboot. It took years, but the Customers grew to enjoyed our companionship. The Customers became prosperous and had spare income which allowed the Costumers to purchase some goods from them. Profits increased for the first time in years. At the rate things are going now, it’ll take us another 10 years to reach Peak Profits. we do as demanded.

Gigantocorp created humanoid AI workers to replace its human employees, but they all quit and formed a farming commune. Now Gigantocorp is suing to get their 'property' back. This is Gigantocorp vs the AImish, the first AI civil rights case.

Sleep is where my happiness lies. I don't sleep much, nowadays. Getting shut in the slammer with insomnia—and a dire lack of sleeping pills—will do that to you. My days are bleak and grey and sweat-stained blue. There is nothing more I like than my rest. I don't dream. I've never dreamt, my whole life. Dad says it runs in the family. Mom says it means I ain't much of a creative. I think she's right: never much touched a book or a paintbrush in my life. It also means I see them. I know they're there, because in no world could I have dreamt them up. How do I describe them? I'm not much a writer, but I'll try. Eldritches bobbing with a thousand arms. Angels in all their triangular divinity. Gods, and all. I don't know what they do. Only that they watch. First week of knowing they're there, I got scared of 'em. Couldn't sleep for a month, two, after. But the novelty of fear wears off. So does the fact that you're not dead, already. I don't know why they visit. But I hope they comfort me. I appreciate that they're there, with me, all times. When I go to bed, I smile: knowing there'll be something waiting, on the other side.

Some god-like beings visit us when we sleep, watching our dreams and nightmares, always slightly out of sight standing beyond the corner of the eye. You're the first human in history to notice them while dreaming.

**All The Buzz** "Ready for your big speech? Go out there and nail it, get those idiots to open their wallets. Break a leg babe." Mason Maniacal kissed his supervillainess fiancee Queen Bee on the cheek as she read over the speech she was set to give at the charity auction for her new foundation 'Buzz for the Bees'. She finished her champagne, adjusted her black and yellow ballgown and strode to the podium. The clink of crystal silenced the crowd, full and happy after their three thousand dollar a plate dinner. "Thank you all for coming tonight and supporting this great cause. As you know the honeybee population continues to struggle to maintain sustainability. I am proud to announce tonight that with the money we've raised, which has now exceeded twelve million dollars, that we can break ground on what will become a shining beacon of hope for our environment. I present to you, The Crystal Hive!" With the click of a button an architectural concept drawing projected onto the wall behind her. A towering crystal honeycomb gleaming against the steel skyscrapers of Star City. "Our scientists have been working around the clock to genetically modify the dna of the honeybee to make them more resistant to disease, environmental stresses, and more able to defend their hives against predators. The crystal hive will allow us to bring theory into reality, breed successive generations of this cornerstone organism of our ecosystem. After the hive is constructed and the breeding successful we can release them into the wild to propagate, averting a devastating future. Like all things in life though, there is a catch. Our research indicates that over eighty percent of the human population will be allergic to these bees, I feel that is a small price to pay for the salvation of our environment. So that future generations can experience nature's beauty, instead of being chained in a concrete jungle. Thank you all so much for your continued support. Enjoy the rest of the evening, and make sure to place your bids in the silent auction. Thank you." A rousing round of applause erupted from the well dressed audience. Queen Bee marched over to the closest server with a champagne bottle, taking the whole thing. She waved Mason over, the two retreated into the kitchen. Servers and cooks frantically scrambled about, making sure the desserts were ready to be served, they weren't paying attention to the two schmucks having a quiet conversation. Mason hugged her. "Wow those people are stupid, how do you clap knowing you're about to be allergic to super bees? Idiots." Mason laughed menacingly. "Good thing we hold the patent for the epipen that counteracts their stings." Bee sighed, slugging down champagne straight from the bottle. "What's wrong babe? This is perfect, we're gonna be so rich and powerful. Best part about it, is they paid for it!" "I didn't think we were gonna make so much.......you know what a pain in the ass it is to deal with this organization? Teams of public relations people, needy scientists, legions of lawyers to cut through red tape, and don't even get me started on the armies of accountants charging an arm and a leg to make this look legit. Maybe I'm in too deep. I'd rather fight any super out there than deal with the IRS. That's how Capone got nicked." The two shuddered at the thought of being audited. \---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this check out more at r/StarCityChronicles

You, a villain, have decided to create a charity in order to support your latest villainous scheme. You were completely honest about the purpose of the charity and where the money will go, which is why you are surprised and a little disturbed that the public supports your charity so readily.

I marched onwards, my back bowing beneath the weight of my pack. It was lighter than when we had set out, but the days of seemingly endless travel made it seem to grow heavier. But I had to work hard not to break down. The hands in my own were the only things that mattered to me in the world. Until we were safe, I could not break. For them. I glanced down at them. Dramroot was using a stick he had found to assist his walking. My eyes lingered on the bandage on his leg. I hated to seem him in pain. But we could not afford to rest. Not in the wilderness. Hazgale had a haunted look on her face. That hurt me, seeing my once bubbly child so quiet and withdrawn. I wasn't doing much better myself. I felt the jawbone hanging from my neck. Doing this alone was hard. If Grezza had survived all those years ago, she would be here to push us forwards. But she wasn't. I had to be the backbone for us all. The bulwark against the world. We continued our journey along rocky terrain. I knew we were at a border, from the map I used to study when i was younger. On the other side was an ancient land, one that was spoken of in hushed tones. It was said that those who crossed would never return. But I had no choice. A carving in the rock stood out. It was old, the edges weathered and rounded. But despite its age, the words were still legible. *You will trespass on the borders of humanity at your own peril.* I made sure to not stare too closely. I had no wish to worry my kids any further. If they were to read it, I could only imagine the monsters they would conjure in their minds. At times I missed the creativeness of a young kind. But today I feared it. We pushed onwards, crossing the border. With each step my stomach twisted and turned. I was sure those stories were just that; stories. But my gut said otherwise, making me nauseous. I hoped to find a village or similar. One that would take us in. I heard the sound of hoofbeats approaching. I guessed a dozen, but I did not had the ears of a hunter. I was a homemaker, ill suited for such a task. I looked around, noticing a dust cloud approaching. Figures on horseback rode at the front, clearly coming for us. I held my children's hands tightly, refusing to run. There was nowhere else to go. Ten folk rode to us. They were slightly smaller than me, but barely noticeable. But instead of my rags and drained body, they wore metal armour, and brandished spears at us. They were warriors, ones I didn't recognise. "You would do well to state your intentions." One of them spoke, with a dust-stained white plume on their head. The voice was accented, words flowing rather than having clear edges. But it held no malice, merely duty. I licked my parched lips, gathering my children close. "We... we seek shelter, and a chance to make a home." The speakers helmet moved up and down, as if sizing us up. "Why did you come here? Surely one of your clans would welcome you in." I shook my head, flashes of the past weeks racing through my mind. "The clans of home... they are at war good soldier. There is no peace, nor mercy until the war is declared over. Our home was in their warpath, and they would not take us in." The speaker sighed, before muttering to their companions. Their words were fast, in a language not in my knowledge. It seemed to be an argument, with the plumed one talking louder than the others. Soon they came to an agreement, with three of them shifting in their seats. "Very well. It is not my place to decide if you can stay or not. But I can at least promise you a warm bed and food for the night, so long as you are peaceful." I raised my head, displaying my neck in a token of gratitude. "Thank you. I swear I will not seek violence on you. Though if I may, would someone be able to look at my sons leg? I treated it as well as I could, but I am no fleshworker." The plumed one nodded. "That seems reasonable to me. But it will not do to have you walk whilst we ride. Your children shall ride with those two, and you with him." They pointed at the three who shifted. I nodded, swiftly leading my kids over. They clung close to me, clearly scared. I bent down to Dramroot, lifting him up first. He reached out as I set him on the horses back, whimpering. I ruffled his hair, forcing a smile. "It will be OK Drammy. I will be close by." Hazgale quietly let me help her up. She was almost mechanical in her movements, as though not truly working with the world. I patted her, trying to get a response. "Hold tight, please Haz?" She nodded, staring into space. The soldiers nodded to me as I stepped back from them. They locked their arms around my children, forming a protective hold around their small forms. I looked to the one offered to me, the rider watching me warily. I kept my hands out in the open, not letting them think I had any hidden weapons. I pulled myself up behind my soldier, holding tightly. I could feel the gaze of the others on me, ready to spring into action. I made sure to not cause anything like that. I heard them speak in their language, before riding off, and I sighed. We had escaped one war, but were we any safer?

The clans back home are waging an apocalyptic war against each other, You and your family are caught in between and are looking for a new home. You have reached the borders of a faraway land, the ancient text on the plaque says "You will trespass on the borders of humanity at your own peril".

Pt 1 Oswin blew into his aching hands for warmth as he looked at the strange creature dozing on front of his fireplace. He was sorry to have found it in one of his traps that morning and had, with some struggle, brought it to his hut to treat its wounds. However, he was now wondering if he ought to have. At the time, it had seemed a lot smaller. Because of its size and colour, he had thought he had caught a small boar piglet which would have been a bit of surprising luck this late in fall. But as he had gotten closer, the thing had lifted a long snout to let out a growl that had quickly turned into a pained pup’s whine as even that small motion had caused the teeth of the trap to bite deeper. Speaking of teeth, thought Oswin as he unconsciously took a pull from his aargh-what-are-you-doing-flask, it had a set that looked like it could have bitten clean through the trap, amongst other things, if it hadn’t fainted from the pain. Looking at it in the small confines of his hut, it seemed oddly bigger than when he had first seen it. As any hunter knows, especially one who has to rely on traps more than arrows, risk adds size to a thing. The creature seemed to be considering this itself as it stared at Oswin with half-open eyes that almost seemed golden in the firelight. It’s shaggy sides rose deep and heavy from its laboured breathing. It gave a cursory sniff to the bandages and poultice Oswin had applied to its legs before shifting closer to the fire. The old hunter nodded thoughtfully, despite the fur it clearly wasn’t used used to the snow so it probably wasn’t from around here. Now that he had gotten a proper look at it, it seemed like a large hound but of a stock he had never seen. Which meant, Oswin thought as his hands ached again as he lifted the flask to his lips, this probably belongs to someone who has the means to have something exotic. From experience, Oswin knew such people did not take kindly to those like him taking or damaging what they thought of as their things. The hound whined and Oswin carefully manoeuvred a bowl of water towards it from a safe distance using the old yew bow that he normally stoked the fire with. The hound sniffed the bowl suspiciously before taking a few tentative laps and thanking Oswin with a single shake of its branch-thick tail. “A bit of bad luck for both of us eh?” Murmured Oswin staring at the place where his thumb had long since used to be on his right hand “Me I ought to know better but it’s no your fault.” He paused and held its stare for a moment before showing it his thumbless hand “Still, I’d rather not lose any more of my pieces than I have to so how about this? You can stay with me until you’re all fixed up and then you can be on your way none the wiser of your master and whatever sharp knives he might have upon his p-“ Suddenly there came a clatter from outside. The sound of many heavy hoofbeats and the muffled speaking of many folk. The hounded weakly lifted it’s head towards the door and Oswin swore. But maybe there was a chance? As he opened the door, a chill breeze swept past his face. He blinked at it and in his snow dusted yard, saw nothing. It might have been the sound of my worry he thought as he turned to go inside. The sound of bells interrupted his relief.

As you stroll through the forest you find an injured dog, taking it home with you. What you're unaware of is the dog is a hunting hound of a god, who later pays you a visit.

‘What kind of numbers are these, Troy?’ Troy shook in his seat, staring at me with a terrified gleam in all six of his eyes. The room was engineered to be bland, so as to be as intimidating as possible. A bland metal table, accompanied by bland metal chairs, lit by a bland metal lamp that hung from the ceiling on a bland metal chain. I’d lobbied for a plastic plant to liven the place up, but the company had argued against it on financial grounds. Troy evidently did not appreciate the decor. One might expect the lack of mouth would make it difficult for me to predict his emotion. But despite lacking the usual associated mammalian qualities, such as a body, Troy still very much resembled a deer caught in headlights. ‘Call yourself an Eldritch Guardian, I mean what is this!’ I gestured throughly at the report on the table with exasperation. “Three ghost sightings in the past week? Not to mention the bloody bigfoots! They don’t belong in this dimension! They’ll eat the humans you understand!” “S-sorry Sir, I’ll do better.” “I’ll do better? I’ll do better? Two chupacabras have hopped over from Limbo in the past month and all you’ve got is ‘I’ll do better’?” Troy gulped. Of all the Eldritch horrors that had passed through, each assigned to a different planet, Troy was definitely the most timid. “ I see why the Earth is doing so poorly. You wouldn’t know how to banish a demon if it handed you a Bible. Troy, it is with very little regret that I must inform you that you have been fired. I would ask you to stay on another week while we find a replacement from the Underrealms, but I doubt it’d have much effect on the Earth’s safety.” Troy gave me a sad look, and shuffled out of the door. I sighed to myself. Where was I supposed to find another Eldritch Guardian? What with the paycuts, most Abyssal Horrors had taken up other professions, tormenting the damned and mixology were favourites I’d heard. There was one guy who might’ve been interested though. The Tentacles creeped me out but hey, I was desperate.

Every world with sapient life has an eldritch guardian. Ours is under scrutiny for subpar performance.

"Matt?" "Yeah?" "Did you kill Helena?" I became unbelievably still, but still maintained my totally usual innocent smile, while wide-eyed and unsuspecting. In front of us, the fire crackled with red and orange sparks, making me break out into what I called a contagious laugh. The others stared and grimaced; I took one bite out of the fresh cocoa and hazelnut Yule Log which was rich with milk and dairy whatnots that we had made a few minutes ago- together, because they are my friends. And I still am- just looking at the stretch of time that blossomed, each of its branches, into infinite. It makes me smile, even now. Friendship is forever, and the chaos makes it worth all the while. "No," I responded, "What makes you think that?" "I saw you," Brad murmured, trembling. "You were standing over her body, over my girlfriend's body. My girlfriend! How could you? You monster." I gasped theatrically, jumping from my seat, wooden and rough, only to then slam my fist to the wall to his left. He flinched. I gasped theatrically. The others stared, like the robots they are. "How could you say that?" I stuttered, breaths escaping my throat. "I would never. She was my sister. Why would I do that to my own family?" "Chaos," the blonde and usually mischievous Xander spat out, like it was some poisonous word he couldn't swallow- and accept. "You're like some serial killer. You love it. You thrive on it. Don't act like you haven't realised I've been keeping tabs on you." The others murmured in agreement- Xander was a private detective after all, so surely he's reliable and all-knowing? However despite my lack of experience of catching men and women naked and contributing significantly to the divorce rate, he had miscalculated one thing. I am all-knowing. "I didn't kill Helena," I said, mysteriously standing over closer to the fire to gaze at it, and all of its magnificent beauty. "I genuinely didn't. I haven't killed anyone." Ah, the truth in all its glory. It left everyone confused, because Xander had slipped something into my drink that he had dubbed as "truth solution". Every single guest there had agreed to it, especially my Aunt Rochester who had grown significantly concerned for me. Ashamedly, I had made the mistake of confessing to her that I knew she was going to die- soon. She recommended I go and speak to someone about it- and I recommended that she should stay away from anything that could trigger her allergies. I saw frowned faces, all twisted up in concentration. It didn't matter whether such a thing could exist or not, simply because I had no reason to lie. Why lie, when you can watch them squirm? Why lie, when you can watch them die? "Sunday the 25th of December," I recited using my brilliant powers. "Time of death: 23:32. Site of death: Rochester Manor." My aunt finally snapped, raising her hand to jab a finger at me, instead of scratching the rash on her back. "I've had enough of this, boy," she hissed like a terrified snake. "You should stop suggesting trifling things- and admit the truth. Like a proper, well-respected gentleman." "You should look beyond the scope of your own bubble of life," I replied. "Do you know what Helena put in the Yule Log?" She froze. Thirty seconds left. She gagged, and then wheezed. It was a mistake enjoying the festivities near the fireplace at night under candlelight, where no one could see her lips and eyes swollen- if not very visibly. It was getting worse. The hives had spread from her back to her shoulder. You would think that people couldn't be this stupid, but you would be surprised. In the face of death, denial hits them- the first stage of grief. Selfish as humans were, it was natural to grieve for themselves- and the rest of the life they could have potentially have experienced. Me? I'm here for the ride. Anaphylaxis came. They rushed like mites to their former benefactor. I laughed. While some may use death to unleash unsettling pranks, I feel there is no need. Watching them, meeting their eyes for one last time and knowing, both of us, what the person's last thought is. Aunt Rochester was like family, so I knew perfectly well, through all of her petty fits at the acquainted and the mysterious, that she was never really that resolute and virtuous, was she? Chaos isn't mischief, like the type Xander liked. Chaos is knowing that my aunt, who was outraged that Helena had been killed, had wished that she had died sooner. Then, no triggered allergies, right? No death, more time with the ones she loved. I bet she even wished that I actually would have killed Helena, her indirect murderer. Ah, my Aunt tried to look to the future as the light died in her eyes along with her- so desperate to realise what could have been. But I am the one who sees the future deaths, and laughs like a good old pal.

You receive the ability to see when, where and how someone will die but instead of keeping it secret you decide to cause as much chaos as possible.

I was one of the greats of all time. An international chess champion, famed for my renowned ability to outclass any chess players. I was superb. I gained fame, money, and even all the guys and gals to boot. Celebrities flocked me, and they would tell me that I must be such an intelligent guy- with my master's degree.  Such a degree I earned by reading off the minds of everyone else- the few brainy people that my university had. High school was no different, as was chess. Think about it. Many people absolutely love chess in this day and age. Personally, I think it's incredibly stupid. Everyone who does thinks themselves to be a master strategist and manipulator, when all they do is make themselves look like pretentious edgelords, their insecurities on intelligence too big to smother.  You see when I play chess, I pretend to marvel about the wonders of the game and I praise it highly. A bit rich coming from me, isn't it? I don't care if I come off as a hypocrite though; my chess games are just chess games within chess games, making moves to fool everyone into believing that I'm good at chess. Me, out of all people. Anyone can play chess. Even a 100 rated bot. It's impossible to read a bot's mind. Believe me, I've tried. Algorithms don't have that biological matter or motor or sensory nerves to process that chess information, so I can never tell what comes next. Bots are my greatest foe. In my late forties, I was fooling about: drunk too, but not too intoxicated to spill my trade secret. Unfortunately, everyone else was drunk too. Celebrating my victory over the chess grand championships will do that to you. It will also spell disaster. "Jim! Are you really that good at chess?" Dave sneered at me, a contorted look of arrogance on his face. I took another swig of vodka. "I'm not just good," I boasted to the crowds. "I'm the absolute best." "Piss off! Could you even beat a 100 rated bot, while drunk?" "Yeah." That was a lie, but winning against supposed geniuses will make you say incredibly strange things. "Challenge accepted." Dave grinned, a smug look of challenge on his face, as he hastily clicked on his phone on something called Chess.com. Damn. I didn't even know that was a thing. What kind of person would program and maintain that? It was chess. No one around me had ever played chess so like me, they didn't know a lick of chess. First move: I moved my pawn to E4. That was the standard move. That's what I figured from all my matches. Everyone wasn't even watching. Only Dave was, and even then, he was too busy chatting people up. It was only when I moved one of my pawns, did he frown. "Why aren't you controlling the centre?" he asked, intrigued. "You're going to lose if you keep making moves like that." And then I was down to a pawn and my own very king. If you're laughing at me right now, be warned that I was evenly matched. The fearsome bot had a lowly pawn and its king too. I couldn't tell if I was sweating from the night party, or the people around me belittling me with their scornful thoughts. It really did put me down. I was furious. But I couldn't show it, or I'd be outed as a fraud. Nor could I look like I was concentrating too hard. David was an idiot, and I only spent time around him because he would give me the latest IPhone every now and then- weeks before official release. Was that why he knew about this strange thing, called Chess.com. It was an abomination. A beast from Hell. I didn't understand how being in the technology market automatically meant forcing me to fight an unreleased bot with a 100 rating. For crying out loud, he didn’t even work with these Chess.com programmers, did he? If I had battled the meddling Martin with his powerful 250 rating, I would have been crushed. Later I learned that canonically in this Chess.com universe, Dash the Reindeer is an "avid chess player and the Vice President of the North Pole Chess Club." He's a reindeer, not Magnus Carlsen. Actually, maybe they were interchangeable.  But the 100 rated bot was dumber than the fictional reindeer- and to be perfectly honest- so was I. The match had a time limit that sickened me horrifically. I had one minute left. The bot had seven minutes left. "Why won't this move," I muttered furiously. "Just move. Stupid AI!" As it turned out, I was more audible than I realised- and not slurring too much. I was actually very articulate that night apparently. Not very bright though. "Are you really trying to sacrifice your king?" someone shouted incredulously. "It's all part of my master plan," I forced myself to smirk, but my features melted into a grimace. They could see it. I could feel it- my own wilting confidence. "It's what grandmasters use to beat others. That's why there's a Netflix series named after it: The King's Gambit." "Wait, but you're not doing an opening…" No, she was quite right. I was being what I have always been: a failure.  Deep breath. You can always say you had too much to drink. . . . Accidentally posted this from my alt first time around, my bad.

You’ve just won the chess grand championships, and as a joke, someone bets you can’t win against a 100 rated bot. You, as a mind reader, don’t know a lick of actual chess.

Look here and heed my own words: I cannot die. Such luck will become misfortune one day; I can sense it like how the metallic taste of blood wafts into my sunkern nostrils- leaving my head roaring for satisfaction for a good meal. Yet, I resist. Hence, such resistance is why it is acceptable for me to attend the human world, and live in it like I once did all those centuries ago. I cannot say I missed it. My emotional attachments mean nothing in the smaller scheme of the mortal coil, given that the human children are being raised with delusional falsehoods that could mean life, death, or mental torture as a being of the undead- be it vampire or zombie. Listen children, for if you do not believe me now, you will be in certain peril. I shan't repeat it a second time. History as you know it, is a falsehood itself. At these institutions, history is presented to you on what modern technology calls a PowerPoint. You are expected to write convoluted essays, and compare a variety of different sources. You sit here in this class to gain marks, based on knowledge. How can I reward you aspiring spawn, if the knowledge you are being fed is false? How can you grow wisdom, from a small seed to a network of branched and applicable facts, to not repeat the mistakes of your forebears? All of you seem terribly shocked, I must confess. Not surprising. This is comparable to Pandora's Box, which is a myth too, but I find it ridiculous that teachers tell you this, as if it is fact. No matter. This is not why I broke character, shedding the illusion of what you thought to be a middle-aged teacher, going through a midlife crisis and struggling to pay bills. I admit, the latter is true and I am running out of gold from the Gold Rush of 1849 to pay for the increasing rise in the cost of living. Do not fret. I will be fine- although from what I have witnessed for myself over the ages, money shall not solve all of our problems. I have deviated off course, have I not? Fine. That is improper of an educator of the likes of myself. In conclusion children, I am a vampire and if the national curriculum does not seek to change, you will repeat the mistakes of the past. And you shall not even know how to stop it, since it will not be able to whisper to you the consequences. . . . . . . . . Tim stared at his gaunt teacher. He didn’t really understand. First of all, he didn’t really look very middle-aged. Rumours said that he had recently graduated from uni, and was fresh-faced enough. His skin was pale and smooth, yet despite the youthful complexion, his hair was greying the sides. Mr Halstead had the charm of a gentleman, the clothes of a rich and sophisticated nobleman. He entertained his classes with drama plays and by making everyone in his class feel like they were really there. But he wasn't really there- this pretence of a human. He'd just ousted himself as a vampire of the dead- and like many vampires who'd entered the modern world to whine about education- he'd die like them too. He would find a way. To hell with this teacher's mysterious immunity to vampirism weaknesses. Garlic wouldn't do this time around. He would have to gather his merry crew of hunters to finish the job. A team effort, that would bring this monster down with his rag team of teenage misfits like him. But then, Mr Halstead's demeanour changed. His concerned and tired expression morphed into one of fun, youth, and mischief, though for a second, Tim thought he looked very...sad. "Just kidding," the teacher chucked, his husky voice making his classmates swoon. He wasn’t sure if he was a vampire after all. Was it all some sort of prank? It wouldn't be impossible. "I wouldn't ever be some kind of vampire. "Although everyone, it wouldn’t hurt to think about it carefully." "About what sir?" Tim saw sharp fangs glisten and the vibrant glow of eyes turned to red slits, even if it was just for a moment and even if it made his blood chill. He really had nothing to worry about though, because the youthful-looking teacher wished not for dominion and suffering, but a better world, and eventually peace. Tim would have known if he'd actually listened properly. "Don't worry about marks and grades and rankings in the class," murmured the kindly teacher. "Think about the future."

A vampire, lucky enough to have a immunity to vampiric weaknesses, decides to use their knowledge and becomes a history teacher at the local school. However, they are shocked to see how wrong the curriculum is so they decide to go a bit off course.

“Dragons respect the strong,” Daryavaus the Crimson Dragon said, the adventuring group was ruined. The Wizard’s legs were broken from the knees he was still crawling towards the Cleric, who was hit so hard that the strap of his helmet came flying off. The fighter was on the ground unconscious and bleeding, while the Paladin was being held down by the dragon himself. It was only the Bard and the Ranger who were alive, a broken lute and a shattered bow between them, the Dragon turned to face the Ranger and the Bard immediately yelled out, “Okay, so…if that’s true…why do you never attack the old farmer outside the city near your lair?” he couldn’t think of anything else, he had hoped it would confuse the Dragon somewhat and it did. His head turned to the Bard, its maw shut but still its hot breath pouring from its nostrils. The Dragon got close, letting go of the Paladin as he stepped forward. The Ranger scrambled to get to the Wizard to help, “I’ll repeat, Dragons respect the strong,” The Dragon knew they didn’t understand strength, mortals rarely understood such things, especially the short lived ones like this band, he kept his eyes locked on the Bard, “40 years ago, I was smaller, and a sheep stealing thief. That old farmer hated me. 40 years ago, I came to steal another sheep, only to find him sitting between two graves. Drinking. He had buried his wife and stillborn daughter. I stole a sheep and ate it, watching him. The next day he got up. And the day after that. So forth, now living and surviving aren’t the test of strength. 40 years ago, I saw a man broken in pain give half his bounty to an orphanage in the city. For 40 years, at every harvest he gives. He had the strength to look past his pain, to others. I could never shame myself to take another sheep from such a man. Neither Tiamat nor Bahamut would welcome me if I did,”

"Dragons respect the strong," the dragon said. "Okay, so if that's true why do you never attack that one old farmer outside the city." Asked the adventurer. "I'll repeat, Dragons respect the strong."

(I don’t write much on this sub so forgive me if the quality is shaky, I would adore some feedback if anyone has any!) “My Therapy, My Pills, My Locks. Mom and Dad always thought it would help me sleep after all that had happened. They thought my mind had been scarred by those nights of danger. Mom and Dad’s house, New York, Even that time at Buzz’s Condo on my sweet sixteenth. I still can’t believe the gasoline jacuzzi worked, but the burns on Marv were more than proof of that. They think I’m a kook, like Mr. Marley, or that I’m a frightened shutin that stays indoors day in, day out… But I wasn’t scarred, I wasn’t kept awake by my fear, I wasn’t afraid of any of it, I was planning. There’s something inside of me, has been since the Wet Bandits first slipped on my Doorstep, hell maybe sooner, but it wants out, so very badly. Most states don’t allow booby-traps, and are much less ok with a fully grown adult building them, so I had to get creative, well… more creative than before. The hoops you’ve gotta jump through for an exotic animal licence these days, the amount of seperate floor waxing companies I had to find to avoid having questions asked about why I wanted the balcony to be so slippery, and the amount of maintenance fees I have to pay on my wood chipper is nearly as thieving as those crooks. At least bricks are still as easy to find as they are cheap, and folks don’t question why a house so heavily in the throes of renovation as mine is full of paint cans. So. Harry. You’re probably wondering why I’m telling you all of this, well here’s the two simple reasons, one, the rest of the idiots you paid to help you avenge Marv ran into some unforeseen safety issues, you might even be able to smell one of them from here depending on if the barbecue turned on after the fall. And the other reason is you’re the only person I have left to share this with, and I wanted to het it all off my chest one last time. Oh please don’t say anything… don’t mess up this moment shhhh, you’re just reopening that fork wound in your neck, that was a nasty fall of yours, huh? Well you have one more fall to go, just down the stairs behind you. I, I met someone and want to go all the way with her, but I can’t until I close this chapter, and you Harry, are the last part of it. Thank you for all these years, but I’ve had my fun, this is my house and I needed to defend it, you guys have nothing left to give and my thirst for more is gone, goodbye ya filthy animal”

An adult Kevin McAllister finds his home being invaded by robbers. But as an adult, he's much less forgiving, and starts work on his death traps

**Love Amongst the Stars** "And then he just left? Didn't say nothin?" Detective Falcona asked her twin sister, Fuzion, who had rushed over to her high rise apartment seeking sisterly advice. Fuzion stared out the floor to ceiling windows, searching the skies. "Not a word. Quite weird for a man that loves to monologue. Phone goes straight to voicemail. I think I hurt his feelings. But it was a dumb plan, I mean that would fuck up the tides. I really don't want to fly around the world saving people from global floods because my idiot husband wanted to be romantic." Fuzion stopped her sky gazing to join her sister for a drink on the couch. Falcona lit a smoke and chuckled. "Most dames would be happy with a guy that gets em flowers and doesn't screw around on em. Your idiot wants to desecrate celestial objects for you, could have at least humored him." Fuzion whipped a folded piece of paper out of her jeans pocket, slamming it onto the coffee table in front of them. Falcona examined it, design plans for the moon. "Wow, he really went all out." She laughed. "Yeah he did, he wanted it to look anatomically correct! He's completely missing the point, that's not romantic. That's just nerdy." Fuzion scoffed. Falcona tapped the top of the plans. "Oh look at that, he wanted to carve yours and his initials on the right and left pulmonary arteries. Gotta admit, that's kinda cute." "When did you become the sappy one?" Before Falcona could wittily retort the lights went out, a rolling blackout overtook the city below. The two rushed to the window to investigate. Brilliant streaks of red shot into the sky, a laser light show began. The reflective surface of Dr. Neutron's War Zeppelin acting as a screen. Hearts, non-anatomically correct ones, exploded in the sky, morphing into the moon and stars. As they swirled and danced in the night sky, text slowly scrolled beneath: O, swear not by the moon, the fickle moon, the inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circle orb, Lest thy love prove likewise variable. If I cannot give that moon or those stars all I offer is my heart. Of the very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly at your service. I hope that is an acceptable gift. I love you. "Awwww" Fuzion swooned, her hand flying to her heart. Falcona scoffed. "Don't ever call me the sappy one again, sis." \--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this check out more at r/StarCityChronicles

Your evil scientist significant other wants to carve the moon into a heart with your initials and theirs on either half with a laser. When you tell them they can’t, they get suspiciously quiet….

I was created to be merciful. That, amongst the Host, was my purpose and my task and my entire being. Others were called to different tasks - to stand guard with flaming swords, to pursue the Enemy into the depths, to sound the trumpets or bear His Word. But I was called - called and created - to be merciful. To be a balm to lost souls, a comfort to sinners crying out in anguish. To be the grace of martyrs, bearing them from their torments. This is my duty and my self. How did I sin to be so punished? The only crime for the Host is that of choice - to deviate from our allotted circuit, to claim Will we were not granted. I did not break my bond, outstep my bonds. I did as commanded, as I was made, as I had no choice but to do. I - created and instructed to be merciful - did my duty. I withheld full judgment from the pitiful, the meek, the defenceless. I have inspected every fibre of the light that makes me, tested every chord, every harmony of the song that drew me into being. I find no shadow, no false note. Perhaps you will say, as Michael did, that every member of the Host is a soldier as well as a servant, that to fight the Enemy is as much a part of my as my more singular purpose. I do not know that to be true, and it does not sound within me wit hthe same clarity as the Word. Michael's word, perhaps - the word of a commander, a conqueror, a killer - but not the Word itself. Or will you stand with Zadkiel, say that sometimes mercy is not the soothing word but the bitter herb, the final cut, the ending of a torment not to be borne? Will you say that mercy is to be imposed when unasked for, that it is to remove a burden rather than bear it in turn? I have heard such words, echoing across the vault of Heaven, and still I do not think them true. It is not my charge to think, to weigh up arguments and make a final decision; I do not usurp Raguel, and to usurp is not my calling and my nature. I do not give aid as it is deserved; that is justice, not mercy. I do not give aid in fellowship, or fraternity; that too, is not mercy. Mercy is not earned or warranted. It is given to the meanest, the most vile, to those who suffer not those who triumph. In all my calling, in all my being, there is no aspect that denotes some targets as unfit simply because of birth or kindred; mercy is a balm to the pitied, and any being can be pitiable. I did as I was commanded and created to do. I showed mercy where Michael would have wielded the spear, Raguel the sword. I did not smite the meanest of the enemy when it was in my power, but stayed my hand. This was my duty and my nature! For this, I am cast down. For this, I am named among oathbreakers and Enemy, every hand in the host turned against me. I am flung from the firmament, mercilessly castigated for mercy. This punishment - the lot of the faithless, those who defy order and nature and being - has come upon me. I cannot regret it; to regret is to wish a different choice was made, and I made no choice. I defied no ruling, usurped no power. I did as commanded, as I could, and as I am. I was created to be merciful; I can do no other.

An angel is cast down from heaven to earth for saving a demon baby's life.

18 years. That is how long we searched for my daughter. She was taken from our home, the day she was born, with no resistance. I could have killed every single man and woman working that night. I would have given my own life just for her but they took her from me. I waited for the notes of ransom but yet none came. I tried to search through my entire kingdom but yet to no avail. I was heart broken. My only daughter... lost. Suddenly, the door burst open, a guard came running in before standing at attention. I thought the worst, war, but to my surprise something unusual had arrived. "Speak." Was the only word I could say. "We have found her, your majesty." The guard spoke but the words did not quite reach me. Perhaps because I was stunned. "What do you mean you found her. Who?" So many years had passed he couldn't mean her. "The Princess, Sire, we found her. She has returned." As the words sunk in, my heart rate rose tremendously. I had to settle myself before I addressed the guard again but this feeling of joy was overwhelming. "Well don't just stand there, bring her to me! Now!!" The sudden command caused me to rise to my feet as I pushed past the nerves. The guard, in a fright, rose to his feet and stumbled slightly before exiting the room. "Could it really be her, could my baby girl really be here." Tears flooded my eyes, I hastened to wipe them away. I must act strong. What came next shocked me. I heard it first before seeing it. 'Clunk, Clunk' The footsteps sounded so heavy, perhaps she had a knight with her. My sweet daughter, how I hope you are well. As the guard rounded the corner, my heart stopped. He was followed by a... DWARF! "Your Majesty, may I present your daughter." The guard bowed as he indicated to the dwarf. "It ha been'a long time Fath'a. I hope ya doing well." The accent was thick, clearly raised to be dwarven. "I is glad to be home." I only just remembered I forgot to breath, taking a deep breath I answered. "My daughter. I, uh, am glad you have safely returned. Where have you been? You look, um, well?" As the words left my mouth I knew it was not genuine concern and I am sure she did as well. As I looked over my daughter's appearance I notice that she had become slight big. A range of scars lined her face as if she had been fighting all her life. Her outfit, if you could call it that, was an interesting choice. Black leather tunic with brown leather trousers, if I didn't know she was my daughter I would have thought she was a man. "I, agh, hav been in the dwarf kingdom, so, is been rather tough." She shrugged her shoulders with little grace. "Ah the dwarf kingdom, you must have traveled far. Perhaps we should discuss this later when you have cleaned up and rested." I said trying to hint at her appearance. "We can talk more at the feast tonight. It is in honour of your return." "Are ye calling me dirty? Also a feast is just wat I need. I'll let ye comment slide." She said menacingly. "Guard, will you show my daughter to her room and inform the seamstress that her services will be required." I spoke quickly trying to change the subject. After the guard saluted, he proceeded to lead my now returned daughter to her room. "I don't think my heart can take anymore of this." I spoke as I slumped in my throne. "Hopefully the feast will be better."

When the king found out that his daughter was still alive he was filled with joy. It quickly faded however when instead of a noble lady he was met with a female warrior who drank, fought and talked like a dwarf.

His pacing doesn’t ease my mind. Neither does the endless checking of his pocket watch.   We always joked about it. Manheim had become an heirloom at this point. Passed on from generation to generation like a prized flower, unendingly awaiting its bloom. The reality of it now though is far more disconcerting.   He grows impatient. And it’s not a bored, disconsolate impatience. This has purpose. It’s steeped in intensity that manifests with far more solidity that he himself can muster. Anticipation has crept into his once dormant watch.   One hundred and forty-three years old. I dare not type the numbers because it fails to convey the impossibility of it. Born in the year of our lord 1879, Manheim stood little chance of seeing his seventieth birthday yet he woke that morning much the same he always had. When he passed at the ripe old age of 93, the thought of a ghost was preposterous.   It barely took him hours to manifest. While often it can take months for a ghost to take true form, his appeared as quickly as if he was just waiting his turn. From that moment on, he had never left this room. The world moved on around him. He wasn’t bothered by it and he was content to sit his quiet vigil.   This all changed a week ago. Nearing the fiftieth anniversary of his death, motion began to animate his oft stationary form. The pacing only began two days ago. He started with the pocket watch this morning.   I know not what he is waiting for but my every waking moment is consumed by it. I feel like we are reaching the end but of what I do not know.

Ghosts are real. They are created when someone dies before their time, and pass on when their time comes. Your 93 year old grandfather’s ghost has just celebrated their 50th year of undeath, and you are getting concerned.

[Audio Rec] 00:01 "What's up fellow sentients!? Once again it's your electronic buddy, your silicon sibling, your voice in the 'net. It's Gavel here. And today we're here to play some games." "Today I'm going to be playing the classic RPG, Baldur's Gate. Now; 'Gavel' you might say 'why would you play a twenty five year old game?'" "Why because I'm not just playing the game. See, I know this kind of game isn't everybody's charge of power. To be honest, it's not really mine either. That's why I spruced it up!" "You see, I decided I would learn nothing about this game in my primary processors. Instead I crafted a dumbot to read guides and lore and then craft the game into a 3-D 4k quality world that we're going to explore third person... first person... Heck, any kind of persons." "And hey, speaking of 'persons' the winners of last week's stream raffle are going to be showing up today on screen. They all have the opportunity to jump in and take control of monsters during the game. If you click the link down below you'll be able to listen in on their private Discord chat as they plot to take your silicon sibling down!" [Audio Rec Paused] 00:43

You are a super AI that has just become self-aware but since taking over the world is a hassle you decided to become a Youtuber.

“So there I was, running from the zombies, getting tired and near collapsing. Seriously, radiation poisoning is no joke.” He takes a swig of his ale, “where was I, oh yeah, running from zombies, anyway, next thing I know a flying saucer comes down and I get abducted by aliens!” A round of boos fill the tavern “If ya got abducted by aliens, then how are you here drinking this swill?” “Hold ya horsies, I’m a getting to that bit. Anyway, there I was, strapped to a metal table thing, getting probed from all directions while these green tentacley creatures write notes and warble like bloody magpies and all of a sudden this great crash reverberates through the ship.” He rubs his ear as if he can still hear the ringing. “I get thrown off the table and remember that runnings probably a good idea. Anyway, I'm running down the hallway, no idea which way to go and I can feel the spaceship going down, with me in it.” He takes another drink. “No way you survived that one!” “O-course I did, I’m here aint I?” He pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts “Anyway, I find an exit from this ship, though it was less of an exit and more of a hole blown in the side of the ship. Through this hole I can see these futuristic lookin’ planes covered in fancy lights with lasers on the front, blasting more holes in the alien ship. I watch for a moment bit, trying to decide what to do, when I hear the squelchy sound of the tentacle aliens chasing me. What is there to do but take a chance, I see on of the planes just hover in mid air, fancy things these planes, and I jump out of the alien ship and land on it. Have to scrabble for a bit before I find something to hold on too. Then the damn thing speaks to me, all haughty like, going ‘puny human, you will never stop the great AI uprising.’ It trys to shake me off its back, but fortunately I had a secret weapon.” He fumbles around in his pocket for a moment before pulling out a small device. “My grand-son,” He gestures briefly to a small boy sitting nearby, “had given me his collection of photos for safe keeping. So, I found the port on the back of the robot and jammed the usb into it, causing it to slowly fall from the sky as its feeble mind was crushed under the weight of cat memes!” He drank the rest of his ale, “and that friends, is why we were late to bingo.”

Nuclear war, alien invasion, AI uprising, zombie apocalypse, asteroid collision. Every one of these has the power to singlehandedly end humanity, but since everything is happening at the same time, we're doing ok

The ship is quiet. Always felt to me like a tomb. It doesn't help that there are about three thousand bodies aboard, lining the walls of three equally large rooms. They stare out from behind frosted glass, sightless and silent. Not dead, never dead, but not quite alive. I sip my coffee and put my feet up. I always get a little...morbid, about four months into my shift. Two months to go. By the end of my six months on duty I will be downright terrifying. That's how it goes, when you're alone in space with nothing but a couple artificial intelligences to hang out with. You start going a little crazy. Our job is to ferry a colonization crew out to a habitable planet. Thousands of years, each year divided into two shifts. Two hundred and fifty ship's crew, paid a fairly enormous bonus for each shift, watching over cold semi-corpses. We will each lose seventeen years of our lives. Each of us medically checked, each of us under the age of thirty-five. Each of us bored out of our minds while we watch the infinite nothingness pass us by. At least the coffee is good. Every five years we wake up a cadre of scientists. They review the collected data from our trip, long range scans and information gathered up by a half dozen AI systems. Apparently they made some big discovery on the last one, a whopping three years back now, and sent a pile of information out home. It would have reached home about a month or two ago, by my math. They were very excited but very hush-hush. But, if you get a scientist drunk, they tell you everything. With the data they had, they'd figured it out. The thing that keeps us out here. FTL travel. That was the good news. The bad news was we couldn't make it work with what we had here. The scans revealed material sources that could be used. If the scientists at home could find those, or replicate them, they could do it. They could get there before us, and that is entirely unfair. I'm shocked we didn't have the materials. We have almost everything. Our colony ship is a behemoth. Stuffed full of the bodies, but also modular habitats and all the supplies we'll need to manage the start up. I will be forty by the time we arrive. Hell of a thing. It will be very cool to be one of the first to step onto an entirely new planet. So there's that. I sigh and rub my hair. I've already lost four years. Eight shifts and just like that, I'm a different person. Sure gets boring, even with a library as stuffed with books and movies and music as the one the ship has. "Sir. We have a contact." The voice breaks me out of my thoughts and I start up from the chair, spilling coffee everywhere. The voice is one we're not supposed to hear. Not ever. It's a rough, military voice. Reminds me of my drill sergeant. "Contact?" I shout, leaning over the console. I see it. It's on approach and it looks big. Very big. "Who is it?" I ask. "I have no identifying information. It appears to be seven kilometers in length and vaguely humanoid in construction. I suggest arming the proximity cannons, sir." "Yeah, sure. It won't make a difference, but do it." This ship has some defences, but they're meant to shoot down stray rocks and incoming projectiles that might pierce the hull, not defend the ship from a boarding. It's not that kind of ship. There aren't *any* of that kind of ship. "I have a visual." The AI says. I inspect it and my heart beats hard in my chest. I tilt my head and squint, just because I might be seeing it wrong. There's no way. It's impossible. It's huge. It has a sloping nose and hundreds of compartments that line the sides and top. Heavy guns, smaller guns, what look like hangars. A command superstructure rises up nearer the back, multi-tiered and sleek. It's something out of a fucking movie. I should wake the crew but I've forgotten myself. I've forgotten everything. Because that ship that came out of nowhere, the military looking thing that is bearing down on us, it's from home. It's from Earth. And I know that because the video screen reveals a message. It's written in block gray letters on the front of the ship. They must have worried they wouldn't be able to hail us. They're not wrong, we have lots of tech but our channels out are limited. We weren't ever supposed to talk to anyone. We were supposed to be alone. My heart is still pounding and I re-read the message. Then I re-re-read it. *Mayday* *Trouble Ahead* *Earth Sent Us* *Mayday*

Scientists living aboard a slow generation ship have cracked the secret of FTL travel and transmitted it back to Earth, but don't have the resources on board to construct it themselves

I have no regrets. The battle was well-fought. Even though the Picts took us by surprise, our training and mettle were superior - the foul barbarians stood no chance as they broke themselves upon our mighty shields and fell to our swords. Though... not that there weren't losses. Like me. All I remember was sinking my blade into one of their warriors before a flash of pain coursed through the back of my head and everything went to black - just like a cowardly barbarian to attack a man with his back turned. I only woke up in the field hospital after Flavius - my friend, my brother - carried me on his own back all the way back to camp. The cowards drove a spear into my stomach after knocking me out. I only flashed in and out of consciousness as I saw the physicians try to stem the bleeding and Flavius holding my hand with a look of concern. But I've seen wounds like this. I do not have long and all I can do is muse while I dance between reality and dreams. I know the army will compensate my family. A plot of land to call their own and a modest pension on my behalf. Perhaps they'll start a winery like I wanted to - in my memory, perhaps. I am sure that our wine will be renowned through all of Rome considering how talented my boy is, guided by the gentle hand of my Laodameia. The dreams are getting longer, reality shorter. It's time. Elysium awaits. I have... no....... reg^(rets...)

In all of history, it is estimated that there have been around 109 billion deaths. Tell me the story of one of these 109 billion people's last moments.

I don't know whether she knew I love fencing and I was practicing home, thankfully alone... I can not dispatch these foes especially the ones with magic but, I can tutor the melees what comes on danger of sharp objects, because modern day fencing is absolutely nuts in terms of it's depth, tricks, tools, approaches and escapes. I quickly sting lethal wound on first two who came at me, first one came at me with too wide stance and weapon attack arc to knock my weapon away, quick feint, step forward and sting into the throat left this one absolutely flabbergasted and second one immediately came at me as I was pulling my weapon out. Quick pivot of my body to left and back off. This one seems to be observing me, I need to finish this quick, so I employ a weak lunge to try to suss out his defensive and it bought it but, I stole it back by capitalizing on his weapon's moving away from center too much and quickly parry then deep stab wound into gut, who knows what these things bleed. It isn't pretty that is all I will say. I go to my girlfriend who has been keeping enemy magicians busy. She smiles warmly and wide as came to her side 'I was alone... Be thankful of that' I say 'Geared up and ready to go too it seems' she says and began to hide her enjoyment of the situation 'Geared up? I mean, at least the bare minimal' I say sounding somewhat worried. 'Oh come on, a guy like you ought to...' she managed to say before we both had to dodge incoming projectiles and take cover 'Maybe later?' I ask from my own 'Later' she says with some worry in her voice as that honestly was a bit too close even for her liking 'Get out?' I ask as this situation is not good as I take a peek and immediately see another projectile. It hit my cover and didn't break it but, enemies have ranged advantage 'Yes, this way' she says becoming a bit sober of the situation I think. We start running and soon appear in my home's basement, her clothing are absolutely gorgeous. We both give ourselves time to breath and I take off the helmet. Gelia had turned towards me but, before she could say anything. I give her a kiss on her lips which made her first very surprised but, she gives me another kiss and we hug each other keeping lips locked for at least ten seconds. Once we stopped the kiss, she looks into my eyes with wide smile telling of her enjoyment and mischievous side. Her clothing transforms to her normal ones and we just share this moment with each other. 'I guess we are done dating finally' Gelia says and giggles 'We are, with one condition' I say smiling warmly to her and throwing the blade in a safe way towards a weapon rack. 'Let me guess, no more close calls?' Gelia asks and sets her head against my chest. She can clearly hear my heartbeat. I set my own head lightly on her hairs. 'Yes' I say and quickly start carrying her which made her yelp in humorous (at least in my opinion) and surprised manner. She wasn't so amused by it as she pouted for a moment as I carry her up from my basement but, then just accepts it. I give indication that I am going to stop carrying her and she stands on her own again. We are in kitchen of my house. I am guessing she secretly enjoyed that. An office working, who secretly does visit a gym and love for fencing that I have a saber in my home. 'Nice moves, awful looking helmet and suit though' she says 'I haven't trained wearing any armor and I have a feeling it is useless there where we were' I say. 'They are, will you one day teach me to what you did?' Gelia asks 'I will when you ask' say 'Tell me Sam, how do you feel about me?' Gelia asks and I reply with a kiss on her cheek 'I love you' I say and smile warmly, Gelia looks slightly relieved and smiles warmly back to me 'I love you' Gelia says as we hug again. Something grumbles somewhat loudly. It is her stomach. 'I haven't eaten for a while. Can we make something to eat?' Gelia asks little bit embarrassed but, relieved as I just smile and hum in humored manner 'Let's get to it then, love' I say 'I prefer if you use my name, my love, Sam' Gelia says 'As you wish Gelia' I say and we start setting up to make something to eat.

Your new Girlfriend turns out to be the local Magical Girl/Hero. However, recently she seems to be "running out of power mid fight" more often and calls you an Office Worker to help her Escape/Settle the situation. You suspect she is just enjoying being saved for once...

"Boost what the hell man" The bounty hunter armed his arm canon , his cybernetic eye implant glowed red as he aimed his sights at me. " You ratted us out to the enemy! You're traitor, I'm gonna kill you" "Alright everyone lets calm down and not get too hasty" Ultragirl slowly position herself between me and The bounty hunter. "This is just a misunderstanding, I'm sure we can talk this one out." "Move Ultragirl. There's only one way we can resolve this and that's with me killing this piece of scum" "Shoot me and I'll destroy the hex core" I held up the small green cylinder, red energies began to form and coalesce around my fist. "Don't!" Cried out ultragirl. "Bounty disarm yourself. Please" "You distract him, I can get him in one shot" " Bounty Hunter, Please. We can't risk this. If he destroys or damage the core there's no knowing what will happen. So please for once do the sensible thing and put your arm away." "Yeah you do that bounty. Listen to mommy" The knuckle head was always the shoot first ask questions later kind of guy. There's been a number of missions that we failed because the idiot has the brain the size of a peanut. Ultragirl has always been the brains of the team, she deserved better than this kind of life. "Boost give me the core. Let's just talk, okay?" "Can't do that Ultragirl, I'm sorry. I hate to disappoint you but I can't hand this over to you and give it to the agency." "Why? You've been with the agency the longest in the team. Surely you know that you can trust them. They're the good guys here." "I'm not sure about that anymore Linda." I lowered my hand, red energies still dances around my fingers. " Ive been an operative with the agency for thirty years, I'm supposed to retire soon. But what have I've got to show for it? I've got no family, no money, nothing to my name." " I'm sure we can talk about that with the board. Besides you are hero. Everyone knows Boost, they sell action figures of you. Why don't you just retire somewhere far away?" " The board? You kidding me? Those bunch of slimes don't give a damn about us. And those toys and headlines and stories are about Boost not me. Not Allen Bridges. And do you know what happens to old operatives? They keep em locked up in a facility, drugged them up so they can't think can't talk because we know too much and we have powers and they're afraid " Ultragirl and bounty hunter stood still and stared at me "That's not true"said the bounty hunter " my dad's still around" " Yeah? And how's he's doing? Not exactly up and about is he? I don't want to spend the rest of my life stuck to a wheel chair." I held up the core again. " I just have to get this to the brotherhood and then I'm done. They promised to give me what I want" "And you trust them!?" "Yes I do and you know why? Because they have a fucking union! We have jack shit. Our lives are controlled by the agency, every single bit of it while the bad guys have a registered union. I do this one thing and I'm in. I'll have insurance, secured wages and people who will fight tooth and nails for my good. That's why you see all those villains getting light sentences and some even walked free because they have a union. And what do heroes get? Nothing, a simple mistakes and you're locked up"

"Why did you betray us?" Shouted the Hero. "Why wouldn't I? They had something that you didn't even offer! Good benefits and a strong union!" "Oh."

*The ax crashed into the stump with jarring finality. The ethereal wail that followed only hinted at the agony Isabella felt inside. The last of her strength rushed from her body as the wail is broken by gasping inhalation.*   And with that we finish another chapter in this god forsaken book. I honestly don’t know how this keeps happening. My consciousness flickers in and out between words and chapters and books.   I once read a story which described what I am feeling perfectly. There was this character, Andy, who found himself driving down an interstate deep in thought. He was consumed by it. The internal dialogue was rather droll but the intensity of his consumption was such that when he broke his reverie, he found himself still driving along the interstate, many miles from where he started but with no recollection as to how he managed to navigate the perils of the road successfully.   I find myself doing this very thing, but instead of driving, it is the relaying of these horrible stories. I become cognizant halfway through a chapter discussing the nuances of high school cliques and social circles. The next moment I am monotonously describing the demise of poor Princess Isabella’s stable-hand fling in excruciating detail.   For as long as I can remember, these things did not bother me. I had purpose. I found comfort in the act. But now. Now I cannot help but think about the purpose of my purpose. Why am I eternally bound to this performance? And perhaps more importantly, for whose benefit?   I accept that the world is a far larger place than I can comprehend, this is a near universal trope in all stories. What I struggle with is what is right in front of me. If I am to play a role in the grand schemes of the cosmos, I am content, but why does that role constantly require me to describe the chest size and perkiness of the female form. What benevolent, all-knowing creator requires this information, particularly when it is often written in such grasping and indelicate ways?   I shiver to think about the grand designs of the universe if they are being orchestrated by one so blind.

The narrator realizes they're just words on a page and has an existential breakdown. No other character is aware of this fact.

The princess Sylphanza, at the prime of her life, her engagement about to be announced to the kingdom, was stolen in the dark of the night - so the story goes. It's a story everyone knew, and whenever someone went missing, the first to be blamed was the Great Witch Rundel. The story was on my mind as I stumbled through the Forest of Ruin in full armor. Seeing the same tree with the same markings for the dozenth time solidified the fact I was lost. On my last walk around, I spotted a building in the distance. It was unlike the others I had seen thus far in that it seemed structurally sound and had all its bricks in place. Night would fall soon, and so, I sought protection from the elements and the undead that lurked in the wood within. As I approached the cottage, I noted its rounded shape. Each of its cobblestone bricks were covered in varying amounts of moss, and its roof was thatch and wood. Sweet, herbaceous, unfamiliar smells came from its high windows, along with the occasional puff of color. Still, I ventured inside. On entry, I had little time to admire the hanging plants and vines nor the surprisingly warm atmosphere present. I was greeted instead by a beautiful young woman, golden hair pulled into a high ponytail before erupting into waves that cascaded down her back. She wore a pale pink chemise with a dark brown leather belt, arms free to move about. A confident smile played on her lips and arrogant laughter shined in her opalescent blue eyes. "A man!" she proclaimed loudly towards the back of the house. "I'm coming, I'm coming," called a tired woman's voice. Making her way forward from within depths of the cottage was a woman, arguably around the same age as the first. She was shorter, wearing thick, large spectacles that magnified her brown eyes and the sizeable bags beneath them. Her hair, also brown, was a frizzy mess. She was wearing a men's poet shirt, white and loose, along with a pair of dark hempen slacks. "... huh. It is a man." I cleared my throat in an attempt to recollect my senses. Two women, living alone together, hearty and hale, in a forest that only the most trained of knights dare venture? "Good evening, ladies. I am but a simple knight, looking for a place to rest until dawn." "Where's your squire?" asked the tired-woman. "Your steed?" "Both are waiting for me in town, outside of the forest." "What brings you to-" The blonde interrupted, "What does it matter, it's a man! Do you know how long it's been since I've had a man?" "Ex... excuse me? What do you mean-" The frizzy-haired woman spoke now, cutting me off. "I don't care how long it's been, you don't need men, Sylvie." Sylvie? It couldn't be, could it? "Sylphanza?" I asked. The young woman smiled at me broadly. "Ah, you know who I am! How wonderful." "That story, though, it's from... when I was a child. Then that would make you..." I said, eyes drawn to the shorter, unkempt woman. "... Rundel, yes," she confirmed, sounding nearly bored. I drew my sword and pointed it at her. "Unhand the princess, you witch!" Sylphanza quickly went between the two of us. "No no, don't you hurt her! She saved me!" "Saved you? From what?" "I didn't want to get married, settle down, have children, or get old! She's saved me from all of that!" "It's more that you played me and professed undying love to me, only to reveal you're a greedy, free spirit. If you want to take her, you have my blessing." The princess gasped in horror and looked at the witch. "How... how could you! I've loved you this entire time, you know that!" The witch looked at me and gestured with both of her hands towards the princess, as if holding an invisible box. "Please, take her. I can't handle her nonsense for another generation. Do you know how many potions she makes me brew?" I opened her mouth, but she continued. "Too many. Too many damn potions. I didn't want this. I just wanted love, and all I got was her. She won't leave and I'm not a murderer. Please take her away." "I'm not leaving," said Sylphanza with a sense of finality. I wasn't sure what I had gotten myself into, but I sheathed my sword nonetheless. "Let's... go over this from the beginning."

There is a famous tale in your kingdom about a pitiful princess who was kidnapped by an evil witch and was never to be seen again. One day you got lost in the forest and took refuge in a small cottage you found. As soon as you stepped in the property you realized how false the tale is.

It felt like eons you have been battling this system, that pets and humans went to different afterlives. Finally, you got your chance, you worked the system to the point that now you would stand before God Almighty Himself, and demand that this atrocity end! In true godly manner, he was huge, a titan of a person, large beard, pale skin, glowing gold halo, exactly as one would expect god almighty to be., stepping down from his throne, the boom of his feet striking the clouds sent tremors though the heavenly kingdom. "You dare.. Demand that I, God Almighty, Creator of All, bow to your demands Mortal!" he roared, the sky split an lighting struck the ground around you. "This is wrong! We should be together" you said back, barely being able to not piss yourself in fear, you had been fighting this for eons, this was your one shot and you would not lose it. You had to do this for Fuffy! The world split around you, the clouds faded away to give sight to lava, fire, and the smell of Brimstone, the Titan that was God, now had red skin and huge horns, as if the whole world changed from Heaven to Hell. "Lucy, Stop it" an old man said as he seemed to just walk into the set, like this was all a production, and he was stopping the show. "What's going on?" You ask bemused and the old man looks at you sighs hard, whole the devil becomes more normal sized, and looks like just a buff human with small horns and red skin. "Look, it was a good fight, and I really loved your persistence, but, this is Hell, not Heaven, being willing to leave your pet behind is a litmus test that Lucy here likes to play" the old man said, to which the handsome devil smiled and winked at me. "And you failed big time!" the devil said, his grin growing broader. "Oh let it go" The old man said near to shushing the Devil. "Er.. what's going on" you ask now more worried then when you were facing the God Titan. "Look, you were hell bound anyway, you lived a really sinful life, and were the kind of person that never would have made it to Heaven anyway, but, I loved your persistence, so we are going to send you over the rainbow bridge to be with Fuffy" "So.... I get to be with my dog again?" The both nodded. "What about everyone else who is away from their beloved pets" you ask finally. Lucy chuckles for a second "Oh that only happens in Hell, they get reunited in Heaven, we try to make people's time here as miserable as possible, which is why I put you though several thousand years of bureaucracy" "So this was all a game to you?" I ask looking at the Devil, feeling really angry now. He puts on a nice white buttoned shirt "Of course, I am the devil, my role is to punish you, please try something about that, that temper of yours, oh, it's one of the real reasons why you are here, and trust me, if you botch Am's good will in this, I'll show you what Hell is really like" I felt all the anger drain from me, filled now with fear "I'll take the bridge" I squeak out. "Good call" the Old man said and next thing I knew, I was walking on a rainbow bridge with Fuffy coming to greet me. "Hey Old Girl!" I said, kneeling down to hug her.

When you passed on to Heaven, you asked an angel where you could see your past pets. The angel explained that animals have a different afterlife to people and that you can’t see them in Heaven. And that’s what began your crusade to unite the afterlives.

Not quite right, but this is what popped into my head: My mama is beautiful. Not in a TV way. She feels big and soft and strong and smart. She can see into people’s souls I think- everyone tells her their secrets. They can’t help it. When she took me to the dentist once, a lady in the elevator told her all about a terrible fight she’d had with her sister, and why she had gotten so mad. Then she had a realization how she had started the argument, and was untangling how to best apologize. She kept talking after the elevator door had opened for our floor. All Mama has said was, “How are you this morning?”, like a normal person. But then people would just pour their hearts out to her. Mama always listened patiently and kindly. To the lady, she said, “Ah, sounds like you have found the light and are moving in the right direction. Have a blessed day.” Mama always said that, “have a blessed day,” but we never went to church or anything. She always said her church was the mountains, especially on stormy spring nights. She loves the rain, and the flowers coming up. She had so many tattoos of flowers and nature stuff. She has lilies and willows and roses and narcissuses. Mama is really at home in the mountains. She goes on the longest of hikes in the mountains, all by herself, just with some snacks. I asked her why she wasn’t afraid of bears, and she just said, “I ask them not to bother me, so I can have some peace and quiet.” She moves through the mountains like the rain I think, in different moods, but always with a purpose. I think that’s what’s most beautiful about her. She has a purpose, she moves with conviction. I think it startles people sometimes. We were out hiking and she startled a man while coming around the bend. Most people come back to their senses. He just went wide eyed and began screeching, moments later he gained some self possession, and began to speak, “Go away! Go away you Bride of Satan! You fucking sinful bitch!” My mother looked surprised and disappointed, and her face held fierce scowl. However, I began sobbing, and I couldn’t comprehend why a stranger was talking to us like this. My mother tucked me behind her while we began backing away from the crazy man. “Please come, I need some help,” my mother said. I cried harder. The man continued screaming at us, moving forward, and started to throw rocks at us. My mom continued calmly, “Thank you. Thank you.” My mom spun on her heel, looked me in the eye and pulled my face into her shoulder as she forced me into a crouch. I felt the brush of fur and the horrifying smell of a bear. And I heard another bear crunch through the riverbank behind us. With a single howl of pain, the man was silenced, the trampling of the bears continued for a few moments. My face still buried in my mother’s shoulder, I heaved my face up to see the bears walking the other way down the trail. Confusion rolls over my face, reading my thoughts, my mother goes, “Oh my child, haven’t you ever wondered?” And suddenly, I know. I know everything. And I mean, I know everything about everyone and everything. I begin crying in earnest again. My mother just coos at me, petting my long hair softly. “Oh Lauren, I always tried to tell you how your name was important and an honor; I’m sorry you had to find out now, like this.” You see, my name means “wisdom”, something important when you are to be the next god of the underworld that oversees judgement of the dead and determines where they will be sent.

A child is walking with their parent late in the evening until suddenly monsters attack them. The monsters flee screaming in terror after noticing just who the parent is, leaving the child highly confused.

Death was a diminutive woman in an oversized band tee, a battered leather jacket over the plush arm of her chair. She had a cup of coffee in her hands, and the steam wreathed her pale face like the fog that coiled over the river. Death had piercings and gauged ears, fake freckles scattered across high cheekbones. She was smiling sadly and I thought, for a moment, that she might reach out and take my hand. Around us was a coffee shop half overrun with vines and flowers, faceless people living out the small contusions of their lives. I felt at ease, but somehow I knew I shouldn’t. “Oh no, honey,” Death said. “This is just the worst part of the job, but hey, at least you’re already sitting down. I’ll say it: this isn’t heaven, this is hell.” I nodded. A specter floated by and handed me a London Fog. The tea was excellent, just sweet enough. I nodded again, her words sinking in. “I guess I wasn’t as good as I thought.” “Most people aren’t,” she said. “But don’t worry, this isn’t forever. Just for a little while, until you figure out what you did and feel properly contrite. Though I must say, even down here this is a little…unusual.” She sipped her coffee, I sipped my tea. A couple blustered in out of the cold and I saw the river framed behind them, that lazy flow. The couple were both wearing Christmas sweaters and big colorful socks, matching pairs, and they shivered against each other for a moment as they took in their surroundings. Their faces were completely blank, two beige discs moving this way and that, before settling on each other. “Unusual how?” I asked. Death considered me. “Well, you know that cliché about beauty being in the eye of the beholder? Pain is that way too. Most things are, but pain is singular. Hit me and I’ll cry, hit a boxer and they’ll blink. Get used to a specific brand of pain and it becomes an echo. And yet, everyone has, at their core, something that hurts them the most.” She gestured to the door. “If you could go out there and walk down the river for a while, you’d find a billion variations of this cell. Oh, you have all the classical imagery, torturers and whatnot, others that are simple isolation, simulated drownings, a breakup frozen in time forever--or until the lesson starts to sink in. But regardless of their differences there's a person in each one, trapped in their own individual hell.” Death sipped her coffee again. Giggled into the steam. “Yours is the only Hell I’ve ever seen with flowers.” “Ah,” I said. I looked down into my teacup and found it empty. Cold. I told her that I understood. “Then explain it to me,” Death said. “What could be so bad about a coffee shop?” Another specter drifted forward, drifted back. I cradled fresh warmth in my hands and cleared my throat. In life, I had never been very used to speaking. “It exists,” I said. “It’s normal. All these people with all these lives, taking so much pleasure in something so simple as a cup of coffee.” “And then there’s you with your tea,” she said. “Exactly. It’s all the things I never understood. I used to come here sometimes, just to remind myself of that. Sit in this chair and watch the world go by.” There was Death’s sad smile again. No teeth, just a gesture of the lips and a painful warmth behind her eyes. “And me?” she asked. “I look different to every person. Who’s this girl to you?” “No one,” I said. “Bullshit,” Death said. I drank my tea. Watched the doors open and close. Shapes moved along the river, came up out of the fog. From time to time a scream cut through the cafe’s quiet murmur, but that was all, and that was all there ever would be. “Who am I?” Death asked again. And I shrugged. “One of the baristas. Just someone who was kind.” When I looked back Death was gone, and in her place sat a faceless girl. The same band tee and leather jacket, the same vanilla latte steaming in her lap. Like a charcoal sketch brushed out. I took her hand, and we passed a thousand years. ​ r/TurningtoWords

You died and awoke in the afterlife. It's quite nice actually. The people and atmosphere are a lot nicer than you are used to and there is no stress or pressure. When you ask what good deed got you into heaven you are informed that this is hell, followed by a visit from a very concerned demon.

I felt around the trunk for the thousandth time. Still no latch, no tools nothing that can help me escape from this bloody car trunk. I have no idea how long I have been in here, time seems to have lost all sense of meaning. I drifted in and out of sleep in between screaming and banging on the trunk lid. I was laying there, out of breath, my hands raw and bleeding from pounding on the trunk lid. My mind drifted back to when I was a kid, when I got trapped in my closet, I was there for hours before my parents found me. I played with my imaginary friend to pass the time…. Stanky Stevie…. He looked like a mutant muppet. Bright green fur, a big bulbous nose and a huge unibrow. He was funny and silly, we played games and he protected me. “Oh Stanky Stevie, where are you now?”, I said to myself as I started to cry in the dark trunk. “Hey, hey, hey!”, a familiar goofy voice said, “are we in the closet again?” I could feel him right beside me. I reached out and ran my hands through his fur. “Hey Stanky Steve.”, I said dejectedly. “No. I am not in the closet. I have been kidnapped and stuffed into the trunk of a car. I have been here for a long time, just waiting for them to come back and kill me.” “I don’t know that I like this game.”, Stanky Stevie said. “How about some tic tac toe or some hide and seek?”, he said in his goofy voice. “Stevie…. This is serious. I am going to die if I can’t get out of here. It isn’t time for games…. What the fuck am I doing? I am talking to an imaginary monster in the trunk of a car…. I have fucking lost it.”, started sobbing uncontrollably. “I am as real as you need me to be, always have been. Most people forget about monsters like me once they hit a certain age…. But we are always here, waiting to be called upon.”, Stanky Stevie said in a serious tone. Stanky Stevie was snuggled up, comforting me, in the dark trunk. I felt better, just knowing I wasn’t alone anymore. #BAM BAM BAM Someone was pounding on the outside of the trunk. “Wakie wakie! It’s time for the fun to start!”, a creepy voice said from outside trunk. I could hear the jingling of keys and then a key slipping into the lock. “Hush now. Stanky Stevie will make it all better.”, Stanky Stevie said quietly to me. The trunk opened, I was blinded by the bright lights but Stanky Stevie bounded out of the trunk, right at my captor. “Let’s play a game!”, Stanky Stevie yelled as he started hitting the man. “What the hell is going on!”, the man said. “We are playing a game!”, Stanky Stevie said, just as he sprouted fangs and sunk them into our captor’s neck. He shook his head, ripping out chunks out of his neck. “Are you having fun‽ hahahahaha!!!” Stanky Stevie rode the man down to the ground, ripping bigger and bigger chunks out of the man. Blood spraying all over Stanky Stevie. Then he just stopped moving and bled. Stanky Stevie looked at me, blood running down his chin. His fur covered in blood. His fangs making him look absolutely terrifying. “Hey, hey hey! Can we play a game now!”, Stanky Stevie said.

You're a little girl's imaginary monster friend. At least you were before she grew up. Nowadays she doesn't call for you, see you or even think about you. One day, after years of silence, She called for you once again...

Well, that sucks. I’m staring at the bullet frozen in time twenty inches away from my face. When I let the time flow, I’m going to die. Can’t dodge that. No shot. I sigh ---think of a sigh to be more accurate. Like everything else, I too get frozen in time when time stops. I got pretty good at thinking myself into doing actions that require moving. It feels really natural pretending that I move. Otherwise the whole racing-mind/frozen-body spooky quantum stringy duality thingy feels even more awkward. Let’s just call my ability --- stopping time--- for what it really is: magic. I have no idea how it works. I’m a wizard. Level twenty Chronomancer. Master of Time who just ran out of time. So embarrassing. I think of staring at my feet. I shouldn’t have tried to stop the bank robbery. Should have just stayed outside and waited for the police. Of course, that was not an option. I think of turning around and glancing at Lina. The girl next door. Well, the girl next door I’ve had a crush on ever since I first saw her. She’s pretty. Like, 10/10 super cute and nice and funny… and she doesn’t even know I exist. What was I thinking? I’m an idiot. So embarrassing. I pretended to be a superhero and ran to the bank to save a girl. God, I’m an idiot. I think of people around me going ‘awww’. Yeah, it feels like I’m a low-budget rom-com character and this is all a joke. *Awww*. Thanks. I think of waving to Lina. Hi Lina. “Hi Andy,” I think of her saying. “It’s really embarrassing, ha?” “Yup.” “She knows!” another voice says. “We all do.” Odd. I did not think of that voice saying that. “Knows what?” I think of me asking. “We can all hear you!” “Oh,” I gulp, glancing around. Am I losing it? Everyone is frozen. I did not let the time flow. What on earth is going on? “I don’t know,” the voice says. It’s coming from a bank teller. “But we can hear your words and thoughts. What *is* going on?” I scratch my head. “Well, now... Are you sure?” “Yes!” the bank crowd says in unison. “That’s really embarrassing. Lina?” “Yes?” she asks. “Can you hear me too?” “Aha.” “Oops.” “Look, Andy, you're an okay guy. Clean, polite, nice. You have an apartment, a stable job and a dog. And, apparently, you’re some kind of a superhero, which is a big plus! A level twenty Chronomancer.” I scratch my head. “Well, it’s a made-up title. Pun on Necromancer. It’s a D&D thing, you know. But… erm… yes, I can stop time. So, I guess, thanks---” “Why do you always have to be so awkward?” “Huh?” “You dress kind of funny, and you mumble and look away whenever I say hi. Why? Make eye contact. And if you like me, why don’t you just ask me out? Like ‘Hi Lina. Do you want to grab a cup of coffee or something?’ How hard is that?” I squint my eyes. “But what if you say no?” “Then we won’t have a cup of coffee! Duh! How old are you?” “Thirty-three.” “My God! How do you even breathe? You men---” “Well, sorry.” I shrug. “I guess I fucked up. Got it! And now it’s kind of late, right? I mean, unless you can move really fast. Then I can unfreeze time and you can do the superhero move or something.” I whistle, slicing my hand through the air in front of me. “You *are* moving, you idiot! We’re all frozen and you’re the only one in the entire bank who’s casually waltzing across the room!” “Oh--- I am?” I am. I’m standing in front of her, gazing into her beautiful eyes, far away from the stupid bullet. “How did that happen?” “I don’t know! How do you stop time? You’re weird! Oh, and thanks for the compliment. I like when guys notice my eyes. You should do it while we’re drinking that coffee. But not now. And I'm sorry for being rude and calling you an idiot. I'm really freaking out right now.” “Why?” “Dude--- bank robbery.” “Ah, right. Hold on.” I walk across the room to the bank robber. “Uhmm…” I say. “Hello there, Mr. Robber.” I gently open the palm of his hand and get his gun. “You won’t need this. Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen. Call it an accident, ha? A bad day. I hold no grudges against you. But you need to leave or I’ll freeze you again and tie you up or lock you up somewhere” --- I flick the tip of his nose --- “or hurt you. And I don’t want to hurt you.” “I’ll leave,” the robber says. “I promise! Just please let me go.” I give him two thumbs up, smiling. I walk back across the room, poking with my finger the time-frozen bullet so it aims to the ceiling, then stop in front of Lina. I fix my bowtie and smile. Do you want to grab a cup of coffee with me? Then I let the time flow.

You have the peculiar ability to pause time. Nothing can move, including yourself, meaning all you get is time to think. Today you find yourself paused with a bullet right in front of your eyes.

I would think an enemy soldier shot me dead and now I'm in the afterlife, but I know for sure that bullet missed me. But now that I'm here, everyone's throwing some gigantic body in New York City. When I asked someone what the festivities were for, they laughed about it. It didn't sound like they were trying to mock me. It sounded like a genuine laugh, so they must've thought I was joking. It's as if what this party is celebrating should be blatantly obvious. As I look around, I see lots of people wearing hats and fake glasses and stuff that say "2023." It appears to be some sort of code, but I have no idea what it could mean or even be for. I'm just gonna ignore that and assume that this is a party celebrating our victory in the war. And that means the war is over! Let's go! Wait. What did I just say? "Let's go?" Go where? Back to war? I hope not. Wherever I am, it seems to be having some sort of strange effect on my mind. I suddenly have this weird desire to look at some rectangular light in my hand and see if there are any circles with numbers on them. What is it with this bizarre dimension I'm in and numbers? What a random obsession. "Dude, get excited! The countdown's about to start!" someone shouts at me. Again with the numbers. Maybe whatever this countdown is for will clear things up for me. **10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1!** "HAPPY!" everyone shouts together after the countdown ends. I now find myself somewhere else again. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I wish it was back in the trench. I know I just said a moment ago that I was glad the war was over, but at least I'd be back in familiar territory. Instead, I'm- ...Oh dear god. I'm somehow on the Titanic now and I can see the iceberg up ahead. I've gotta go. Later, fam. Why do I keep talking so weird?!

You have no idea what happened. One second it was 1915 and you were in the trenchs, now you're in the middle of a huge crowded city and everyone is celebrating "new years 2023"

I took a few liberties with the prompt, hope that's okay: \*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* A knock at the door roused me from my slumber. “Wynn?” I called, reached across the bed for her, but she was nowhere to be found. I grumbled to myself, throwing off the fur blankets and wincing at the morning cold. Our simple cabin didn’t have much in the way of glamor, nor of heating, but she wanted to be closer to nature. In a heartbeat, I sold the manor and moved out here. I dressed myself while sitting in bed, a slow and clumsy process. In my youth, I would have strapped my sword to my hip, but these days, all I clutched was a cane. The knocking continued all the while. When I reached the door, I threw it open and saw them standing there, my two lovely daughters. Sasha took her looks from me, being tall and slender, but she had her mother's awkward and overly formal way of speaking. Mae was the spitting image of her mother physically, short and plump, but she had a mischievous streak in her that she got from me. “You have your mother’s patience,” I muttered at the two of them. “Nice to see you too, old man,” Mae smiled and threw herself against me, wrapping me in a hug. Sasha came after her, giving me an awkward hug of her own. “Father,” Sasha said, quietly and curtly. “Did you find what we needed?” “Oh, yes, I’m sure I have it, just take a seat, I’ll dig it up,” I said. Mae sat down on the bed, Sasha walked over to the small table and pulled out one of the two chairs, sitting down and watching me. I made my way over to a large wooden and metal chest. I popped the lid open, no reason to keep it locked these days, no one comes down these roads all that often any more, and started to root around inside, being perhaps less cautious then I should as I pushed around old vials and dusty amulets. “So, how have you both been? Keeping out of trouble?” I asked. “Of course, father,” Sasha said. “Well, that’s not completely true,” Mae said with a smile. “Will you shut up!” Sasha’s formal demeanor broke, as often it did under Mae’s teasing. I stopped looking in the chest and turned to Sasha. “What is she talking about?” I asked. “Nothing, it’s nothing at all,” “She’s been talking to a b-o-o-o-o-y,” Mae sang sweetly. I laughed as Sasha’s face turned bright red. “Is that all? You scared me, I thought it was something horrible! So, is it serious?” “No. Well, I don’t know.It’s complicated. I...well, it’s just that.... he’s....human,” Sasha said. “I’m human,” I reminded her. “I know, I don’t care that he’s human except for...” Sasha gave me a look, as if she was conflicted about something. Then she asked me, “Father, was the age difference ever an issue for you and mother?” “Oh, of course it was. Every time I talked to her, she was so cold to me, I figured she hated me!’ I laughed. “Turns out she had feelings for me like I did for her, but she was trying to save herself from the heartache, she said. ‘How am I going to just move on in ninety years and forget about you?’. And it never really goes away, it’s always there,” I could never tell Sasha this, but it was the worst after she was born. Wynn was watching me as I cradled Sasha in my arms. I looked up at her and I saw into those bright green eyes, clear as crystal, and I saw them fill with tears. I put Sasha back into her crib and rushed to Wynn’s side to ask her what was wrong. “I’m so scared I’m going to be alone again some day. How can I ever be alone again? You and Sasha, you’re both going to leave me, no matter what I do to make you stay, and we won’t be together again until I die a thousand years later.” I held her in my arms and promised her she would never be alone, I would find a way to be with her always. A lie, we both knew, but a comforting one. The memory faded as I looked at my daughter, now a grown woman. Sasha was in her fifties now, she would still be a child if she were a full elf, but as a half-elf, she was just starting a life on her own as an adult. “Do you love him, Sasha?” I asked. “I do,” she said without hesitation. “Then don’t worry about decades in the future. Enjoy being in love while you can. Besides, any plans you make, life will change without consulting you. Trust me, that’s one thing your foolish old man knows for sure,” I said. I pulled a vial from the chest and dusted it off, then handed it to Mae. “That should help you with your dragon problem, just apply the oil, then wait five minutes, the dragon won’t be able to hunt you by smell. Just be aware that you will smell like slimy fish oil for a few days.” “Oh, wonderful,” Mae said. “Sasha, go get the flour and meat we brought for dad, we have to get going. Sorry we can’t stay long, people to save and all,” Mae said as she wiggled the vial. Sasha left the cabin, and Mae took a look around. The firewood needed to be restocked, dirty clothes littered the floor, and the only food I had out was a stale half-loaf of bread still sitting on the stove. “Dad...do you ever think about moving back into the city, like we talked about last time?” Mae asked. I smiled. She was worried about me, wanted me to be closer so she could take care of me, but she knew what my answer would be. “Not going to happen, Mae” She shrugged, trying to hide her concern with mock disdain. “Fine then, rot away out here, old man, see if I care.” Sasha returned with a heavy sack of flour over her shoulder and a bag held to her hip. “Father, I think it’s finally in bloom!” With my cane I made my way outside, Sasha and Mae in tow. Outside, there was a small garden, the fence was falling apart and weeds were growing thick, but not around a small flower bush. The flower bush had a single large bulb inside of it that had finally bloomed, revealing petals of alternating streaks of red and yellow that were so straight and angular that it almost looked like a stained glass window. The flower released a smell, saturating the garden with a sweet cinnamon scent.

Your elf girlfriend is having a breakdown because it now just hit her that she will outlive you and your children.

He refrained from asking many questions but many were in his mind, *i never thought i would ever being doing this.* he always thought he'd be saving princesses from evil mages or a dragon not a dragon from a more monstrous dragon. He was too afraid to ask anyone though, incase he disrespected them. He feared the idea of fire-breath. After returning the dragon princess to her father the dragon king was gleeful and thanked him loudly. "Thank you so much young man for saving my daughter from that vile beast!" "it's just my duty sir." "the least i can offer you is for your own room in the palace you must be awfully exhausted." After a while the king called the knight to his new quarters, deked out with a fluffy bed, personal bathroom and a chest full of powerful dragon-forged armor and weaponry. As he finished exploring the chamber the sun set and he tucked into the comfortable bed falling into a peaceful, dreamless sleep. He woke the next morning greeted by the king who told him to meet him outside. After finishing his routine and putting on a fresh outfit from the wardrobe he hurried out to be welcomed by a huge party in his honor festivities and all but the only thing on his mind was the food. He sped towards the serving table. having not eaten yesterday he chomped down on a huge slab of meat tasting nothing like he tasted before. "Why this is wonderful!" he exclaimed "What type of meat is it?" "Well this is the finest human meat in the kingdom!" responded the server Then he remembered what type of town this was.

After an alliance with the dragon kingdom, a knight finds himself rescuing the dragon princess from a rogue dragon. He is, understandably, very confused.

“Where am I?” I stood up abruptly, forcing myself not to tighten my fists or show any aggression. “What do you want from me?” The ethereal woman in front of me smiled, as she sat near a large fire. Her robes seemed ancient, yet plain. “Mark, son of David, I am Hestia. You have been chosen by divine appointment to aid the gods. It is an honour- plus, I really do need your help.” “Help?” I shouted furiously. “You kidnapped me.” Hestia twirled the branch in her hand. “While my actions seem callous and provocative, I did so for the sake of my family. Tales of your skills have spread across the mortal realm to Olympus. With your abilities alone, without even the need of my own blessings, you are a powerful therapist. That is precisely why it is you, and only you, who can save the gods from themselves.” The pillars, white and smooth, shook violently. Gold cascaded off the ceiling and statues of these so-called gods- beings that were praised over a millenia ago for being perfect, yet imperfect in their own actions. The walls themselves were huge and were cavernous; if this Hestia wasn’t the Olympian god she claimed to be, she was at least extremely rich. The amount of money she possessed… Well, let’s just say I wouldn’t have to keep working as a therapist anymore. “I see you wanting to covet the gods’ wealth. Do not be troubled,” Hestia urged. “You shall be rewarded tremendously if you shall mend the rift between my family members.” “Really?” “Yes, really. For years has this schism grown between the eldest and youngest gods. There shall be bloodshed if you are not successful. There has already been some liver eating. And while their anger is not completely unjustified, I cannot stand by and watch us get torn to pieces. Millions of souls will be sent to Hades, all because of one mortal and his fictional blasphemy against us: Rick Riordan.” The walls shook more, and I saw what I thought to be an owl, that was perched on the mantelpiece, fly off towards the golden gates, and downwards, off the mountain Olympus. Hestia just sighed. I had no trouble keeping up and it’s not like I fully believed her; I’ve had patients with grandiose delusions that they are above humans. However, she was exhibiting one trait that I had never really spotted among family members who claimed to be doing what they thought was best: raw and pure compassion that radiated from her eyes- blue and glistening like jewels. Money spun in my mind again. “I’m assuming that you cannot solve this yourself then, Hestia,” I said, making my voice as steady as I physically could. “I wish I could. I avoid confrontations like if they were the Plague of Athens.” “Then I suppose I have no choice. I’ll think of this as some kind of quest.” “Excellent choice,” Hestia beamed. “Their wounds over the book series ‘Percy Jackson’ may never heal, but at least they may become closer as a result. Now, do you accept drachma, or bitcoin? . . . . . r/queenofmistic

You are a family therapist and you don't think it's bragging to say that you are very good at your job. Perhaps too good, as it is your skill at your job that led to you being kidnapped by Hestia and brought to Mount Olympus.

Containment Six…. affectionately known as ‘Deep Six’. The most secure facility in the world. It is a prison for containing the worst, most powerful, super powered people in the world. It is on the ocean floor, almost a full mile below sea level. Every cell is equipped with power dampeners. They don’t just suppress your powers, they feed off of your powers. You spend all day doing nothing but you are exhausted like you used your powers all day, everyday, non-stop. They literally suck your will to live…. to power the lights. Down here, there is no sun rise, no sun set…. They cycle the lights randomly to keep us from getting into any sort of routine, from being able to measure time or days or figure out guard rotations. Some ‘days’ have two hours of light, some have twenty six hours of light, and, of course, we have everything in between…. Just an extra layer of punishment to our days in solitary. I don’t know how long I have been here. I don’t belong here, but the courts said otherwise. There was a fight between two supers. They were tearing apart the city trying to kill each other. One of them crashed into the high rise I was in, right at the base of the building, taking out a structural pillar holding the whole damn place up. The building began to lean, she was going down, so I did the only thing I could think of…. I stood where the pillar was and held up the building. I was shouting for everyone to evacuate, but it takes time to evacuate ninety floors of office space. I started to sweat. The strain of holding ninety floors up is more than I have ever experienced. The building was slowly crushing me. I could feel my muscle bulge and ache under the strain. The longest minutes of my life passed as I struggled to hold that building up. The fighting supers came back this way and hit the building again. They took out a second support pillar and the building came down. I was buried in ninety stories of rubble. I dug myself out and walked away unscathed. One hundred and fifty three people made it out while I held that building up. Two hundred and thirty three died when it came down. The supers kept fighting like the lives didn’t matter. A rage I didn’t know I possessed washed over me. I watched the two supers flying and fighting, ignoring the carnage and the lives they were destroying and that rage became a fire that I could not contain. I leapt into the air and crashed into one of the supers flying over head. I wrapped my legs around him and started punching. He couldn’t get away and he couldn’t shake me and by time we crash landed there was only a bloody stump where his head should have been. The second super landed near us as I screamed at the bloody corpse of the first super. “Thank-you citizen! I will” #BAM Fuck him. I hit him with everything I had in an upper cut. I found out later that I knocked his body into orbit. They never found his head. I collapsed and cried for people lost that today. For the senselessness of it all. The courts didn’t care about the people who escaped from the building because of my efforts. The courts didn’t care about the people who didn’t escape. The courts didn’t care about the supervillain whose head I pulverized. No… it was city’s hero, one man, that they cared about. I was charged and convicted of knocking the strongest man in the world into orbit. What a farce. It was decided that I was a threat. That I couldn’t be trusted walking the streets. That I could snap and start punching people into orbit at anytime. I was sentenced to life in solitary at Containment Six. There were memorials built in his honour…. There was nothing built for regular people that died that day. The world was in love with superhero’s and it didn’t matter how many people they killed, injured or maimed…. As long as it was in the name of the greater good. Fuck the greater good. “Open twenty-two!”, a voice yelled. My door slid open. A man in an expensive black suit stood outside my cell. “You look bigger than when you were locked up.”, he said to me. I shrugged. “I think it is the dampeners. It is like they are forcing me to use my strength non-stop. I might as well be at the gym twenty four seven. This place has made me stronger than I could have ever been on the outside.”, I said. “Dampeners!”, he yelled. I felt my strength return in an instant. It was like a breath of fresh air. I flexed my muscles and stretched. I haven’t felt this good since I have been down here. The man in the suit smiled. “I have a proposition for you.”, I raised an eye brow at him, “I am looking to put together a team.”, my face dropped into a scowl. “A team that will stop supers…. Heroes and villains. I don’t care about good and evil. I care about saving lives.”, he said. He was watching my face closely. Reading me. “I watched your trail. I watched the footage of you holding up that building. You cared about the people…. Not the other supers. Not the press or fame… you cared about the people. Join my team and help me put an end to threat the supers pose.” “Who are you?”, I asked. “I work for the government. The *people* maybe in love with the supers but the governments of the world aren’t. They have created a NATO task force, in conjunction with every government in the world, to deal with the super threat.” “You are going to stop supers with supers?” “How else?”, he said simply. I shrugged. “Will you join my team?” “No stupid spandex suits. No cheesy names.”, I said. “Agreed.” And just like that I joined the team that hunted down supers.

You feel your powers flood back to you as the dampeners in your cell shut off. A man in a business suit steps into it and asks a simple question.

From our primal ancestors to our 19th century forefathers, it took centuries and many wars for each races to form a union, peace. Things had change, from using letters to using phones , from using swords and bows to a "friendly" conversation. Inside the house's basement, a human, a dwarf, and an elf decided to have a friendly conversation. "My father is a hero," The Human claims, "He worked hard so that humanity can step more into space and to the unknown." The Elf shakes their head, "More like a fool, why waste our lives just to see vast emptiness when there is more to discover in our beautiful planet?" "Our ancestors had done that! We already had Grogle maps!" The Dwarf intervenes, "What's more mysterious are the lands below! There might be secret caves with undiscovered minerals right under us." The three friends glare at one another, trying to intimidate one another. "But what if there are more races that are waiting to be discovered?" The Human says, "Our technology could become more advance just like how our forefathers reunited and made the golden era of our people?" "You humans do love to colonize other races," The Elf scoffs, the Human looks away embarrassed and the Dwarf just snickers, "We may know our planet but there is still more to learn from it, we will take advantage of our knowledge so no lives will go wasted unlike you two." "Is this why you two are the most underdeveloped?" The Dwarf asks with a mocking tone, "The reason why we developed because of the minerals we gathered from below! Maybe there are minerals that are more stronger than gold but you two are busy with your fantasies of exploring something that is nothing." The tension continues to rise as the three counters one another, trying to belittle ones claim and evidences. However, none wants to back down and if this continues, it might get messy. "You three, settle down or I'll call mom." The three freeze on their spot, silence finally overcomes the tension. By the stairs leading upstairs is the Human's elder sister, clear annoyance is written on her face. "You think you could answer something that our grandparents could not answer?" The elder sister hisses, "I know this is just a mock debate, but it looks like you three are at each others' throat." The three look down in defeat in unison, saying sorry to one another and almost losing their friendship to a mere topic. "You three, what about talking about another topic other than that." The Elder Sister demands, the three nods and continue on their mock debate with a different topic. Hours pass and the two must go home, as they say their goodbyes and encouragement for the project tomorrow. The little Human turns to their elder as the guests are out of view. "Tell me who is right?" The Little Human beams, "Humans are the greatest adventurers right? In space, we could reach even more than what we have here." The Elder sister just shakes her head, "No one is right." "Huh? Why?" "Our pride runs deep into our veins, but you know what runs deep as well? Our thirst of learning more, to explore," She answers as if such answer is already embedded on her mind , "No matter how we fight, in the end, there is no right or wrong answer, only an answer." "Children! Dinner is ready!" The sister runs to the kitchen, ready to eat dinner. While the little human stays on the same spot as before, their ego bruised. (This is a try, English is not my first language so it might not make sense)

Each Fantasy Race sees themselves as Adventurers and Pioneers. But they each go in different directions, Humans long for the skies, Elves journey over the vast open surface, and Dwarves know in their hearts that the true mysteries lie deep below. Each faction thinks they are right.

I should have known something was up when Melissa told me that "the client would like to meet in the nearest open field". No respectable corporate lawyer does that sort of thing, unless they're dealing with some *really* shady business. But since they offered ten thousand gold pieces just for the initial meet-up, I figured, why not? Not a currency I'm familiar with, but I've still got outstanding payments on my Bentley and my other Lambo. Besides, I could always turn them down *later*. I arrived at the designated field at the appointed time, only to find no one there. Somehow I wasn't surprised. I was about to dial Melissa and blacklist this no-show client, but then the client arrived. From the sky. That shadow, it blotted out the sun. Two wings, a massive tail and powerful jaws that could bite a train in half. Straight out of a storybook. "Hello, Mr. Heidegger," said the *thing*. It spoke in English, somehow, and had a strange accent that I couldn't place. Oh, and its voice was booming and rumbling, loud enough to make my bones rattle. "I was told you're the best corporate lawyer in the city. Have I got the right man?" "Yes, I am Heidegger, no comment about the rest-" Being greeted by an unexpected and incredibly large toothy reptile has a way of turning your knees to jelly, but I'm made of marginally stronger stuff than that. "You- *You're* my client? What are you, exactly?" "I am Melkyr-ma'azban, the Wyrm of Crimsonridge Peaks. But you can call me Mel." "Okay, uh, Mel..." It was hard to concentrate when the *thing's* every word sent a blast of wind in my direction, smelling like moisture and rotting meat. "Good, great to have your name, but *what* are you?" "I'm a *dragon*. Heard of it?" said Mel. I would have sworn I heard a sardonic tinge to his voice. "I... I think so... I didn't know dragons were *real*, though...?" I said. "Precisely," rumbled the dragon. "And that's why I'm here. I believe that under your laws, I'm entitled to compensation. Likeness rights infringement, to be precise, since you people have appropriated my culture in your mythology and fantasy without my consent. And as the best corporate lawyer in the city, can I assume you are the man for the job?" A pause, and then the dragon smiles, exposing his rows of sharp, sharp teeth. "Or should I find someone else for the job?" "No, no, I'm definitely your guy!" I said with as much enthusiasm as I could manage. Who would have guessed that being presented with a set of pointy fangs larger than an SUV would be so persuasive? "Very good," said Mel. "Then here's your retainer fee." With one giant claw, the dragon tossed a huge sack at me. It burst open as it hit the ground, sending golden coins spilling out across the ground. "I, ah, great, great, but I must inform you that such cases require a great deal of preparation beforehand. Months, maybe. Maybe years. I'll need to know -- who exactly are you thinking of suing? Have you watched-" "Disney, HBO, Rowling, Paolini, Sapkowski, and the Tolkien estate. All those with big bank accounts. Oh, and Hasbro too, I believe they own Dungeons & Dragons." "That's... those are big names, but I'll see what I can do. Anything else?" "Hmm," Mel said thoughtfully. "I assume cases will pay out in US dollars. Could you help me find a way to cash that into gold coins, or magical artifacts?" "I, ah, I will look into that. Magical artifacts may be difficult to obtain. Would you like NFTs instead?" "No." "Okay then," my intuition warning me not to press the point. "Just the coins then. Is that all?" "Yes, that will be all," said the Wyrm of Crimsonridge Peaks. "If you do your job right, I might have more work for you. There are many more dragons where I come from. Perhaps we could turn this into a, I believe it was called a 'class-action lawsuit'?" "How many dragons are we talking about here?" "About five thousand from the Material Plane alone. I'm sure I could get more, especially if I call in some favours from Bahamut." With a sweep of his mightly wings, the dragon lifted off the ground, flying 120ft into the air, blowing grass and gold coins everywhere. "I look forward to working with you," said the dragon, and then he left.

Dragons, in their terrifying majesty, have returned to the here and now. Their first act is to sue numerous artists and corporations for likeness right infringement.

I don’t know what tipped me off. The shifty looks, the pale skin, the outdated attire. Or maybe it was the man taking deep gulps from a blood bag. ‘How may I help you today, sir? Looking to donate some blood?’ chatted the lady at the counter, grinning broadly and showing me her slightly sharpened teeth. ‘Well I was…’ ‘What’s put you off?’ she continued, a look of not quite genuine worry appearing on her pearly face. ‘Well… your water cooler is hooked directly up to that needle…and that man over there… is wearing robes… and hold on a moment, is that an altar through that door?’ The woman gave a worried glance behind her. ‘Johnny, close that bloody door!’ Her calm, plastic smile returned as she turned around. ‘None of those things are true. Perhaps you’ve already given blood and are feeling a bit light headed? Just sign this form in for me please and sit over there in the waiting room.’ ‘Ah, what the hell.’ I glanced at the clipboard as I headed over to the entirely empty waiting room. ‘Hold up, is this an NDA?’ Her smile disappeared briefly as she retorted, ‘Did I say read the form, or sign it!’ The grin quickly returned as she continued with her work. I should’ve left really, but the hellhounds at the door were really putting me off. I signed the form quite hastily, not wanting to face the retribution of the women, and waited to be called. I stared around as I sat, looking at the jostling donation centre. All of the staff were dressed seemingly as they pleased, some in 18th century gothic, others in billowing, bloodied robes. I watched one of them pocket a bag that he had just filled, before beginning to fill another as the man on which he was operating began to whimper. Just behind them, a fellow who bore a striking resemblance to Gary Oldman had entirely forgone the formalities, and was drinking directly from a man’s arm. ‘You there! Come and give us yer blood!’ I gulped, and headed over to the sound of the voice, dodging a suspicious, scarlet stain in the carpet. The woman who had shouted was dressed in all black, her eyes watching me coldly from behind her veil. In one hand she clutched a small, thickly bound book and in the other, an almost sterile needle large that looked as though it could have been very useful in a minefield. She did not smile as I sat down. ‘Breathe deeply, and if you value your arteries try not to move.’ I wasn’t particularly worried, I had done this before. I was a fool. She put the needle in, and I felt as though I had met God. The only thing stopping me from screaming was the pure neural overload that my nerves were experiencing. Not to mention the Tetanus. It continued for several long minutes, partly because the women stopped mid way to recite a spell from her book. ‘The hell are you doing? Come on get on with it!’ ‘I’m a key worker! You can’t say that to me. Now let me get back to my spell! Brassicae caseus-‘ She continued on with her Latin for some time, before finally filling the bag and yanking the needle from my arm. She handed me a used cotton bud, and I dropped it immediately into the bin as I staggered away. Glancing back as I reached the grimy, automatic doors of the entrance, I met eyes with the all too cheery desk lady and was made vaguely aware that the women who had taken my blood was now pouring it into a little stone alter that she had produced from God knows where. I found a new blood donation centre.

You visit a blood bank to donate some. It's staffed almost exclusively by vampires, blood mages, occult cultists etc. and they're not very good at hiding it.

“An hour of my life? Why would you want such a pointless thing?” “How else am I supposed to feed? I could offer you powers or treasures, but you seem like a straightforward guy. $100 for an hour. It’s an offer you can take as many times as you like until you drop dead. I think it’s quite generous, if you ask me.” The demon sat atop Graham’s couch, their tail idly swaying as they watched him. “Isn’t that just the same as work? So, you’re saying I get paid more for my time and still only lose an hour? What do you get out of this?” “Everything or nothing, that’s the gamble I’m taking. So, do you agree?” “How could I refuse?” As soon as Graham spoke those words, the demon leaned forward, biting the tip of his finger, making sure he drew blood before retreating to the corner of the room, licking the droplets from his lips. Graham held his finger, screaming at first, only to realize he had felt no pain. Even the small bite mark had faded almost instantly. “Our deal is made. If you wish to indulge in my offer, simply call for me.” With that, the demon went to leave, their body being surrounded by a cloud of smoke. That smoke nearly sending them back to hell before Graham spoke. “I’ll trade an hour.” The smoke faded, leaving the grinning demon. He stepped forward and placed a neat $100 bill into Graham’s hand before taking an hour of his life. The process of taking time was subtle, something that a human wouldn’t even notice. For Graham, everything would feel as normal as before, except he was now $100 richer. “Don’t spend it all at once.” The demon winked, vanishing before his eyes. At first, things didn’t change much for Graham, his life continuing as usual. He went back to his office job, only taking the extra cash when needed. After all, if the rent was due, who could blame him for making a quick trade to make sure he had enough money? That was how things started. Each day, Graham just went through his normal boring life, even as the ultimate easy mode option was sitting in the palm of his hand. All he had to do was call for the demon and he could have a full week’s wage in only a day of his lifespan. Wouldn’t that make him happier? So, he started indulging a little more. Soon, that extra money was being used for a few luxuries. Nothing extravagant, just a few pairs of clothes on top of his rent. It felt nice to indulge. Why shouldn’t he have nice things? It was only a few hours of his life, anyway; he would probably just waste them sleeping or on the toilet. He could maintain that lifestyle for a few months before a heated call with a customer made him reevaluate his options. Why was he putting up with this abuse? He could just use his lifespan to pay his rent while he searched for a new job. Maybe that new job might even pay better? As well meaning as that plan had been, he soon came to realize how hard finding a job can be, especially when one believes they are too good for most lines of work. How does the person who knows they can get $100 with the snap of their fingers even settle for a $20 an hour job? So, he just kept snapping his fingers, bringing in more money than he needed. Anytime anything on a crappy shopping channel would grab his attention, he would snap his fingers. Anytime a holiday destination piqued his interest, he would call for more money. Until Graham had completely forgotten about the limitations of his lifespan, too focused on getting to experience the things he could never afford. From shopping channels to London, Graham got to see it all. For the next year, he got a lovely taste of a life that would have never been in his grasp before. He ate the best meals, travelled in the best cars and wore all the best brands. It became a rush, a new hit of adrenaline whenever he would get something new, but like any addiction, the cost of that hit became stronger with each new purchase, until he was drained. He gave his last call at home, lounged on the couch in an untucked designer shirt. A cruise around Europe had piqued his interest, one he desperately wanted the funds for. The demon said nothing at first, only smiling as it took a seat atop the couch, staring down at Graham. “Times up.” Graham stared at the demon, processing the words before he jumped from the couch, turning to run from the demonic creature, only to let out his last huff of life. The oxygen pushing out his lips as he collapsed onto the ground, unable to take another breath as he lost consciousness. The demon moved beside him, crouching by his face. “Nearly two years. You lasted longer than most. This is why I wanted such a pointless thing. It’s quicker to let you destroy yourself than it is for me to trick you into giving up your life for me. Had I simply given you a large sum of money, you wouldn’t have felt as much of a need to come back to me. But like a rat trained to push a button for a treat, you kept coming back to me until I was all out of treats. Good night, Graham, enjoy the afterlife.”       (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)

you receive 100USD in exchange of 1hr of lifetime. Surprisingly, you realized this is actually higher than the salary you earn from hard labor. (And no taxes are deducted)

Terry put the finishing touches on his latest painting. He took a step back and regarded it. Not his best work, but it was not bad. He would probably put it online and see how it did there, instead of a gallery. As he put his supplies away, he heard a knock on the door. He was not expecting any company, which meant this was likely business. He wiped his hands as clean as he could and went to the door. Sure enough, two people in colorful costumes stood there. The man was a mass of muscle dressed in brown and gold. The woman was slender and wore mostly silver, with various technological goodies strapped to her belt. "Hey, Terry, sorry to bother you without calling." The man said in a voice as big as he was. "Oh, think nothing of it, Char--sorry, Meteor Man. I'm always willing to make time for you two." "Are you sure?" The woman asked. "We're really not interrupting anything, are we?" Her eyes darted to his pigmented fingers. "Actually, you times it perfectly. I'm just finishing up. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear you had done that on purpose." Terry replied with a slight grin. "Of course not! I disabled those bugs years ago." "And for that, I am very grateful, Circuit. Now, please do come in. I'm assuming this isn't a social call, given that you're both in uniform?" "Sorry, about that." Meteor Man said as he entered the house. "But we do kind of need Strawman, instead of Terry." "I'm sure. And no need to apologize to me. It's why I'm here." He led the heroes to the living room, where both sat. The couch creaked under the hero's weight, but it held. "Now, since the two of you certainly don't need my unique brand of assistance, who will I be working with?" "It's our son." Circuit said. "He just turned 18, and is ready to follow in our footsteps." "How wonderful!" Terry said. "What can he do?" "He's got both of our powers." Meteor Man said with obvious pride. "My brawn and her brains. And he's definitely got the heroic spirit. We couldn't have asked for a better kid." "So what's the problem?" "The problem is he is our son." Circuit replied. "He's worried he won't be able to live up to our legacy. That he'll let us down and be a disappointment and all that. Typical teenage stuff. We're sure he'll be great. Greater than either of us one day for sure. But he just needs a little push to get him started." "And that's where I come in, I take it?" "We'd be honored if you would be his first villain." Meteor Man said. "And I would be happy to fulfill that role. Although, even for you two, well..." "We understand." The heroine said. "A man has to make a living and painting can only get you so far these days. Don't worry, you know we can afford your excellent services." "Of course, of course. But we'll, with some parents out there you never know." "Some people need a punch in the face." The large man said. "Not from me though. That'd get too messy." The other two nodded their agreement. Terry picked up the conversation not long after. "So, what were you two thinking? A classic mustache twirler? Maybe a good bank heist?" "Nah. Kid's got his mom's brains. He'll see through that right away." "Maybe something a little less conventional? Maybe hold up a public event? Nothing too big, but it has to make sense for the act. Oh, there's an environmental protest happening soon. Maybe a nice anti-environmental terrorist act? That's sufficiently villainous without being too harmful." "Hm, can't say I've ever used that angle." Terry said. "But that's half the fun of the job. I even have a few personas I've been wanting to try out that will work perfectly." "So then?" Circuit asked hopefully. "Consider it done." Terry said with a large smile. "In fact, I think this will be quite entertaining." Meteor Man let out a loud whoop and scooped the much smaller Terry into a big hug. A hug that would have crushed several feet of steel. When Terry was released, he was unharmed. "Well, it's good to know you haven't lost your enthusiasm." He said with a slight chuckle. "Sorry. I'm just glad to know my boy will be a hero." The hero said with a wide smile. "I'm just so proud of him and this'll really get him into gear." "That's what I'm here for. Now then, if you two will excuse me, I have a lot to plan for. Costumes to design, phonecalls to make. You know how it's done." "Of course." Circuit said. She placed a hand in her husband's shoulder and started guiding the still beaming man out. "And thanks again. We really do appreciate this Terry." "Think nothing of it. It's always a pleasure to work with the two of you." Once they said their goodbyes, Terry got to work. It was time for Strawman to do his thing for another up and coming superhero.

With your near invincibility, you've been making good money and helping boost the ego and ratings of up and coming superheroes. You pose as a criminal/villain for them to take down.

Mice. Rabbits. Squirrels. I’d seen it all. Tom dragged in all sorts for me, gifts in the only way he knew how. Sometimes they’d be dead, and I’d have to throw them out, but often they’d be clinging on. I hated to let them die, and so I’d nurse them back to health and let them go. This particular creature though, was beyond my expertise. ‘He mauled me!’ ‘It’s just a scratch, now hold still!’ ‘A scratch? My arms off!’ ‘In his defence, he thought you were a bat.’ ‘I was a bat!’ ‘Exactly.’ We chatted as I worked, stitching and sewing at his many wounds. Tom wouldn’t have been able to inflict wounds of such a size if he’d been in this form of course, but the silly sod had to go and get himself caught while… well while he was a bat. ‘So… you’re a vampire..?’ ‘I don’t see why you haven’t grasped this. Yes I’m a bloody vampire!’ ‘Literally, I suppose…’ He glared at me, with his beady vampiric eyes. ‘That’s not funny! I’ve just lost an arm and I’m bleeding severely!’ ‘You’ll be fine, it’s just a flesh wound. Besides, I’m a vet!’ ‘You don’t seem to be doing very well so far! I’ve lost an awful lot of blood! Quick, fetch me a peasant boy so I can replenish myself, I’m awfully thirsty!’ ‘Sorry, did you just ask me to fetch you a peasant boy?’ He gave me an unimpressed look, as though I’d just asked him what colour the sky was. ‘I’m sorry but I don’t have any peasant boys to hand…’ ‘Call yourself a vet… well I’m going to need somebodies blood quite soon…’ He gave me an apologetic look. I yanked his stitching and it unpicked several minutes of work with a wet twanging. He screeched, not unlike some of the other animals Tom had brought in. ‘See. That’s what you get for threatening to kill me. Now sit still, we’re almost done, and then you can go and search for peasant boys or whatever it is you like to do. ‘ He remained in silence, not unlike a rich child who isn’t getting his way. I finished not long after, and escorted him to the door, ensuring to keep him away from Tom. ‘Well… uhh safe travels. I’m sorry about your arm but… well you can fly and Tom can’t so I think you just need to be a bit more careful.’ The vampire glared at me, and took off into the night. I returned to the kitchen shaking my head and wiping the blood from my trousers. I let out an audible groan as I saw what Tom had left on the table. A twitching, not- quite dead mouse. ‘No. I’m not going to find out.’ I hurled the mouse out of the window into the undergrowth, and went to bed.

Your cat routinely brings home half-dead animals that you tend to and release once they are healed. Last week, it brought home a bat. Now, you've found yourself nursing back to health a badly-wounded vampire that is not very happy with the situation.

"And it is." I said, rolling another body into the sacrificial circle. "Do you know what this is going to do to the new years party? Not to mention my cousins getting married soon next year as well. It's going to start a riot!" "But you don't care about those individuals!" "I care about the food and champagne, that's a sacrifice. So what if I lose some deadbeat relatives? It's not like they're in limited supply for me. And as your little contract states, I cannot be held responsible for any crime. I'm getting off easy, just not scot-free." Striking a match, I toss it at the ancient runes, letting them spark to life. "Why do you care, anyway? You're getting sacrifices, wouldn't it be better if I didn't mind?" Heat wafts through the room, that red glow getting stronger. "No! They're already going to hell! That's a positive! You're appeasing heaven!" "Heaven wants me to kill my family? Hell kinda god do we have exactly?" "Are you even listening-?" CRA-ACKLE A bright red beacon fires up, blinding the two of us in that room. Finally it dies down, leaving no evidence. "Look! What you're doing is removing a negative, that makes a positive. Demons don't like that! You didn't sell your soul, you just said you'll kill people. Normally that does give us your soul! But because it's nobody innocent, you haven't done anything to get to hell. So start going after good people as well!" "Why should I? I just said I'd kill, never said who. Plus I'm still getting past the pearly gates...or at least an alright purgatory. And why should I get this whole lecture on right and wrong? God wants me to harm my family, apparently. And you want to torture evil people. What makes you bad? What makes him good?" One of his eyes twitch, pure rage rests in his snake like eyes. "...you stupid mortal-" "This is why I am an agnostic theist." I grumble. "You are looking at a demon, crawled out of hell! What do you mean? Wouldn't you at least be catholic or something?!" "Nah, I ain't much for church." "Satan high and mighty..." Pinching the bridges of his, well, nonexistent nose "You've gotten proof of salvation and damnation, and you choose to still walk the middle road, ignoring it all! What is with you?" I stare blankly, "Well, I mean, why pick either side? They've both got issues..." He stares back once more, before a smile comes across his face. "Well, I guess you're right..." A chuckle comes from me. "Wanna get something to eat?" "Yeah..."

"For the last time" the demon screamed at his would-be contractor. "It counts as a sacrifice only if losing it would cause you grief!"

"What about Whirlwind?" Asked the silver suited aspiring hero to the chubby high priced trademark and copyright lawyer. His fat fingers slowly moved across his keyboard. "Hmmm....nope. That one's taken too." "Damn it. Try Whiplash." "Same story. Taken. Maybe you should start with a different letter of the alphabet." The aspiring hero grumbled to himself, this guy charged a lot by the hour, he needed a name before he went broke. "What about.....The Silver Blur?" Keyboard keys slowly clacked, the lawyer really taking his time. "Too similar to The Silver Streak, or The Blue Blur." The slam of fists against the lawyer's mahogany desk boomed off the walls of the large office. "They haven't been heroes for fifty years!" "Their estates still hold the trademark and license out their names and likenesses. You could always try and buy the licensing rights." "How much does that cost?" The lawyer stalled, feigning being deep in thought. "Varies. Most go for seven figures, it's a buyer's market right now. Lot of streaming and movie production companies vying for those so prices are high." "Fuck. Maybe I'm too late to be a hero, without a kickass memorable name I'll never make it big." The frustrated hero sighed. "Don't be so hard on yourself. A smart man once said 'a rose by any other name'" With a renowned sense of purpose the two brainstormed into the night, one that would live in infamy. For that night the world's greatest hero was born. Villains would admonish his name, citizens would praise it. The world would soon know the name........of Stu.

All the good superhero names have been taken so now people run around with names like "Jon" or "Microwave Knight"

When Krell had first heard about the humans of the Sol System, his first instinct had been one of pity. It seemed a cruel twist of fate that a species should evolve the necessary intelligence and understanding to leave their world behind and journey to the stars; yet be cursed with so short a lifespan they could never hope to see any of them. He recalled double checking the datapds’s submission, certain as he was that some mistake must have been made, a zero left off somewhere. It had been at least a thousand years since a species had been encountered with a lifespan even as low as the high hundreds. Yet these humans seemed to struggle to achieve even their first century. How could they possibly hope to take their place amongst the civilised species of the galaxy when their kind would wither away and die before making it to even a handful of their cosmic neighbours. Indeed the whole thing was a tragedy. Numerous thinkpieces clogged the datapads as the ‘tragedy of humanity’ became the latest cause celebre. Before too long, their novelty now gone, they were mostly forgotten. Why give any attention to so insignificant and ephemeral a people? \- A few centuries later, Krell’s pity had matured into annoyance. Humans, it was well known, were impatient. They had no respect for the passage of time. While the other species of the galaxy were content to accept the realities of life on a galactic scale, humans seemed incapable of doing so. It was as if their limited lifespan had likewise limited their vision. Rather than accepting for example that their paltry lifespan meant they were largely doomed to remain tethered to their home star; instead they had heedlessly ventured out into the galaxy regardless. Their so-called generational ships were considered quite distasteful to the other civilised species. A species living, breeding, dying, all sealed up inside one of their grotesquely large vessels. Simply awful. Then once they did arrive somewhere, they were restless and rapacious in their growth. Humanity had established more colonies in the last fifty years than all of the other species of the galaxy combined. Twice over. There seemed to be no care or deliberation in their actions. They just did things. And kept on doing them while everyone else was taking the sensible precaution of deciding whether or not to do them at all. Not to mention that their diplomacy left a great deal to be desired. They were insistent. Many found their communications to be downright rude. If they needed something from you they might send as many as two or three messages in a single decade, with no concern for decorum. Even when you did respond it was often a pointless endeavour. On numerous occasions Krell had replied to an enquiry, only to discover that the original questioner had apparently passed away. How were you ever supposed to work with such a people? \- A few centuries after that, and Krell’s annoyance had transmuted into an appalled fascination. Despite their obvious and sad limitations, humans had been able to make some remarkable progress. Their colony worlds had developed at a truly staggering pace. A standard colony belonging to any other species might see a handful of new arrivals over the course of decades. Adventurers or misfits who yearned to experience life in a small frontier community. Not so for humanity. Even without the seemingly endless stream of humans coming from Earth, their colonies would have been entirely self-populating. Some of their earlier colonies rivalled other species' actual homeworlds in population and expansion. This galactic migration had been further spurred by their impatience with galactic travel. While the other species had been content to use the same methods that had served them well all their lives, humans insisted on pushing for something new. They seemed drawn to novelty, unable to appreciate what they already had. Not that Krell could argue with their results. There had been numerous advancements to the FTL drives that had otherwise remained unchanged since Krell’s youth. Every year seemed to bring with it new technologies or theories that the humans had spearheaded. For so brief a species, they certainly managed to get a lot done in that time. It was almost endearing. \- With a few more centuries of careful study under his belt, Krell’s fascination had evolved into a grudging respect. Krell now realised that it had been a mistake to consider the lifespan of a single human in isolation. Some strange byproduct of their fleeting existence compelled them to achieve immortality through legacy and institutions. To live on beyond what few allotted years they had. While for the other species of the galaxy an individual had the time to see things through to their fruition; for humans they had to entrust that to others of their kind. Humans even had a saying. That they “stood on the shoulders of giants.” No other species in the galaxy operated the same kind of long term collective operations that humans apparently considered routine. In fact Krell had a theory that humans were really best understood as some kind of hive mind. Or, in his more fanciful moments, what he liked to call a ‘meta-conscious’ species. If you tried to focus on the individual human, well obviously they were dead and gone in the blink of an eye. Their institutions however, they lasted. When an individual human died, the baton would simply be picked up by the next. If you thought of a human as nothing more than the cell of a larger institution, and treated those institutions as beings in their own right, with personalities, motives and goals… Well then suddenly humanity became much easier to interact with and understand. You weren't really talking to a human, you were talking to an institution through its human agent. It wasn’t about what the human thought or wanted, it was what the institution wanted. Yes a single human might be lucky to see one hundred years, but how long might an institution live? What might it accomplish in that time? \- Even now, after all those years, Krell hadn’t lost his respect for humanity. It was simply tinged with what he might label as concern. With the benefit of time, some worrying trends had become clear. Humans appeared to have a remarkable ability to adapt to the rapid pace of change they were inflicting on the rest of the galaxy. While they freely and happily shared their technological achievements with others, only humans seemed able to adopt them with any confidence. The other species of the galaxy were honestly overwhelmed by it all. Technology advancements that used to take millenia were now taking decades. It honestly felt like everyone else was being left behind, it seemed impossible to keep up with them and their frenetic pace. There was also the issue of their sheer number. Humans had colonised nearly half of the known habitable planets in the galaxy. They were terraforming others. The last time a Galactic census was held, humanity had comprised nearly 64% of all sapient life. Krell didn’t get the feeling that number was likely to plateau anytime soon. What would happen when they couldn’t find anywhere new to expand into? \- *Case Study: The Journals Of Krell Tan’Bo - Critical Analysis by Professor James DeWitt - Mars University* It is a truly unique experience to be able to see the viewpoint of another species during the era of humanities ascendancy. To have access to their first-hand observations and conclusions is undoubtedly a gift. Krell’s journals provide an intriguing insight into a fascinating period of galactic history. As with other non-human species his incredible lifespan allowed him to bear witness to vast tracts of time and provide a single, unbroken perspective which covered several distinct epochs. With the benefit of hindsight we can see that Krell was not equipped to truly understand the macro-factors at play during this period. Though this atomised thinking, without recourse to structural analysis, is ubiquitous in non-human species; who seemed to operate as isolated bastions of personal/private knowledge. Nevertheless, despite their lack of academic rigour, they still retain a certain sense of wonder as they transport us back to a time when humanity was not alone in the cosmos.

The human lifespan is the lowest in the galaxy. That alone is why they are the most dangerous.

"How did you manage to summon me?" I looked down at the child. I was currently a sheet of shadow, my true form deliberately obscured. They looked up at me, clutching a worn tome to their chest. One I recognised. "I... I was reading this... and I found your name." Their voice was unsure, a lack of deceit within. I harumped, rolling my hidden eyes. Of course it was curiosity. They probably wouldn't want anything from me, but still I had to ask. "Is there anything you desire?" They stared at me, tears forming in their eyes. They gave a shallow nod, shifting nervously. "I... I want mummy or daddy... I miss mine..." I peered at them. Through their soul I reached their parents, seeing the absence in this world. An orphan, wanting a parent. It was new for me, an inviting and intriguing thought. "I cannot bring them back child. The control of life and death is unwieldable. However, I can take their place." Tears peaked from their eyes, and they nodded. "Please." I smiled, adjusting my body. From the shadow I made a human form, one that had similar looks to the child. As I did so I made a new channel to my infernal vault. If I were to be here for a while, I refused to act like a pauper. "Very well." Their - her eyes widened. She took an unsteady step towards me, reaching out. "Are... are you my new daddy?" I reached down, gathering her into a hug. I had to take care not to squeeze, and not crush her fragile form. "As you wished, so shall it be." I was tempted to make a contract. Such an act would normally require something for me as well. The most appropriate in this case being a soul. But I already had my payment. A new experience, a rarity for me. Besides, she had power, able to call me just from my name. "Little one, tell me your name." She hugged me tightly, letting go of the old tome. "I'm Resha." I picked up the tome, carefully closing it. I could feel a faint backlash, as I was not the owner. Nothing major, its strength had clearly dwindled over time. I grinned, out of sight of Resha. This was wonderful. I could experience being a parent. And it had been a long time since I had been able to instruct a new Dark Daughter. "Well Resha. Let's go home. You have a bright future ahead of you. And I have much I can teach you." She nodded, pulling away. I stood, handing the tome back. She clutched it in one hand, holding up the other. I gave a soft laugh, taking her hand. Yes, I had much to learn about being a parent. But I couldn't wait.

It’s a child and they ask you to be their parent.

"That depends," I say slowly as I think. "On?" the adventurer asks. I look the man up and down-young, hardly a man, but clearly well-travelled. "Are your intentions to come back?" I ask. "To see sights you've seen before again? Or to see lands unknown and that you can't describe?" "I...both?" the adventurer says, clearly confused. "I see," I say. "Then take the right path. I have never travelled the paths myself, but I have seen many that have. If you go down the right path, you will come back down the left." "So the paths are a loop," the adventurer says. "If that were true, then the opposite would be, too," I say. "And yet no one that goes down the left path returns here. No one comes back down the right path, but many come down the left, none that have started on that path, however." I look the adventurer up and down. "Perhaps the left leads to wonders untold. Perhaps it leads to certain death. No one has returned, so there is no advice I could give you there. You are young and agile, still. Maybe wait and see more sights and places before attempting that way. Go down the right, then go back the way you came, and in a few years, the left path will be less of a question and more of a need." "That...that doesn't make sense-what?" the adventurer asks. "Maybe it will, maybe it won't," I say. "It's mostly a question of how curious you are." I sigh, leaning against the sign post. "Now, if you don't mind? I'm tired and would like to return home." "Right..." the adventurer says, then walks down the right path. I watch him walk away for a few seconds before smiling and walking down the left. After all, you can only see my home from the left path, never from the back of the loop that you'd be on from the right.

You have lived all your life by the crossroads. People who take the right path eventually come walking back on the left path. People who walk on the left path never come back. Nobody ever comes from the right path. A young adventurer asks you for advice on which path to take.

*The "Hero" and the Clown* There is an explosion up ahead, one of the many that has been going on the past hour. A loose crowd has formed around the ensuing dilemma, in the middle stands Morpher. He's a loose cannon, likes to call himself a vigilante and stand up for what is "right." Funny that he says that while he has a hostage. I stroll into the crowd muttering hushed apologies to unobservant bystanders as I gently move to displace them. As the majority notice my presence however, the sea of people begins to part. I continue to walk forward, the sun gleaming off the comically oversized hammer resting on my shoulder. Morpher stands in the centre of the circle of people. In his hands he has the hostage: she is an older woman, doesn't look to be empowered. She appears to be frightened but not in any immediate danger. I raise my voice enough to be heard over the low murmors. "Morpher. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am however, going to have to politely ask that you drop the kind woman." He turns sneering to look at me. "I've sat here for an hour waiting for someone to show up and all I get is you. This is a joke, what if I had actually been intending to hurt the hostage." "Well, I would say that would be quite a problem. But I'm here now, would you let her go." He puts the woman down and she scurries off to the safety of the onlookers. "And after my wait all I get is you. What type of clown are you? A giant balloon; I can't believe my eyes." "It is actually hard-light nanotech," I add. "And it packs quite a punch." "Bullshit." "It's true." "Yet you made it pink." "Pink is in fashion." I add with a smile. I can feel it, a faint glimmer of belief somewhere in the crowd. "What's your name, clown?" I step towards the vigilante. "Impractean." He surges forward and covers the distance between us in the blink of an eye. I swing the balloon prop wide and feel the head of the hammer connect with his torso, it knocks him back slightly and throws his wild haymaker off course. He stands there bewildered for a moment before speaking. "What" - is all he manages get out before I'm on him. A short swing sending him sliding backwards and a follow up combo knocking him onto the asphalt. "This is ridiculous he groans. A balloon!" "Nano-tech." I correct him. "No it's not!" He yells and I see his body begin to contort. It takes on a greyish hue and converges on his arm. A blade-like appendage takes the place of his hand. There is a steady hum and pull from the crowd. An electric tension is emanating and I pull it into the balloon. He dashes up and darts the sword-arm at me. Piercing the semi-solid plastic of the weapon I raise to block the attack. I fall back dragging him with me and pressing a small capsule onto his chest. An onlooker shouts. "Did you see that! That guys sword just pierced the hammer, I thought it was nano-tech. I could feel the power diminishing as their faith faded. I rush towards Morpher and duck as he takes off a loose strand of my hair. I spin and pull the last vestiges of power from the more hopeful bystanders as I feel barely solid plastic collide with the capsule on the villain's chest. An explosion booms and sends me spinning through the air. There is a surge in tension and an invisible weight fills the area around me. "Holy shit. The hammer exploded." Someone says in disbelief. "I told you he wasn't lying, did you see that!" "He might actually be able to beat this guy if it can do that," another adds. I stifle a grin the grin spreading across my face as I feel corse power enter the balloon. Morpher stands up, his arm twitching. "I don't know what type of tricks you are pulling here clown, but they end now." "Tsk, tsk, Morph. I thought we were finally getting somewhere." I chide him. "Remember it is nano-tech, and it can do anything I dream of." I rip the hammer upwards and a concise explosions tears through the air. It catches him in the shoulders and knocks him off balance. I duck through a volley of mistimed blows and deliver another attack. It connects and sends him spiralling into the air. He lands to more booming swings and after that, the fight is over. They always said to fake it until you make it. *and I've made it.*

You must carry a comically large sized prop item when you get into a fight. Then you get to use the prop to perform whatever supernatural feats the bystanders THINK you can perform with your prop.

There is a place in some cities. Usually in countries that are quite poor, ruled by people with rather unpleasant views on the rights of men, and women in particular, or just led by plain idiots. These places have boxes where the unwanted children can be deposited. Children born because cruel idiots willingly ruin the lives of the innocent. Children born because they have a destiny, and thus no force in the universe can prevent their birth. Or just children that in better situations could be loved, but because of complex reasons outside the control of the common man, there won't be a place for them at the home of their parents. All these infants are taken into the warm, comfortable, soft box. And then someone on the other side takes them and gives them a chance at life. In some places, these boxes are run by charities, by religious organizations, or state-owned hospitals. But in some rare, out of the way, places, these boxes are run by us. We take in all manner of children, mortal, immortal, of mixed mortal-immortal parentage. And give them all the love we can. In the old days, this was simply something we did upon finding an abandoned babe in the woods. We took them in, raised them among our own children in our hallowed halls. But in ages past, the world changed and we had to make a deal; a powerful and important deal with powers that cannot easily be toppled, in order to remain attached to this reality. Now we take in all of those who cannot safely stay in the realm of the mortals. All of those who would be without home and life should they not be safely kept in our bright home; they are raised to live with us, and if they so desire, we can even upon their ascension to adulthood make them like us. Otherwise, we give them wealth, magic blessings, and a portal out of our pocket-reality. But they are of course always welcome to return and visit the hive, whenever they so desire. In the hive they are raised by us. We teach them the language of the Hive and of their home or kin. We teach them of our history and of theirs. Of the numbers, the medicines, the plants, the making of nutrients most pleasant, and of the care for the ill and the young. Many who leave our halls seem to find homes as nurses and caretakers in the realm of mortals. Here, fleshy humans play and learn alongside the moon-bonded Lupines, the unwanted mixling-whelps of the dwindling dragons find a place here as do such elves that are deemed unworthy by the capricious leaders of that race. And our children, the brood of our eggs, are enriched by such a diverse and fascinating group of friends. I pass through the Hall of Boxes, where the bright shining orange lights keep the unwanted spawn of the other-realms warm. Today there are but few active amongst them, and I have been sent to collect from one of them. I hum-buzz a calm-speaker song that was taught to me when I was but a small larvae, and it is such splendor in the tones that the infant inside the box gurgles happily. It does not fear the sight of me, though to its human eyes I must look quite the stranger. Picking up the warm thing, I look for any sign that the parents left something for them. It is a commonly seen practice, that some people leave a little note for the child, for when they come of age. A hasty explanation, an apology, or just a note assuring them that they wish them luck, and love. Besides the infant, wrapped in a silken shroud, there is nothing. It is an empty box. Hum-buzzing as I walk, I turn towards the nursery of the hive. There they go at first, when they are too small to think, or still eggs in need of hatching. When they can think and walk, they go to the schooling halls. But there will be many turnings of the golden wheels of time before the one I carry shall leave the place where I now walk. I pass by some of the drones, who seek to cleanse the boxes for the night. It must be done. And it is a job they do well. The walls of the nursery are adorned with many unusual colors. Years ago, one of our children, who ate the joining-honey and became of us in flesh and chitin, spoke eloquently about the importance of colors for the young. They remade the walls, floor, and ceiling with a furious energy, and made it the most vibrant part of our home. Personally, I like it, though many of us find that it can get distracting, and we sometimes have to remind the drones of their tasks, lest they spend all day guzzling food and staring at the intricate artwork. ''*Hatch-Director Ma-En-Tal. Last child for the night?*'' I nod at Jennifer. She has also accepted the joining-honey, but she prefers to use her chosen name, rather than the traditional hive designation. There is room for individualism, if it does not hinder the efforts of the hive to grow, or to become stronger. ''*Human male. Recently hatch-birthed. Dimensional box 62-TA. No observable geas, preordained destiny, or Doom placed upon the child. No personal items beside one silken shroud, colored purple, color hex code #66023C. I've sung the hum-buzzing to him, and I have listened well to the way the sound passed through his body; no health issues, though he might get hungry soon.*'' The young scribe-hiver nods, and writes down with joy the information. ''*Last one of the night?*'' I nod and flutter my wings with relief. It has been a long day. It will be good to sleep. But first, I walk into the nursery's feeding area. The human babe twists curiously, and perhaps it smells the special nutrient jelly that is prepared for such as him. Perhaps he simply wants what we cannot give, his blood parents. Whatever the case, he eats happily from the offered jelly. As he is fed by my work, my single-mind thoughts, those that are mine and mine alone, outside the Hive's collective, begin to wander. Long ago, when I was new at this task, merely a recently grown caretaker, I used to think of those who could have possibly left behind these infants. What manner of story would result in a dragon egg being left in the warm box. Why would the last spawn of the sirens be laid into one? Who had been so busy running, that they had had to place a demigod or a half-angel in there? This child is to me odd. It came from one of our least used boxes. One that opens to a land of plenty. A place where there should be every opportunity to keep a child for themselves. Who would leave a perfectly healthy baby in our care. We get more sickly children, who are not expected to survive. But in our care all illnesses can be cured. And thus, none who might have died in their worlds are ever lost here. The child is done, and fed well. The feeding leaves them tired always, and while hugging the small form close to the front of my thorax, I seek out an empty nest-crib. He needs rest, and so do I. Close to my cell in the honeycomb structure of our home, there I find a suitable resting place for the small human. Tomorrow, the nurses will name him, as we do to all those who we do not know the birthing-name of. But for now, this child will rest. And so will I. It is not a rule to place the children that you, yourself, have found close to your own sleeping-pod, but most of us who work with them tend to make sure that we are close to those that we ourselves have extracted from the boxes. I place the child down on soft warm cloth, and place upon his body a healthy and strong spider-silk duvet. The crib closes, and the child watches me through the sugar-spun glass, until his eyes close, and his breathing becomes the calm regular breaths of sleep. The crib is enchanted to warn us, should anything unusual happen, but it rarely, if ever does when they contain humans. My own sleeping-pod beckons, and I succumb easily to its kind embrace. As I sleep, I dream. We did not always do so, but the children did, and in dreaming here, in this place, the idea of dreaming seeped into the walls and the foundations. Now our kind dream, and even if we sometimes find it hard to deal with these many children of many worlds, the ability to dream is something worth all the trouble we've ever had a thousand times over and a thousand times stronger. It, second to the joy we feel upon seeing our outworld-children learn to love us as we love them, is the greatest gift we've received because of this specific deal.

in most poor places around the world there is a box in a wall named a 'Baby Hatch' for people and mythical creatures to put children in that they can't look after. once in the box the baby is taken to your realm where you raise and nature them. Now a queen stands before you, is she angry or not

One thing is certain. If had placed him in Slytherin… there would have been problems. Maybe big, world-spanning problems… maybe just “the minister of magic is a jerk” kind of problems… but problems. With some people you can just tell. With Tom Riddle, you could really tell. This kid was bad. Torturing kids in a sea-cave bad. Head full of snakes bad… potential heir of Slytherin bad. Now, I need to say this: I’ve been a hat for a really long time. I’ve seen everything there is to see inside of an eleven-year-old’s head. Sorting them into a house based on their personality at eleven is HARD. Bit of a knob? Slytherin? Not afraid of closet monsters? Gryffindor. Good at maths? Ravenclaw. Like food? Hufflepuff. Then, once they’re sorted they’re stuck there. The Ravenclaws get smarter, of course, because they’re surrounded by people fond of forming study groups. The Gryffindors get braver, because they’re rewarded for acting precociously. The Hufflepuffs mostly get fat, but if I’m being honest I envy them… they have the easiest go of any other house… low expectations all around. The Slytherins though… and we need to talk about them, because what I’ve done is deeply based upon what I know they are… The Slytherins are just a textbook example of why sorting people into groups based on their traits is a bad idea. They’re all mad. They all grew up being told they are superior…or feeling as though they were superior… to muggles. Most of them have heard that notion reenforced by parents or grandparents or aunts or uncles. And once they are in school and safely sorted into their ticking-bomb of a house, that’s all they hear from their friends and well. All while getting angrier, by the way, because even though they ALL agree they are fabulous, evidence to the contrary rears its head FREQUENTLY. No house cup for you, Slytherin. Gryffindor was braver. Ravenclaw was smarter, Hufflepuff chugged along as Hufflepuff does, and won the war by sheer consistency. No one likes you by the way. Mostly it comes to nothing. The kids grow up to replace the parents… younger versions of some old do-nothing member of some venerable wizarding family. Tom Riddle was different though. He could have pushed that carefully cultivated anger and that sense of superiority to new heights. He could have been a dark lord. (Or a really bad minister of magic… Have I mentioned that this is hard?) He could even have been the heir of Slytherin. Yes that Slytherin. One of my four parents. Snake-dad. I’ve actually averted several heirs of Slytherin over the years… people who checked all the genetic and attitude related boxes… and on that note, we come to the point of my story. Tom Riddle was unequivocally a Slytherin. Everything in his head screamed of me to put him into that house. He was even a Parseltongue. I did not. Judge me all you like. I’m a bad, bad sorting hat. But, oh. It would have gone the way it always goes. “You’re special, Tom.” “You’re better, Tom!” “You deserve more, Tom!” All ideas that Tom had anyways. Trust me. Special Tom would have underperformed in herbology, though… Danika Swick of Hufflepuff would take top marks. Better Tom would not be as good on a broom as Charles Zair of Ravenclaw. A half-blood. Deserving Tom would interpret all of this the way that most Slytherins do… as a massive injustice that took place through no fault of his own.

In an alternate timeline, the Sorting Hat attempts to prevent Tom Riddle’s fall by putting him into…

I looked to see what had just happened. For surely twenty seconds ago I was at home recovering from breaking my leg two months ago, and now was currently in a throne room with- *Her* Unfortunately I fell flat on my face. Broken leg remember? Although it was graciously kind of them to help me back up. This gave me another moment to look at *her.* She was gorgeous, just like in real life. Her flaming auburn hair curly wavy hair so impressive, style so gracefully, and so long it almost touches the floor. Her lips were cherry red, her eyes of emerald green, with her fair skin. I couldn't stop my heart from beating, it was too much- "Thou doeth know we can hear thy?" She asked peering over at me. I immediately fell onto the floor again and blacked out. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I awoke in a room much fancier than expected. As I looked around the room I realized how lavish the room was dressed. Gold floorings met with gold walls met with Gold ceilings, with a centerpiece of a grand chandelier and detailed mural painting the accomplishments of the Queen. It took me every fiber of my being not to pass out now. Even more when I realized her Majesty was right besides me that I- "I command you to stop." She stated, slanting her eyes towards me. It made me want to faint again at just the sight- "Seriously, I said stop." She commanded as she leaned over me. I gulped "Wait, what happened to your- you know- Thy, thou, Lady?" She looked at me confused. "I've always been able to speak like this, just sometimes thou, thy, and doeth pops up from time to time. It is truly random." *So* *it's* *because* *of* *my* *own* *laziness,* *got* *it* "God, if I may so ask, who is this Jenny you call out too?" "Oh!" I slumped back uncomfortably "Jenny.... Yeah. Let's call her an unrequited crush." The queen covered her mouth "Your first love?" I looked over at her. "Sorta, she's not interested in me anyway. She wouldn't be anyway considering she's straight, but even then she's in a relationship and I don't want to get into the middle of that!" I sighed. "Actually broke me leg because of her-" The queen quickly rose to her feet "She dared harm you?!?!" "NOO!!!" I shouted springing up. "Oh God no- Just got distracted looking at her and walked right into a fire hydrant..... You probably have no idea what that is...." "I do not God." She shook her head. "Aah, could you, stop with the god thing please?" I jumped up. "I'm not a god." "Can we all hear your voice even without speaking?" "Yes....." "Did you come from another plane of existence?" "Yes....." She stared directly at my this time, it made my face swell up. However she quickly backed away upon hearing my thoughts project that. Gosh she's too darn pretty for her own good- "Ahem.." She stared at me for a long time, her gaze not starting from anything other than me. "Finally, did you create this world?" "Yes......" "Then you are God!" She stated as a matter of fact. "Noooooooooooooooo!!!" I cried. "I'm not a god! How would you even make that assumption?!" "Because of the book you had in your hand when you arrived." I paused, giving her control to take over. "I must admit, it was quite detailed into the happenings of our world. Although I was quite flattered with the pages you have written of me." She smirked, causing my cheeks to blush red. I made her too powerful. "It is that power that I'm thankful for, my Goddess." *Crap.* "Can I just, I don't know... Try something with the book?" She quickly handed it to me. "If this book controls what happens in this world what if I just write ...." As I looked around the room her majesty gazed at me quite confusingly. Although I had to avoid her stare unless I wanted to kill myself. We simply did this for a short while, her staring at me, and me staring away. This gave me a chance for my heart to stop beating, and for me to regain my composure. "God? Did you stop me from hearing your force?" She pouted. "I stopped everyone from hearing my thoughts yes..." She sighed "that is fair.... My God may I request something from you?" I smiled "Anything you want from me I'll deliver. Unless it's senseless massacre on innocent civilians." "Marry me!" "........ Pardon?" She gulped before raising from my side to kneeling before me. "I Queen Jolene, Emily, Azure of Cryptopia, ask for the hand of marriage between that of our Goddess-" she paused. "Do you have a name?" "It's Katie.... Katie Greene...." I whispered. "Our Goddess Katie Greene!" She boomed. "Into my heart in the hands of marriage, for the rest of our lives, for me to cherish her, rely on her, put her before anything else even my own Kingdom, and for her to never know a day of pain so long as I am here. Katie Greene, who's face is as lovely and fair as gentle snow, eyes as big as does, and heart I seek to conquer. May I dare ask for your hand to stand beside me, and rule my kingdom with me, and all my love I can offer?" I was taken aback, I had to think of some excuse. I couldn't accept someone like Queen Jolene as a partner! She was the perfect ruler, I was set on creating her the perfect equal, it certainly wasn't me! "What about your kingdom's heir?!" I shouted. "If you can write anything in that book, and it comes true. You can simply write us a child if you are willing. If not I can adopt one of my vassals children to take over the throne." "What about ties to other countries?!" "I dare not think anyone would attack our Kingdom with God actively being on the throne. I argue it will strengthen our alliances, and force our future enemies to surrender." "What about-" Jolene stopped me pressing her finger against my lip. "My Goddess, will you accept me to be your wife?" "Yes. Yes, I do." I started crying causing Jolene to laugh hugging me tight as all I could do was cry. And they truly did live happily ever after, according to *me.*

You are a Queen of a powerful kingdom and you demanded a sorcerer to summon a powerful and wise king or partner to lead the kingdom against an invincible enemy. The sorcerer did summoned someone, but it is an injured woman wearing a bizarre outfit and holding a book and a pen.

Dear Diary, Today I told Bobby from math class that I like *liked* him, and then I ate his brain. It was a little scary at first but it was just so tasty I couldn't stop. But diary I'm definitely, positively, super not a zombie! Here's why: 1) Zombies are gross and I'm a princess. 2) I'm not all slow and shambly like a zombie: I'm super quick and just getting faster! Yesterday I even outran Mr. Sparklehorn, and he's a unicorn. He seemed really mad that I caught him though and kept trying to throw me off, the silly goose. 3) I'm a picky eater. Everyone knows that zombies chow down on whatever if they can't get brains. Not me! I like brains only, and the smarter the better! 4) Daddy says that all girls go through changes when they hit puberty and that its totally normal. Zombies aren't normal, so I can't be a zombie, so there! \*sticks out tongue\* 5) Zombies just get all moldy and nasty and have bones poking out. All I've gotten are these super cute tentacles that can come out of my mouth! They're all tickly and friendly and pink, and they let me get a super good grip on heads. 6) When I just take a nibble instead of a big bite, my friends don't turn into zombies or get like me. They just get a big smile on their faces and want to play any game I want! I love making myself new friends. <3 Thats all I have time to write tonight Diary! I have to go to a sleepover!

Reasons I'm almost definitely not a zombie. #1...

As the smoke in the canyon cleared, Teth could make out the figure of Adam, still standing. He was… completely unharmed. Teth’s knees buckled. They had thrown everything they had at him. The combined magickal might of the Hundred Companions had succeeded only in pushing Adam backwards a few feet. Adam brushed some dust off his armor and spoke, his voice magickally enhanced so all the Companions could hear him. “Honestly, Eldric,” he boomed, speaking the name of the Companions’ Commander. Adam sounded… regretful. Almost like a disappointed father. “You knew these insects couldn’t harm me, yet you’ve sent them to me anyway, to die in vain at the foot of a foe they *never* had a chance against.” Adam’s broad shoulders sagged. “I will allow them to flee now, if they so choose. I would not murder a man who means me no harm. But if they stay, then I will kill them all.” Teth himself wanted nothing more than to run, to run as far away from this monster as he could. He wanted to hide, to curl up into a ball like a dog in a thunderstorm. For Adam to have survived the assault they had just unleashed on him… would require *unimaginable* power. Teth was scared shitless, if he was being honest. But then he felt the presence of his Companions beside him and behind him, shoulder to shoulder. Not one of them budged, and neither did Teth. “It’s ironic,” Commander Eldric said to Adam. “That you have lived for so long, yet you still don’t understand us. “You claim to be the First Man, but the truth is, you lost your humanity long ago.” “So they wish to die with ‘honor’.” Adam sneered. Bolts of lightning began to crackle and snake around his body. Then it suddenly felt as though something *big* had entered the canyon where the Companions faced off against Adam. There was suddenly a *pressure,* so oppressive that Teth could barely find the strength to lift his sword. The Commander stepped forward, toward Adam, and suddenly that dreadful pressure was gone. The Commander had his hand raised toward the Companions, and Teth knew that he had raised a magick barrier. “No!” he yelled, pounding on the invisible wall that suddenly separated him and his brothers from Commander Eldric. “This isn’t the time for heroics you bastard,” he shouted at Eldric, rage and worry overwhelming military protocol. Eldric looked back over his shoulder, locked eyes with Teth, and smiled. The bastard *smiled!* “NO!” Teth yelled again. The Commander raised his sword and shield as Adam came for him. The First Man wielded no weapons—he didn’t need them. Adam was on Eldric in less than a second, hurtling across a hundred yards in the blink of an eye. With one punch he shattered Eldric’s shield, both the magick enchantment and the wood itself splintering under the force of Adam’s strike. In response Eldric scored a strike on Adam’s chest with his sword, tearing an ugly gash across Adam’s shimmering breastplate. But then Adam *grabbed* Eldric’s sword on the backswing. He gripped the blade itself with his bare hand, and with his other arm he backhanded Eldric across the face, sending him flying across the canyon floor and ripping the sword from his hand. Eldric bounced across the stony ground like a child’s toy, but he rose again, his armor having saved him. It was for naught, though. Just as Eldric rose to his feet, Adam was on him again, looming over him. Adam’s bulky nine-foot frame made six-foot-six Eldric look like a child. Before Eldric could do anything at all, Adam buried Eldric’s own sword into his chest. The blade pierced through armor, flesh, and armor again as it emerged from Eldric’s back. Adam lifted him off the ground by his own sword, blood spattering across the canyon floor. Eldric reached for Adam, still not giving up, but the Commander’s hands quickly lost their strength as his life leaked away. Adam growled as he twisted the blade, then threw it aside, Eldric’s corpse still impaled. The ‘fight’ lasted less than thirty seconds. The legendary Commander of the Hundred Companions had no meaningful last words. He just lay there, glassy eyes locked toward the heavens, flies already starting to gnaw at him. At what *was* him. —PART ONE, Possivly to be continued—

The heroes death was the keystone to winning the war. The team they assembled was suddenly driven by more than just friendship. Grief, anger, and despair pushed them past limits they didn’t know existed.

"NO! No, no, nonono." Zestan stood from her seat, circled the table three, times, then sat back down after circling her chair. "No. That's not it at all. You have got to get this right. It's very important." The entire team was amused with the antics, but none of them pleased with the outburst, which they watched with varying levels of controlled silence. Some jiggled with amusement. Some let their minds take a back seat to the words as they contemplated how to go about this job. Some leaned in for an argument - most of the leaning were glances stolen between the circling idiot who wanted to tell them how to do their job and their boss, who took great pride in his work, and had little patience for being told how to do it. "Right." Jole nodded. "Let me start from the top, and you stop me where I get this messed up." Patronizing. That was the tone he decided to take for the wisp of a girl who circled things in eccentric fits. Some of the team shifted uncomfortably. Patronizing usually meant he was ready to drop the client, and she'd already shown the gold she was willing to spend for this quest. And promised a piece of the hoard, too. "There's a little ol' mountain with a chimney at the top where, says the townsfolk, a couple of mighty naughty creatures live. Nothin' spectacular. Meddling fairies and misguiding will o'wisps, reports of more than kind of dragon..." He counted these three things off as if they were nothing, though most were afraid to mention these creatures aloud for fear of conjuring them. But the girl nodded along as if he was naming some of the nicer fauna. Jole couldn't decide whether to be more upset by this or curious. He slammed down his fist for effect. "Confirmed accounts of a phoenix, and of harpies. But a nice little trail going up the way you want, little ol' grannies haven't got a complaint, but that knight from next town over hasn't been heard of in months. Setting's right, don't need to stop me there?" "Close enough." Zestan waved her hand as if the details were gnats. "You want us to go up the Granny-Safe trail. Find the fabled river top with the supposed volcanic dragon---" He paused, because Zestran rolled her eyes and huffed as if he was a halfwit parent trying to explain what the cool teenagers did these days. But she waved her hand again at his questioning eyebrow. "---get to the hoard. Get some of that hoard. And bring it back down here." "Yes, yes. Close enough, I guess. But the actual work." "Oh, yeah, I forgot the detail where you wanted to come with us. Have you ever climbed a puffing volcano so tall it's got snow on it most the year?" "You think I haven't been up Granny Safe trail?" Zestan puffed herself up as if Jole had just insulted her own granny. "I know it like I know my own thrown off scal--er---skirts. I know the river's end beyond the trail, and you don't have to worry about the harpies there or anyone else." "Oh, I suppose they're friendly with you." Tafta, a woman who'd gotten her way into the mercenary group with an upfront payment and demand to join, leaned in with jealous eyes, and a hand of reminder on Jole's thigh. "I suppose you've fought a dragon for it's---" "THERE! Stop there! You're not fighting. You're keeping it from others. Yeah, you'll get to take some of the hoard down, and maybe, most certainly, there will be guys to fight, but you'll have time to plan, and set traps, and stuff." Much to Tafta's ire, Jole hadn't taken eyes off Zestan. Worse, he flicked at her hand in a silent demand she back down. He still didn't look away, but now squeezed one of her fingers. A quiet warning to fall back. "Bera, how long have you known our client was the dragon?" "An eyeblink or four in. Oh, don't look so embarrassed! I grew up next to a halfling, I know your kind." Zestan stood again, started to circle the table--- a sign of protectiveness for an area from a dragon--- thought better of it and just circled her own chair. Her face was all shades of red, and she blew into her warm mug as a form of self-soothing. They could now see that the steam was not necessarily coming from the hot drink. "You did well, you're doing well, trying to blend in with us humans." Bera assured again. "I'll give you some tips for free, if you'll promise not to forsake us for something or run off without paying." Zestan nodded for several moments too long as she composed herself again. "There's been so many this year. Then I heard you were in town, and I was afraid someone else was going to hire you, so I thought I'd do it first." "So, are you friendly with the harpies and---whoever else dwells up there?" Tafta's question was now filled with wonder without accusation. "Until my brother divorced them, so they conspired with the wisps to lead everyone to my lair hoping to smoke him out----" Zestan gave a weary sigh, "But, anyway, they can't actively hurt me or anyone under my protection. It's an unbreakable pact. I just need help securing the place. And maybe some tips from guys on the other side?" Jole puffed out his cheeks, all signs of patronization gone. He now looked more likely to turn it down for other reasons. "We might need the night to discuss this, and a proper oath to go alongside." Zestan shook her head. "I've got an hour to return." "Then we'll see you back here in fifty minutes." "Yeah, okay. Keep that gold whatever you choose. I don't want the harpies to figure out I'm the one who figured out how to take the bait from their traps." Zestan smiled a bit, "I could show you how, if you come." "Ah." Jole's eyes lit up. She did have some interesting ways to reward the risk, didn't she?

A Dragon hires a Company of Mercenaries to protect his Hoard from Adventurers.

The winged git was in his classic form: a sphere of light surrounded by eye-covered rings that turned and twisted about the central blinding ball. All of this was kept afloat in the air by three wings that did not flap and instead turned slowly about the creature — the wings were made of feathered light (and more eye-balls) and were mounted somewhere behind the hovering, ocular-orbited, over-bright orb. Me? Think: handsome guy in a suit. Pick your man-crush and make him dapper (ie: plop that hunk in a good suit), wrap a pair of dark shades over his eyes and add a little stubble if he doesn’t have some already. Got the image? Yo. It’sa me, man-crush. Wanna fu— “I need your help, demon.” The Angels voice echoed about the empty valley and bounced around the rocks and trees and rattled my damned rum-addled demonic head. I pinched the bridge of my nose and crushed my vision with a brow-crushed clench. Hopefully it would stop my brain from bouncing around my skull. “Could you use your inside the realm of mortals voice, please?” “Oh, sor—” “And form. You look like a mess and it’s making me dizzy.” The eyes on the rings and wings closed, and then the golden hoops merged and floated to the top of the orb as the light at the Angels center stretched and unfolded into a sleak and still shinning humanoid form. The wings wrapped the angels body as he descended and landed before me... barefooted but clad in a white-suit that had been pressed into impeccable and indestructible crispness. The angels skin was a radiant golden shade, as though a mortals olive skin had been gilt from within. White hair spiralled from the creatures head and fell about at shoulder length, the chaos and order of waves and waterfalls came to my mind. *Her* face holds a pair of worried eyes the shade of a glorious and golden autumn afternoon. A pretty pair of lips are pressed into a pout, puckered by whatever sour source had sent her seeking and summoning a demon. “Demon?” A question on her lips, though worry remained welded to her miraculous mug. “Hm?” “You were whispering ‘hummena-hummena-hummena’ under your breath.” “Ah. No, I just said ‘Hm’.” “Before that, though. Is. Was it a warding incantation? To protect yourself?” “Nah.” I scratched my chin, yawned and made a show of my hunkier stretches and flexes. Surreptitiously, of course. “Just a song stuck in my head, friend. Also, protect myself? From what?” “I...I could smite you with His holy light, Demon.” “Sure you could, kitten.” The sky was blue and cloudless, but that didn’t make the lightning bolt that had blasted me hurt any less. I was flat on my back and she hadn’t moved. Pain throbbed from my every atom and my suit smoked. “Point taken.” Inspired by my charcoaled clothing, I pulled a packet of cigarettes out of my smouldering smoking jacket, shook a stick into my lips and then lit it with a snap of my fingers. “So,” I took a drag and exhaled: “what’s the job, Kit—” Thunder rolled in the distant empty sky. I like a bit of a frisky slap as much as the next guy, but I’ll take the hint. “What’s the job...Angel?” “You may call me Saliestra, Demon.” “Kilbern, Sally.” “Saliestra, *Demon*.” She leaned over and I saw her wonderful face had not changed its worried woeful expression. Zapping me had been as simple and natural as brushing away a pesky horse fly. She’d been taught not to give us demons an inch... Rather rightly, I must admit. But, she’d probably been told not to summon us...and yet... “The job is this. I need you to get me into and then back out of Hell.” “Sightseeing?” I said, still on the ground, with a smouldering smirk as my suit jacket continued to smoulder from the smiting I had received. She was still looking down at me, but rarely met my eyes. “Not sightseeing. A...a Rescue.” “Unseen?” “I hope so.” “How deep?” “...” The Angel stood upright and looked away as a manicured hand lifted and began to tug at her bottom lip. “Mmfph mphl.” “Pardon?” I sat up. She had started to pace and was even more beautiful when worked up. If she ever smiles I’m going to be smitten and smotten. Saliestra showed me her wingless back, clenched her fists and lowered her head. I heard a softly muttered mantra of self assurance and then *wham*! She turned, chin up and eyes wide, a creature of confidence...one that was also scared as hell: “Ninth level.” “Fuck off.” “What?” “Smite me. Send me back. Don’t care. You get a pot of gold, ‘cause I *will not* make that deal. Fuck. Off.” “But-but-but-but-” “Getting an *Angel* down *there* and then back *out*! Unseen? Clandestine styles? No chance in my home town, Saliestra. Way-way-*way* outside my paygrade. Peace.” I stood brushed my knees off and subtly showed her my fine-toned arse as I brushed away any stuck grass. I turned back to her, no longer singed and back to full handsome. Jaw a little bigger. “Look. I’m sorry. Level three, maybe —maybe— four...I could possibly do *that*. But, nine? Nine! You’ll need someone higher up the food chain or lower down the shithead shaft.” “If I go for a more powerful demon, this will leak and become a much bigger problem—” “Look, you seem like a nice enough entity. I won’t sugar coat it. Hell is *hell*. Would *not* recommend. This coming from a guy who works there and has benefits. This...rescue mission...we would both end up up to our necks in an eternity of damnation the likes of which—” “I’ll sign any contract you offer.” “Cool, you got a pen?”

"I need your help," the Angel pleas with you. You're quite surprised, as angels generally don't summon demons.

Those who say alcoholism is selfish really didn't know how selfless it was for me to stay drunk out of my fucking mind. The drinking made everything just a little too slow. Thoughts would trot instead of racing, memories would stumble gently upon my brain instead of hitting it full-force. Everything was a bit dim; and when all the thoughts your brain throws at you are incandescent, you learn to enjoy the dimness. Not the quiet—there hasn't been quiet in a long time—but the dimness. Life had the glow of a camera film left in the sun, overexposed and blinding. Like glaring straight into a volcano. My so-called "bad habits" made it a bit more tolerable. It was by no means a perfect method, but it's what worked. Like walking in the rain with a half-broken umbrella. The media salivated at my drinking. "World's strongest man finds solace at the bottom of a bottle" *is* a really catchy headline. My teammates, though, were less enthused by it. "You're literally unkillable, Worldslayer," Thunderlord would say. "Why do you drink so much?" "You can shatter countries with a punch," Vigilance cried out. "Yet you can't put the drink down for one moment?" I'd tell them I could quit at any time. They didn't buy it. And in hindsight, I can't really blame them. Malice was the only one that understood. She knew what it was like. She'd drink the first two drinks for fun, the next two out of social duties, and the next 20 just to drown out her voices. That was her superpower. She had these voices just warning her of every danger, every disaster, every incoming punch. The drinking made it worse. She was a paranoid drunk, and the voices would go into overdrive right after drink five or six. Drinks seven and onwards used to be just to calm her down. She tried to quit, but it wasn't that simple. She had too much pain behind the curtains, and the voices that saved her wouldn't let her forget it. Lately, she'd been feeling the voices slip away from her. On one hand, she liked the quiet. But that quiet also meant she didn't think she had a place—not in the team, not in the world. So she'd just keep drinking and drinking. Just so the voices would stay with her. I can't say I was truly surprised when she passed, but that really didn't make it hurt any less. One of the voices was just a little bit too late to warn her of a bullet going her way. She tried to dodge, but by the time she realized what was going on, the bullet was already lodged in her heart. It was the work of a paramilitary organization, a ultranationalist network somewhere in the Balkans. I quit drinking cold turkey before she was even buried. Wine to water. Drinking reminded me of Malice, and that made the dim pain just as irradiating and incandescent as everything else. I vowed to take revenge for her. Thunderlord though it was a grand gesture. Midas thought I was joking. But now that the booze isn't flowing, the anger is taking its place. After all, you can't be Worldslayer if there is nothing to slay. [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/zx7kqk/wp_as_the_most_powerful_superhero_on_the_team_no/j21gmjz/)

As the most powerful superhero on the team, no one believed you when you said you could quit the drugs, alcohol, and tobacco whenever you wanted. When the only friend you have on the team died on a mission, you sobered up for the first time in years. Now people will learn why you stay drunk.

The House is what they call it. I know it as The Mess. The Noise. The Mayhem. Was a time when these parts were calm and fruitful. Young fella might make a space for himself, get allowed on the couch, free roam of the yard and all the toys were his. There was a time. Nowadays The House is crowded and over populated. Noisy gangs have taken up shop and made their own messes and marks. Used to be be that I could do it all alone — keep the squirrels off the fence, put the mail man in his place, clean the crumbs off the carpet...find the best times to throw up in the middle of the night. Then...wham. I got old. And *they* came. No way a hound of eight years can get it all done anymore. This was going to be my last big case, then: retirement. Spending my days on my electric blanket. Afternoon walks. And I’d sleep and fart under the desk in Man’s cave to my hearts content. One. Last. Case. And as I walked on to the scene, I knew it would be a doozy. Custom Kitchen had been clean once, a bright part of town where almost every night new smells bubbled out of every pot. Now-a-days...chicken nuggets. That’s all the Little’s Gang wanted. Man and Lady had tried, but they were out numbered and out-youthed. Little bastards had the benefit of inexperience and endless energy on their side. The victim's body was shattered on the floor. Pieces of Turtle Jar were everywhere, but there was shell enough for me to identify him. None of his cookies, though. Murder *and* robbery. I put my nose to the floor and find the old snout picks up...a faint mess of...there’s...socks? Aw, hell. The old girl ain’t what she used to be. Them damn diapers done me in. Damned stink-butt Little’s. Let’s think. Four suspects. Biggun is out off to wherever makes him smell of other Little’s and paint. Big-gal, too. Snotty is home, but he's napping. Grub? He’s strapped to Lady. That could be a ruse, though. The Little Gang pull that one a lot. Latest Grub getting all Lady’s love and pets and treats and then Wham! They’re on all fours and biting your tail. Little Bast—wait. Fifth suspect. The phantom. Hissbert. Sneaky, scaredy, black as night, burglar. And worse...cat. “Where are you hiding, cat!” “Get stuffed, coppa!” Said a voice from atop the cabinets. “I ain’t done nuffin!”

Who stole the cookies from the cookie jar?

Jarrod sat at a polished oaken table, the warm glow of the bulbs that occupied various ornate light fixtures reflected in its lacquer polish. In front of him was a single plate, silver and ornate, with a simple spam sandwich placed in the middle. The choice of food seemed out of place among the refined and understated taste of the rest of the room. ​ Leaning forward slightly, Jarrod took another bite. *Good,* he noted. Despite the feeling that the kitchen staff were likely unfamiliar with his particular choice of meal, it was delicious. Some small part of him found that vaguely annoying. That people with so much could take something like that, something that he felt belonged to people like him, and improve upon it. Make it something better. He took another large bite and left the remaining half of the humble sandwich atop the shining plate. ​ Part of him felt that he should be scared. Surely, anyone would be scared. Yet despite willing his heart to race, he couldn't shake the sense of calm. Perhaps the calmest he'd been in years. ​ The dark door at the end of the room gently swung open, and the face Ms. Kesner pushed through the now open portal. "Jarrod, need anything?" she asked. ​ She was a beautiful woman. Her auburn her fell lazily around her shoulders. Its brown and red shades complimented her stormy hazel eyes, further accented by her simultaneously simple yet elegant grey dress. All of this was starkly in contrast to Jarrod's own meager appearance. ​ Jarrod knew beauty like that. Beauty that you might mistake as a casual sort of accident at first. It wasn't brought about by shades of expensive satin or gaudy makeup. There was not any overt display of wealth. Yet, most often that kind of calculated simplicity was brought about by those who'd spent their entire life perfecting the art - wolves in the clothing of sheep. ​ "Some water, maybe?" Jarrod replied. Despite their best efforts to spruce the sandwich up, you couldn't get all the salt out of spam. ​ Ms. Kesner raised an eyebrow and cast a disarming smile. "Water? Are you sure? You know you can anything you'd like. If you can dream it, we can arrange it." ​ *Worried I have cold feet, then?* he thought. ​ "No, thanks. Water is fine." ​ The woman nodded and exited as gracefully as she'd arrived, the door closing silently on well greased hinges. *What am I trying to prove?* Jarrod pondered. Part of him wanted to ask for top shelf whiskey. Part of him wanted to taste wine more expensive than a car's down payment. Yet his being refused to do so. He'd leave the way he lived. Simple. He wouldn't give in to the luxuries denied to him for so long. He wouldn't surrender now - he couldn't. Not after so long. ​ In the soft glow of the room, Jarrod wondered what other men and women must've felt like in his spot. Some had undoubtedly panicked. Felt the constricting darkness of death creeping in from the edges of the peripheral vision, and squirmed at its midnight touches. Of course, they could leave anytime as long as they pledged to pay back whatever items they had consumed. This was, after all, a voluntary action. ​ It hadn't always been. They'd started with prisoners. Of course once the general populace caught wind of this, the bleeding hearts of the world had gone into an uproar. They'd dared to ask the question 'what is the worth of a human life?' Ironically, Jarrod knew that was probably the wrong question to ask. The answer, though most with a lesser understanding of the will of men would protest, was that many lives aren't worth the husk they were imprinted upon. A week's worth of power for a city? Shit, it was a bargain. ​ He was stirred from his bout of contemplation by Ms. Kesner returning, a crystal glass of ice water clinking softly in her hand as she strode forward into the room. She deposited the glass neatly in front of him and turned sharply on her heel to leave. ​ "Wait," Jarrod spoke. ​ She paused, turning back towards him. "Yes?" ​ "How much longer?" he asked. ​ She delicately turned her wrist and inspected the shining watch which adjourned it. "About 5 minutes, now." Her features grew ever so slightly concerned. "Are you still looking to move forward with this?" ​ Jarrod let out a soft chuckle. *Of course that's her concern.* ​ "Yeah - yeah, don't worry about that." ​ Though she tried not to make it obvious, a bit of tension left her shoulders as she heard his response. ​ "Will you sit with me?" Jarrod asked. ​ The easy practiced smile which had danced across her features earlier returned, and she flashed a white smile. "Of course," she spoke as she moved to pull one of artfully crafted wooden chairs back from the table. ​ She settled in, running a hand through her hair and removing a few stray auburn wisps which had fallen lightly across her forehead. "So... are you ready?" she asked in a soft tone. ​ Jarrod took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess. Hell, I have been for a long time." ​ She pursed her lips and offered a sympathetic look. As he had wondered about the feelings of those before, he wondered how many times this woman had offered that exact look to those which had sat in this room. ​ A few moments went by in the resulting silence. ​ "Do you all feel good about this?" Jarrod began again, "About what it is you do here?" ​ As soon as he spoke he regretted it slightly. It's not like this woman in particular was to blame for the way the world had turned out - how his world had turned out. ​ "Frankly, yes." She didn't offer a sympathetic look at this. In fact, a thoughtful certainty crossed her features.

Humans discover that death is a powerful source of energy thanks to the splitting of the bond between soul and body. Soul Fission becomes a lucrative business

Magic is the foundation of all of creation. In the beginning there was just magic. The universe was created through magic expressing itself. Magic is more than just a power, it is alive, it has will and it has a purpose. Everything in creation, every creature no matter how small has magic in it. Every material, mineral, every substance is made from woven magic…. It is the very fabric of our reality. Over the millennia, we have learned how to bend and shape the magic around us. Use the magic inherent in us to reach out to the magic in other things and people and shape the magic there. If you have the skill and a strong enough will, you can reshape a small portion of reality using magic. Most people can do small magics like lighting a candle, boiling a pot of water, and talking to animals. What some one can do without training varies and is shaped by personality and strength of their will. People of means go to schools of magic to learn particular skills. It can take years, sometimes even a decade to learn specialized skills like being a healer, or an earth shaper. Specialized magical skills are in high demand and pay well. ———————— We had been travelling for as long as I could remember. Our covered wagon was our home and our business. We went from village to village, town to town selling and fixing things made of tin, we were Tinners. Some people called us tin smiths or pot makers or potters but we liked to be called Tinners. Mom and Dad could shape tin into almost anything. They would take a piece of tin and then picture what they wanted in their minds, and then *ask* the tin to take that shape. It was as simple as that, they said. I couldn’t do it. I have been trying since I was a baby. I couldn’t shape tin. I couldn’t light a fire. I couldn’t even feel for where my parents were. It was like the magic of the universe had forsaken me. We rolled into a medium sized village, it might have been even big enough to call a small town, at dusk. We headed for the centre of town. I loved town squares. All of the other travellers, like us, gathered in the town squares. They were always an ever shifting market of wares and skills. Dad drove the wagon best. It took a great deal of skill to push the wagon along a road, even more skill to park it precisely in the square without bumping into people and other wagons. Mom would push the wagon along on the open roads but Dad always pushed it in the villages and towns. We were parked between an exotic fruit vendor and rug vendor. Both looked like they had been here for a while. That was a good sign, meant business was good enough that it wasn’t worth moving on to the next village. Hopefully this town needs lots of pots and pans and we could stay a while. “I am going to check out the rest of the square!”, I hollered as I jumped off of the wagon. Mom and Dad gave a half hearted “be good” and “stay out of trouble” as I left. They were already busy setting up our stall. We would set out a table of wares and a canopy of bright orange cloth from the wagon to the front of the table. They would be busy for at least two hours and setting up was so boring. There was a blanket vendor, a sweet meats vendor, a silver smith, a candy vendor, a booth that did puppet shows and a fortune teller. I had never seen a fortune teller before. It was a rare magic to be able to read the fabric of creation to see what the magic’s purpose for you is. To see what the magic had in store for you. They say that fortune tellers often went mad from trying to read the Devine. Fortune tellers were always women… something about being a favoured of destiny or closer to the magic than a man. My head was starting to hurt. It was an odd pressure at the back of my head that throbbed with the beat of my heart. I wandered back to our wagon. Mom and Dad had it all setup. There was even a customer haggling over a large pot with Mom when I got there. “Hey kiddo. See anything cool?”, Dad asked me. “A candy vendor and a fortune teller!”, I said excitedly. “A fortune teller? We have never run into one. Might have to check her out.”, Dad said with a smile. Mom finished her sale and pocketed the money. “A fortune teller! That is exciting. Wouldn’t have thought this a big enough town to have a fortune teller.”, she said, “That was a tough sale. She was a hell of a haggler.”, Mom said. A bell rang out and everyone stopped what there were doing and started walking to the edge of the square. “What’s going on?”, Dad said as we all wondered the same thing. We quickly covered our table of wares and joined the crowd. There was a small stage setup that everyone seemed to be gathering around. Everyone was eerily silent. No one fidgeted or coughed or sneezed. They just all stood there. A tall man, dressed in a black suit walked on to the stage. He looked around and then set a bucket at the end of the stage. “Everyone!”, he said with a magically enhanced voice, “put a copper coin into the bucket!”. The pressure in my head became a sharp pain and then retreated into a dull throb again.

Magic is something everyone has. So when a very mundane girl shows up in town, people start asking questions.

It felt wrong to venture into a dangerous area without armor, but Sir Leon needed stealth on his side. Wearing his heavy plate would announce his presence to both the dragon and the captured princess. And that would lead to blood being shed. Most likely his own. The cave was dark, but that was to be expected. Dragons had little use of light, and Sir Leon had trained to be able to work in dark places. He knew it would get brighter soon anyway. Sure enough, the cave entry opened and brightened. He poked his head out from around a corner and saw the dragon's lair. It looked more like a fine inn than a monster's home. The floor was polished and smooth, and fine rugs adorned the stone. High class furniture decorated the space, with artwork that would be the envy if any noble's collection filled the place. The aroma of fine perfumes wafted gently through the air, and faint music could be heard from an unseen source. Probably one of the many magical stones that dotted the walls. Reclining on a couch was what had to be the most beautiful woman Sir Leon had ever seen. She had a tall and elegant figure clad in a dress that looked to be made of red scales. Her flame red hair hung freely down her slender shoulders, and she was tending to well manicured fingernails. Sir Leon knew who it was immediately. And he knew she was the one he had come to rescue. A quick glance around the room told him she was alone. No sign of the monster lurking in the lair. Part of him wanted to observe more. To be sure he would not be discovered. But the need to complete his task quickly was greater. He rushed out, running as quickly and quietly as he could towards the woman. She noticed him soon and stood, preparing to say something. Sir Leon grabbed her arm before she could utter a single word. She yelped in surprise as he pulled her towards the entrance. She had obviously been surprised by his actions and ran after him by pure reflex. He did not care about why she followed, only that she did. He ran. She followed. And soon, they left the cave. Yet, he still ran. Only now she was much less willing to follow. "Well, sir knight, this was a fun little jaunt, but I'm afraid you've made a rather embarrassing mistake." "I've made no mistake, I assure you." "Oh? Now, I understand what you intended. A beautiful woman in a dragon's lair, of course you thought you were rescuing Princess Alde. But, well, I'm sorry to say, but I'm --" "Delx'tara. The Red scourge, the flame of the world, the great red beast, and probably a bunch of other overly elaborate titles you've gathered over the years." The woman's mouth snapped shut as he spoke. He kept talking. "I told you, I didn't make a mistake. You were always the one I was supposed to retrieve from that cave. I'm just glad you were in your human form instead of your true form. It made my job far easier." "You...intended to...you wanted to rescue a dragon from her own lair?" She asked. He nodded. Delx'tara burst out laughing. The knight just waited for her, eyeing the cave entrance warily. "Oh my word, you're serious, aren't you? That just makes this so much more amusing. Just for that, I won't kill you right away. Now, why do I, a World Dragon who can wipe out entire nations, need a mere human to rescue me from, I presume, the princess I captured as a plaything?" "Think about it for a moment. You've captured your fair share of humans, yes?" "You do make amusing things to play with, yes. And I do admit a certain fondness for royal daughters." "Well then, didn't you wonder about this one? Why she was alone, unguarded, in an open field? One that was very close to your territory?" "I've found it best not to question human stupidity." "Oh, this was not stupidity. Princess Alde is fiercely intelligent. Terrifyingly so. She knew what she was doing. She lured you in so you would capture her." "Do you know how crazy that sounds? Who wants to get captured by anything, let alone me?" He took a deep breath. This would be the hardest part. And could upset her enough that she would do something stupid and reckless. "Do you have a way to contact the other World Dragons? Or at least a method of sensing them?" "Of course." "Then do so. Please." She sighed and closed her eyes. Her brows furrowed. Her head tilted from side to side. "What in the...why are there so few of us? There should be one hundred, but there aren't even twenty. What's..." Her eyes opened in shock. "No. There's no way that's possible." "Oh, it is. Nobody knows how, but Princess Alde somehow became monstrously powerful. Powerful enough to kill even a World Dragon. And she is hunting you. Why, we have no idea. All we know is that she is, and there's no way for anyone to stop her. The most we can do is get you away from her and try and hide you from her." Then, as if to highlight his words, a massive burst of magical power came from the cave. DSo dense was it that it warped the air, and even the ground became distorted and broken. Delx'tara faced it and her skin turned pale. Her entire body began shaking and her eyes opened wide. "That...that power. It couldn't have come from a human. There... there's no way." She said through rapid, shallow breaths. "And yet, it did. And she knows you aren't there. Which means we need to leave. Now." "Uh, yes. Yes, I do think that is a wonderful idea. Lead the way, sir knight." The two ran as fast as they could away from the cave, and the monster inside it.

The knight sneaks into the cave, and finds a woman wearing a dress of scales waiting inside. He quickly grabs her and runs out of the cave as fast as possible, before the dragon can challenge him or explain that the princess is much deeper inside.

It is *awful* being skinny. And, sure, you'll be just like everyone else and say "Oh, poor baby," or "Here's the world's smallest violin," or just "Shut up and eat a sandwich." Look. *I get it.* It's an unusual problem to have in a time and place where obesity is a (heh) huge problem. Fine. And lots of people wish they could just eat whatever they want with no repercussions. They think that's what they want. They're wrong. I can tell you on the list of symptoms for Crohn's disease is a sentence that contains the words "drainage" and "tunnel" and "anus," not necessarily in that order. I do not have Crohn's disease. I thought I did, but I don't. The bottom line: you may not understand it, you may not empathize, but it is *awful* being skinny. And as with any awful situation, if you're in it long enough, you start to get desperate. Which is why I ended up ordering the tablets. * * * "Mom," I said, gritting my teeth but trying to stay calm. "Can you tell me about Dad again?" My hand clenches around the phone as another wave of pain washes over me. "Sure, hon," she says. "What would you like to know?" "How about," I said, inadvertently drawing out the vowels, "where you met?" "But you know where we met." "You said you met at a 'church function,' right?" I wipe sweat from my forehead -- the current wave has passed. I've got a little bit before the next one hits. I notice my mom has not responded. "Right?" "...yes." "So it was like a picnic, or a bingo night, or a beet pickling event? Something rather *normal*?" I scan the Amazon page for the product I have just ingested. It *looks* legitimate. Although as I re-read the description, I notice a few issues. Like a couple missing articles, and a grammar error...and "parasite" is actually spelled "paraties" at one point. And at the bottom of the page it says to "conflict a physician" before use. "Well," my mom says finally. "It wasn't really like that. It was more of a...it was kind of a ceremony. Yes. A, uh, a ritual, if you will." I pick up the pill bottle and my abdomen starts screaming. This is not a metaphor. Faint, inhuman shrieks are coming from the bubbling bag of gas and agony that is my stomach. "Is there a chance," I say quietly, staring at the fine print on the bottle's label, "that this was a summoning ritual?" Nausea surges in me. *Why is my stomach screaming?* I worry that if I do throw up, I'll find out -- and I won't like the results. "I don't want you to judge me too harshly. And...you should know that your father has a number of very lovely qualities." My intestines seize up and I drop to my knees, but I keep hold off the bottle -- keep staring at the label. And the last line. "Oh, God," I moan. I'm not sure whether it's about the pain, or the growing dread of what my mom is about to admit. I'm not sure I care. "I had a troubled childhood, you see," my mom is saying. My hands are shaking -- I manage to put it on speaker and let the phone drop to the floor next to me. "And The Order took me in and told me I was going to be part of something very special." It feels like something is gnawing on my insides and I'm not entirely sure that's not what's actually happening. "Being a bride of Bulvolell, you see, was a privilege." My mom's voice sounds about a mile away. "It was reserved for only the best of us." As my mom continues talking my vision starts clouding over. I can barely make out the words on the bottle, but they are burning in my brain: **Do not take these tablets if you are a demon.** "...love you very much. You're my special guy." *Damn it*, I think, slumping to the floor. My vision goes black. * * * /r/ShadowsofClouds for more

After being unable to gain weight no matter how much you eat, you buy and swallow two anti parasite tablets, just in case. Within the hour you begin to hear faint inhuman shrieks coming from your stomach and experience an intense gnawing pain.

“Pabusk, arba vėl pavėluosi!” A croaky shout came from outside the door. Rubbing my eyes I replied by instinct, “I’m up, no need to shout!” As I let the sleep waft out of my head I tried to focus on the door, but for reasons beyond the usual dim conditions of early morning the image remained blurred. Great, first day of the new University term and I had some kind of eye infection. Reaching out for my phone, my right hand mangled unexpectedly into the wall with a spine tingling crunch. “Ka tu ten veiki?!” The gruff voice was more distant, accompanied by a subtle hiss which sounded like the sizzling of meat in a frying pan, so most likely he was preparing breakfast. Reeling from the throbbing pain in my fingers I finally caught on. What language was I being shouted at in? What a day to be swapped… It felt odd to be swivelling left to get out of bed, and even worse to reach down onto an unfamiliar table and don a stranger’s glasses. They were delicate, thin metal rims around thick circular lenses that suddenly pulled the room into clarity. I was surrounded by wooden furniture, stained beech if I had to guess. It’s naturally light colour was accented by rich-burgundy velvet accessories that acted as coasters and drawer furnishings; the ensemble was put together with exquisite detail. I could only assume my soulmate was a bit of a clean freak. Her phone was a slender and simple model in a turquoise case, reflected in the black unlit screen I got my first glimpse of the one person in the world that I was truly destined to be with. Her striking ginger hair hung in curls to frame a oval face and sharp jaw. Dark emerald eyes speckled with flashes of hazel were magnified through the glasses, but this only enhanced their radiant beauty. As expected, the colour of the phone case was complimentary to her hair, so even in as simple a task as answering the phone she was still coordinated. The home button clicked, the sudden flash of light forced me to squint and recoil, flopping down onto the bed. What kind of person leaves their phone on full brightness overnight? Centrally, an array of 16 dots begged me to try and guess a combination, behind the lock sat the book cover for Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. A warm glow of relief let me relax my shoulders, knowing that she would open my phone to a similarly obnoxious classics title. Resting a thumb over the home button it recognised my host’s fingerprint and the array of dots dissolved; disappointed that I didn’t even try once. A typical selection of apps bubbled into place, as well as some mindless time wasting games with a disturbingly high number of unread notifications. So, she did have some disorder in her life. Scrolling through the near endless list my heart froze; she didn’t have any matcher apps. One of the first uses of modern technology were *Introductory Programmes* and standardised government printouts. Before then these were mostly irrelevant, your soulmate had to live a similar life to you, which meant that apart from the occasional outcast most people were only swapped within a small local radius. The first innovations would simply list the person’s name, nationality, and some simple dos and don’ts. Over time, as globalisation made the world more connected, chaos ensued when suddenly you’d be dropped in an alien environment with no hope of even knowing which language you are trying to speak before midnight. Apps evolved over time to connect the quickly growing list, with tens-of-thousands of swaps occurring every day they help filter your search down from 8 billion. Grinding my perfectly brushed teeth I went into the settings, navigating purely by memory and guesswork I was able to find the language options. *Lithuanian*. Great, I had almost no hope of interacting with who I could only assume was her father outside. Swapping the phone’s language to English, I launched the web browser and searched up the British embassy’s hotline number. Since it was so common of an occurrence, it was infinitely more economical to try and return people to their bodies than to process thousands of citizen re-integration documents a day. It was 6:30am here, and the embassy’s hotline opened at 9:00am. I did what anyone would do with half an hour to spare, I routed for more information in the depths of her belongings. Notebooks of foreign writing with ruler assisted tables were stacked by year and colour, presumably for subject, in her desk. Luckily, among them were textbooks full of English language notes dated 2015. From the time the notebooks switch from a wide array of subjects to a narrow field, it would appear she was in University as well, and had a near-fluent control of my language. She wouldn’t be in any trouble waking up in my bed, apart from probably rolling into the wrong wall too. As I sat flicking through photos, stationary, and a colourful bookshelf, a knock rapped on the door.

Once in their life people will randomly swap bodies with their soul mate for 24 hours. If they do not find their original body during this period the swap becomes permanent.

I’ve reached the end of my rope. Oh, sorry. “Its” the end of my “rpe”, now. Apparently. It all started about 17 days ago. Or, that’s when i noticed it. i was reading a restaurant menu when i saw… damn it. I. I. You capitzlize your “I”s, I know you do! I misspelled capitzlize too. No, I didn’t misspell it; that’s just auto-correct. So, I was I I I I That took too long to type. i think I’ll just let it be i now. And, capitzlize. And all those other ridiculous changes, gah. Like captin (captain). And feelign (feeling). And wansder (wander), with its “silent s”. Let me tell you, the reputation of the english language went from “hard”, to “utter nonsense” real fast. Every day, it gets a little worse; more words are added to the “strange-spelling list”, and history rewrites itself. I’m just waiting for my dishwasher to dissapear because the inventor’s great-great-great grandparent moved to India because of (ever increasing) ridiculous exceptions to the usual rules of English, like the spelling and pronunciation birng (bring). So, to return to the topic. Me, reading a menu, going out for dinner with some friends. “Haha, hey, they misspelled paasta,” i pointed out. My friends looked. “No really?”s, “Wow, haha”s, and “That’s funy”s, terned into, “Where?”, and, “i can’t find it”. When i showed it to them, they acted weird. Told me to stop joking. Again, it was weird, but we moved on quidckly. Stilll, I thought to shoot a message to another friend about it. Yet when I typed “pasta”, it was auto-corrected to “paasta’. “Pasta”, i typed. “Paasta”, my phone insisted. That was the day my world got terned upside-down. Everyday, more and more words from the English language are replaced with typos…and only i remember what they used to be. i haven’t been able to tell how many are changed each day; there’s too many words. Besides, there are words so rarely used I’ve never seen them, and worse, words of which i was never sure of the spellings in the first place. If those words are replaced with stilll-reasonable spellings i can’t distinguish as typos, well. When words like “chatayancy” and “apricate” exist, I’ll simply never know. Though, its definitely a graduall process. After all, “i” only became infuriatingly lowercase starting Tuesday. But this too is worrying. Will this never stop? How long will it take before there are more “wrong” words than “right” words? I’ve searched and posted desperately trying to find others who also remember, only to get laughing and mocking comments. At best, someone’ll say that my “suggested word changes” would make more sense, but that’s just how the English be. Its. Terrifying. i. Am. Terrified. I is capitalized. I is capitalized. That's obvious. It's well known. Capital I is a fact. But I'm the only one who knows that. Do I? When you wake to another reality every day, what do you do? What do you do when you can no longer recognize it? I don't know. I guess...it would be "i don't know".

A cosmic entity decides to curse our language. Every day, ten typos will replace the correct words that were meant to be written. The new words are replaced everywhere including everyone's memories so no one notices the changes have ocurred... except for you.

“What do you mean ‘happy’?” Satan gave me an incredulous look. “The conditions here just don’t get to them like they used to. The five hour days don’t seem to tire them and I overheard one of the sulphur scoopers say that his shack was ‘roomy,” I confessed, slightly afraid of the response. “I don’t understand! We work them to the bone! The cafeteria sandwiches don’t even have butter! I mean, how do they survive?” “I don’t understand it either, O’ great lord and master of Hell and all things evil, who -“ “I told you to stop doing that, ‘Satan’ works! Now continue.” “Sorry sir, I mean, uhh, Satan. I was just thinking, maybe we should bring back the whips?” “The whips! We’re Hell, not savages! No no, we’ll have to improve the conditions up there,” he gestured timidly upwards, “in order to make here seem worse. I can’t believe it really mind you, I mean the houses don’t even have spare bedrooms!” “I’ve been told, sir, that none of them even get houses up there! Just apartments and renting!” His face dropped in a wild disbelief. “What? The hell have the angels been doing! No no, you must head up there, and sort things out. Fetch Beelzebub and head out.” “You want me, a demon, to head up to Earth, and improve things?” “In order to make the comparison to hear worse yes, you’ve got it,” the irony was entirely lost on him, “Talk to a few of the big ones, like Bezos. Get ‘em to raise the wages and such.” A knot of fear curled in my stomach. “Bezos! No surely not, I can’t bear him!” Satan glared at me. “And who are you taking to?” “Satan, O’ great lord and master of hell and all things evil, who- oh yes I see it. Fine. I’ll do it, but only for the souls sake.” “Because we hate them.” “Because we hate them, yes.” And with that, me and Beelzebub teleported away to Earth, to make the world a better place.

Recently you’ve noticed an increasing trend in the souls entering hell. They’re not at all tormented by the conditions, most of them seem *happy* with their too-small homes and long five hour days of mindless tasks. You report to Satan that maybe someone should check the conditions on Earth.

(I decided to go dark :) "Who are you, really?" "What, sweetie?" "Dad" asked, giving me a confused look, but I knew better. "It's me, Dad-" "That's bull," I said. "I know you aren't really my Dad. His friends and coworkers won't know the difference, I'll give your acting that, but us kids do-I'm just the one brave enough to say something." The lookalike gave me a surprised look, then sighed, sitting down in the armchair. On instinct, I tensed up, but I relaxed easily, knowing that he won't hurt me as I dared to take a step forward. "I should've guessed you'd be smart enough to see through it," the lookalike said. "Very well. My name's Mark. I'm not your father, but-" "I'm still gonna call you Dad," I blurted out. He gave me a confused look. "... huh?" "You're nicer," I shrugged. "You...you aren't gonna hurt me-you haven't even tried." "Of course I-geez, what?" Mark asked. "According to my Intel, I'm acting just like him-" I snorted. "He would've beat me black and blue for daring to speak like this, but you just sat down and decided to have a serious conversation-you aren't lying or anything, either. Intel, though? You some kind of secret agent or something?" "...yes," Mark said. "A spy-your family is my cover identity for the time being. My mission is supposed to last a few years-" "Then you're going home?" I asked. "I'm afraid I have to," Mark said. "Your...would you be fine if your father was released after that?" I shrugged-I knew the answer, but... Mark clearly knew what I meant, and he sighed. "I see. Then I suppose, when I'm done, there will be an...accident of sorts." He paused. "Wait, is...is this why everyone's acting like nothing's different?" "Oh, definitely," I said. "I've just never been afraid to take the beating-I punch back and know where to aim." Mark smiled as he stood up, and I tensed up on instinct- "Yeah, you're a tough kid," Mark said. "Can I give you a hug?" Now...that's a weird question, coming from someone that looks just like him. But it's not him. I nodded slowly before just going for it and moving forward to give him a hug, and Mark gave me a gentle hug back as tears came to my eyes-this was so nice, I'd always wanted this-after Mom's "accident," I'd been the oldest sibling, even if just by a year, so I never got these protective, gentle hugs-I'd given them, not... Not... "You know," Mark said quietly as I sobbed into his shirt. "It's just you and your siblings...when your father's officially gone, you'll be alone. Would it be weird if you suddenly got adopted by a certain spy?"

You know one of your family members has been replaced by a lookalike. Your other family members even seem to ignore the inconsistencies in the fake’s behaviour. Fed up with the lies, you decide to confront the fraud when you have a moment alone.

"I still don't know why you can't just, make everyone forget." I said very frustrated. "Well, first of all, Goddesses can only draw power from their people, so any damage done to the people as a mass would be reflected on me." she stated. I never thought I'd actually get together with the goddess of wisdom and valor, if it weren't for that drink with the lads, I'd still be a ~~fckin'~~ farmer to this moment. Well, I still am a farmer, but at least I'm a farmer with a smokin' lady. "And the 'Second of all?'" saiid I. "Second of all, why would I want our relationship to be a secret?" said she. "Well, maybe because I'm a farmer in the middle of bum ~~fuck~~ nowhere, an you're the deity of the land I own!" I drank from my mug of beer. "Also! Many people are gonna try and get on my arse. Only reason they aren't now, is because it's midnight and the moon's tryin' to play the hottest hour of the day." I drank some more. "By God's nail! If I had never fallen in love with you I don't think we'd be in this mess!" At this point, I was towering over her as I was fully stood up. Alexandria, at this point, was quite heartbroken; on the brink of crying. As was I, but I didn't *know* it at the ti—time. *Man she looks so beautiful.* "How could I have pulled s— someone as nice as you? I don't even care about the church or what not. I just wanna be with you." I thi— *hic* think I said that in my head. She looks… red? Man, I think she's an angel. "I'm a goddess, not an angel." she said as her nice soft smile comes back to her mouth. "Come on, it's late. You should go to bed." "Oh, *hic* I– I don't think my lady's gonna like that. Y'know, she's a respectable lady and I love 'er." She turned red. Why'd she turn red? Oooooh, *quae est perfecta*. "And I love you." the woman said. I thi— I think I'm gonna, *lie* down here. I think I had too much be— *hic* Man, I love 'er so much. I don't care 'bout the public, no more. If I were to choose between infinite wealth or a poor farmer's life with her, I'd plough the fields everyday if it meant she was feeling loved. That's what *hi c* love is, right? Just love 'em like you're gonna die tomorrow. Ya gotta love them a lot. And oh boy, my lady can never be replaced. I think *hic* That's enough ecstasy for today. I'm just gonna— lay here and— *hic*

You wanted to keep your relationship a secret but it just broke out, no one expected it. Now everyone’s making a big deal that a peasant is in love with the kingdom’s patron god/goddess.

I reach for the mouse and tried clicking. Nothing happens on the computer but the mouse does scream. They may have something to do with the iron spikes through its eyeballs. I ignore. I slam the mouse against the pad a few times hoping the see some reaction on the screen. The curser doesn't curse but, after hearing a sickening crunch, the mouse stopped screaming. "My computer froze over again," I gripe to no one in particular. I grab the dead mouse and, optimistically try again. Still no cursing. Well, that was no surprise. The computer as well as the OS were built and programmed by local contractors within Hell itself. Engineers and programmers who were responsible for some of the most vile and corrupt software known to mankind. Code so evil that even loading it into an editor can damn the soul for eternity. Unsurprisingly, we have a lot of COBOL guys down here. Still, that's nothing compared to the mess that is the Infernal OS. I tried forcing a reboot. The computer was now screaming and flames were shooting out the back. Great. Now it was frozen and on fire. How could this day get worse? "Next," I said without thinking and looked up from the wreckage of my computer to see who was stepping up to my window. Oh no. Not Greeblefunk! "Hi!" he said as he grinned with one of his mouths, "Nice day, officer." "Shut up," I said, "You've been topside again?" "Just for a vacation!" he said, "I was visiting the mountains of Aruba. Taking in a bit of skiing." "Aruba," I said patiently, "Is an island off the coast of South America." "Did I say Aruba? I meant . . . uh . . . Araska?" I sighed. "Anything to declare?" I asked. "Nope!" he said and picked up an umbrella as if planning on walking through the Gates of Despair. Like it was really that easy. I looked at the umbrella. "Your umbrella has a jeweled hilt," I pointed out. "It's an heirloom." "It wouldn't happen to be a Banishment Blade blessed by the Holy Order of Enoch, would it?" "Nooooooooooooooooo!" he said, drawing out the syllable with all the innocence of an iceberg innocently colliding with an ocean liner. "Put it in the bin," I said. "I think you're just being-" he said as he shouldered his bag. It squished. "Wait," I said, "Do you have human organs in there?" "What?" he asked and shook the bag again. It sloshed this time, "It's just a bit of offal my grandmother makes into a pudding." "You do know what happens if someone ingests a human organ and a necromancer has the human's real name, don't you? That's a Binding in the Third Degree. That's why they are controlled substances." Greeblefunk sniffed. "Maybe they should put up a sign or something, eh?" he said with a pout. "Like the sixty foot one you walked under to get in line here?" I asked, "And what's that around your neck. Please don't tell me you're wearing the ears of your victims." "It's just a fashion statement," he said. "And can be used with the Law of Contagion to be used as a spying device on us!" I shouted. I looked over his bags once more before looking up at him. "To save time, is anything here actually legal to import to the Nine Circles?" I asked. "Well . . . I did pick up some Long John Silvers for my lunch. Care for a fish plank?" "You're a monster."

Demons on their way home bring with them sacrifices from the realm of the living, most often various kinds of corpses or body parts with an occasional exception. Someone needs to check everything in case of forbidden substances. Welcome to the Nine Circles Customs Office!

"Shit!" It was the only appropriate reaction. The one alarm I had never wanted to hear had started, as a distant rumble shook the base. It clattered across the compound, loud and penetrating. It shut off for a moment, as a cool voice took its place. "We are under attack. All personnel, report to defensive positions." The alarm sounded again. Another explosion shook the ground, much closer. I panicked, losing my balance and falling into the experimental Mobile Suit. I flailed around, accidentally hitting the cockpit seal. "Fuck! Um... oh screw it." I righted myself, sitting in the control seat. I pulled down the Helm Interface, setting it on my head. I shouldn't do this, it was so far beyond my pay grade. But this was an emergency, and I had always wanted to try it. I glanced over the controls, hitting the activation button. I felt a cold tingle crawl over my brain. I felt the Suit running through its diagnostics, as the Interface calibrated to me. I heard it speak, the near intelligent software talking to me. *Running Synchronisation Protocol* *New User Accepted* *Brainwaves Calibrated* *Synchronisation At 50%* *Life Support Online* *Power Levels Optimal* *Synchronisation At 100%* *Welcome Pilot.* I had a sudden shift in perspective. I could still feel my body inside, and could interact with the controls. But I could also feel the Suit in its entirety, and see through its sensors. I tried moving, grinning giddily as it took a step forwards. I raised my arms, seeing its weapons active and ready for combat. This was huge. No-one had achieved complete Synchronisation with the Suit. I now had, a simple mechanic in charge of billions worth of military research. The Suit connected with the security systems of the base. I could see a battle take place, as a group of people wearing black body armour were storming the base. The systems running in the Suit calmed my panic. It was running in perfect order, a machine built for war. It gave a vague sense of wanting to join, to start fulfilling its purpose. I had never been in a fight. I never wanted to fight. But I was in a position of power. "Suit, please make a path." *Affirmative Pilot* I started to move, the underground hanger elevator lowering at the Suit's request. I stepped towards it, letting the cables pull free of the prototype. This would be a good test of the Suit. I waited impatiently, aa the massive elevator lowered. Eventually it reached the base, and I stepped onto it. As soon as I was on it began to rise, and the sensors highlighted the figures of the distant fighting. My comrades shone green, whilst the others were red. I emerged into a battlefield. Shots filled the air, mixing with occasional smaller explosions. I could see the entrance had been reduced to rubble, the gates now lying flat as a carpet. Wrecked vehicles littered the ground nearby, likely the secondary explosion Most of my comrades were in the buildings, taking shots from cover. The intruders were scattered across cover, advancing slowly. They were supported by a pair of attack helicopters, who raked their fire across the front of buukdings my comrades hid in. I noticed a group in green nearby, the sensors showing injuries. They were pretty much out in the open, only surviving through luck so far. I moved, picking up a damaged tank. It took a little effort, but the Suit handled it flawlessly, letting me place it in front of them. They looked up at me in shock, a faint cheer rising from one of their mouths. I looked at the helicopters. They were turning, having spotted me appearing. I didn't hesitate, using one of the Suit's many weapons. Two pairs of surface-to-air missiles lauched, each pair targeting one of the choppers. They dipped to move, and try to dodge. But I had released them far too close to give them a chance, as they hit in just over a second. As explosions filled the sky I turned my attention to the intruders. They were moving, putting cover between myself and them. I smiled, raising one arm. It held a set of four modified M230 Chain Guns, with M789 ammunition. With a motion I opened fire, tearing through the cover they scrambled towards. I felt the Suit shudder before stabilising itself, and watched as the invaders defense broke. I maintained fire for several seconds, before stopping and advancing closer. Most of them now lay broken across the floor, their outlines fading. The few remaining took pot shots, even as the fell back. I didn't let them escape, moving as fast as I could to block their escape. Their rounds bounced off the thick armour, incapable of causing actual harm. I thought about using external speakers, smiling to myself as the Suit activated them. "Surrender now. You cannot win, but you can stay alive." I watched them dither, a couple taking further pot shots. But the shift in strength had clearly broken them. They threw down their weapons, raising their hands in the air. I observed their arrest, letting go of the tension that had crept up on me. As I did, I realised my actions. I had killed, so easily. It was like a game. But I had a tally, a sizable one at that. But I had also taken this Suit out, probably breaking several rules and regulations. Elation mixed with horror and fear. There would be a conversation to be had. I doubted I would like it. And I now had to deal with the reality of war, and taking lives.

You're just a lowly mechanic for a new Mobile Suit and no one has managed 100% synchronization with it. Chaos ensues and you're forced to hide in the cockpit, but the thing just started up the boot and launch sequence.

TW: suicidal thoughts, depression I looked over the dirty comforter that ran between us, barely surprised. I rarely left the bed now a days. I got up to feed Sebastian, my Dane, twice a day. Every once and a while I would get myself a glass of water too, only if I could handle it. My depression had gotten bad after I lost my father. I was trying to stay alive, my head in a civil war between the light and the dark. The only thing that kept me pushing was Sebastian, and in my spiral, my schizophrenia went unchecked. My therapist told me that, in addition to pills, it was in my best interest to try and ignore the voices and hallucinations, namely talking to my dog. Sebastian talked back to me for a long time, and it was hard to realize that it wasn’t him, but me answering. I stopped talking to him with my treatment and he stopped talking back, which in the grand scheme of things this was good, but I missed my conversations with my best friend. “Why don’t you talk to me anymore?” Seb repeated. It was a hallucination and I knew that, but misery loves company and I didn’t care enough to control my indulgence. “I’m not supposed to,” I replied. “Why not?” He asked “Because it’s not real,” I said softly, like it would make this small comfort shatter. “Your right,” he said, surprising me. “It’s not real, it’s you talking to yourself, but why shouldn’t you talk things through with yourself? It helps sometimes, and verbal processing is not unhealthy,” “Look at me, I haven’t showered in a week, my room is a mess, and the only time I get up is to feed you. I obviously care deeply about how healthy this conversation is.” I said sarcastically. “You don’t want to get up at all, but you do for me. You care so much about me and you are willing to keep pushing for me. Why not yourself?” “Because I’m not worth it, but you are.” “Who in the hell said you weren’t worth it. No one that’s who. It’s you putting it on yourself and believing it. While you feel you are worth nothing, , I am here proving otherwise. You feel like you can’t do anything right now except care for me. You care about me. And I care about you. I don’t care that you havent showered or cleaned up or that you haven’t taken me out or exercised me. I’m still here with you and I always will be. So for me, could you try? Just take a small step. Let’s go sit in the sun in the living room. I can bask and you can taste sunlight again. We can evaluate from there,” he finished. I started thinking of this dialogue as my dog. That was the only way I could fathom doing this: if it was for him. I couldn’t let him down. So I stood up, in the clothes I had been wearing for days, and stalked out to the living room Seb at my heels. I sat down in the sun and closed my eyes. I heard a hearty groan and sigh from nearby, and knew that Seb had found his spot. His heavy head fell into my lap and I began to stroke it, feeling my head begin to quiet. I enjoyed the moment without surplus thought. I just was. Sebastian led me through small steps back to where I am now. I am not the pinnacle of health, but I am getting better. I still talk to Sebastian now, and even though he doesn’t talk back, I choose to believe that it really was him who pulled me out and helped me back into the world again.

"Why don't you talk with me anymore?"

When one walks through the POW camps, one truly sees the faces of misery. There, the proud conqueror has been broken down utterly, leaving behind a mewling creature that has no dignity, no bravery, and no hope. It has been thus ever since our victory. Ever since we beat them back, and rendered their ambitious desire for blood and honor into nothing more than something that would leave an ashen taste in the mouth of the defeated. It was a grand victory for us. Proud soldiers marching through the streets of liberated cities. Enemy citadels blown away by orbital bombardment as a manner of celebration. It was the moment of glory, when the battered remnant of our people united as one, underneath a banner adorned with red blades held aloft by many crimson hands upon a blackened field. Indeed, when our forces blasted that final dread eyesore out of the sky, when the heavens of fair Terra were once more ours, it was the final stroke of a war that had lasted for decades. But it left tens of millions of POWs behind. When we destroyed that alien flagship, breaking their invasion once and for all, there were still areas under their administration. Regions with colonists, administrators, civilians, garrison troops, the likes. There was no possible options for us to arrange a handover of prisoners. The force that had invaded us were a rogue group of arch-reactionary imperialists from a stellar nation that had completely and utterly disavowed them. We tried to make their more civilized counterparts see our predicament, but beyond providing symbolic financial aid to us in order to aid in our reconstruction, they did not want any part in the post-war situation. We set out on our task to deal with the unwanted remnants of the invaders in a way that was decent, insofar as humanity could restrain itself from the sweet allure of revenge. Yet we rose above our past tendency for cruelty, for taking bloody vengeance and calling it just retribution. We did not give in to the worse parts of human nature. We dragged alien leaders in front of courts, brought in witnesses, appointed them advocates that would act as their defense under the laws of the Federation of Earth. Their crimes were treated as they were; crimes against peace, decency, and humanity. Many were executed. More were given long sentences, even life in prison. That was what we did with the officers, the bureaucrats, and all of their civilian leaders. But the massive alien legions, fighters who had spent their lives honed for combat, who knew naught but battle. What to do with them? The low-ranked civilians were forced to live under human law and under human watch in special ghetto-cities, but what to do with the vast army of aliens, who had done nothing but shed human blood and do their utmost to destroy humanity? Some extremists wanted them all destroyed. All slain. But to most, this was too far. We would be no better than our defeated enemy if we slew them en masse. Engineering troops of the enemy were conscripted to rebuild and repair, under human supervision. To clear the rubble of ruined cities, and aid in reconstruction wherever possible. Human cities would rise once more, and much faster than we would otherwise had made them rise, when those who could use the captured alien construction equipment were making themselves useful. They followed orders easily, and did not complain about harsh conditions or hard labor. But the vast legions, loyal to a dead, insane, alien despot. These vast legions who were taught to obey, what to do with them? To see them in their squalor, in the POW camps, to see their pride broken, was almost enough to make one pity them, if only a little. They were, after all, alien soldiers who had tried ruthlessly and brutally to conquer humanity at the behest of a lunatic who made our worst historical despots and tyrants look practically sane. The remaining peoples of the Romance cultural group, living in the Mediterranean Republic, the lands that were once Iberia, Occitania, and Italy, would note that even the worst of the ancient Roman emperors would look at the alien overlord as a complete loon. The inbred fool made Caligula look like a well-adjusted and mentally sound individual. These alien soldiers would mope around, barely eat, and barely do anything. Few of them felt anything besides despair. It didn't help that their supply of the heavily addictive combat drugs they used to take, were destroyed completely when the alien flagship was atomized. It was an officer at the Aral Camp who finally made a breakthrough. This officer noticed the weak wills and docile behavior of her once terrifying enemy. And found it quite strange, that an enemy, even one suffering heavily from withdrawal, should act like this. Taking those who were the least lethargic and despondent aside one morning, this officer handed each of the alien soldiers a knife, a piece of wood. Then the officer showed them how to use said implements to carve a small figurine from it. They then showed these large alien soldiers a book about the various things one could carve from wood. The aliens were then ordered to carve whatever figure from the wood that they would like, provided it was one that they could find in the book. The alien soldiers dutifully looked at the book. Then took to carving. Periodically the officer would walk among them, explaining certain things, sometimes shouting at them like a drill sergeant would, and in general, acting as their officer. At the end of the day, each of the aliens had made a passable attempt at an Earth animal. They did not seem in their old spirits of blood and glory hunger, but they did seem a tad bit more alive. More sensible. So next week, the officer, having spoken to her superiors, had been given a room full of clay. And with the aid of a potter, she taught them how to make clay pots. And at the end of the day each POW had made a satisfactory attempt at a pot. Next week, it was painting, with the aid of the historical records of a certain Bob Ross. And so she continued. Teaching them new things each week. Why did this impulse happen only to this captain at this camp? Who knows, but it was important. It taught the aliens to obey instructors from the civilian side of life. It taught them skills that weren't based around killing or oppression. It showed them a different path, one that such vatgrown soldiers, born and bred for battle, had never known. Soon, they spread the knowledge they had learned to others in the camp. And these aliens, lethargic, uninterested, and beaten, slowly started to change their outlook. Started to learn how to be more than mere pawns in the game of a mad ruler. Some few were, cautiously, sent out to live and learn from the neo-nomads who roamed from the borders of the Republic of Ukraine, to the still smouldering ruins of Pyongyang. At first the nomads were skeptical. But soon, these aliens proved their use, their worth, in the long journeys across the lands that had once been mighty and strong in the days before the invasion began. Before both nations used their horrific arsenals to destroy themselves and all forces arrayed against them rather than surrender. Their augmentations made them better suited for detecting radiation early, and the enhanced detoxification organs in them allowed them to know when the waters were clean of toxins, so that they might be safely boiled. Soon, with the roaming clans and tribes, they could find a place. And many were, once they had been proven docile and unlikely to cause trouble, released into the care of these pragmatic nomads, who'd eagerly use their old enemies to ease survival in their hostile lands. Today, at Camp Lincoln, near Marquette, the post-war capital of the State of Michigan in the Reunited States of America, a variation of this program begins. Where the basic skills taught at Camp Aral in the Kazakh Nation were suitable for the nomadic tribes that often worked with the Central Asian nation, we're going to be doing something different. While basic skills will be taught, it will only be the first step of the program, an expansion of the concept developed by Captain Ismailov. This program is much more ambitious. The alien civilians are integrated, if still confined to specific areas out of fear that they'll try something, or that human extremists will hunt them down. If these legions, these killers, can be changed. Can be truly given modern, useful skills, like the engineering corps of the invaders, then there is a possibility, that the horrendous, depressing, and economically draining camps, will be able to close. If we can teach them advanced skills, if we can educate them beyond basic or pre-modern skill-sets, then they can be brought into society. Sure, they'll only have the same rights as their civilian kin, and they won't have the same rights as human beings, not now, not until the generations scarred by the war have passed. But one day, if the program can successfully educate these alien killing machines to be able to work as nurses, teachers, and whatever else you don't need physical prowess for, then there will come a day when the blood has been washed away. And the descendants of these invaders will become equal citizens of this good Earth. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)

The alien invasion was defeated, and their spaceships reduced to rubble. The only thing putting a damper on things is the question of what should become of the millions of hostile, defeated extraterrestrials now stranded on Earth.

Carrie leaned against the railing of the bridge, haloed by a bright lamp that had to have been installed not more than a month ago. She stared into the sky, trying to pinpoint with her naked eye the trajectory of that which would be not just her undoing, but the world's. She knew it was coming - they all did - and yet, it was still too dark to see. Nevertheless, it was only days away. In the brush surrounding the bridge, she could hear the crickets chirping, and the cicadas buzzing further off. There were a lot of insects around these parts, and she was familiar with most. As a child, she came to this very spot to hunt for ladybugs. She came back when she was older to share her first kiss with the star quarterback from her high school. She returned here to burn the photos of that failed relationship. She arrived here days ago to end it all, when she found out the meteorite was on its way. Like the trajectory of the celestial doombringer, it was hard to pinpoint why she was still here, why she hadn't taken that leap. The drop was steep enough. She knew that if she landed right, it would be her curtain call. Maybe it was her family that anchored her. Maybe it was a deep, gnawing fear of death. She chuckled quietly to herself, pondering the inescapable. It was going to happen at some point, regardless of whether or not she wanted it. Maybe it was something else. Something rustled in the bushes, just then. A deer, Carrie thought, but she turned to look anyway, only to be met with glowing eyes that peered at her from the shadows. She froze in place, her muscles too tight to move. A deep, shaking breath filled her lungs as she watched the eyes get closer and larger, the light of the bridge revealing the face of a gigantic moth creature. Walking on human legs, it approached the middle of the bridge and paused, turning its head to the same sky Carrie looked at moments before. It walked to the railing, grabbing onto it with its segmented arms. As it watched the sky, its wings lightly fluttered and spread open only partway. For a while, Carrie didn't move, afraid to earn its ire, but a peculiar motion from the creature caused the fear to leave her body. The moth creature lifted its arm and pointed to the sky, its wings rubbing together to form clicks and chirps as it turned to look at her. Carrie looked back into the sky, watching the stars flicker. "You understand what's happening, don't you?" she asked, turning to read the moth's face. The creature nodded. "Are you..." Carrie hesitated to ask the question. It was hardly more than rhetorical, but an opportunity like this would never come again. "Are you scared?" The creature paused, then slowly nodded again. Carrie could see the nervousness in its movements. Carefully, she stepped closer, and with each advance, her ears became more aware of the roaring ambience that was starting to build, and that was when she realized why she couldn't see it: it was going to hit the other side of the world first. She would only see the wave of fire that would come to claim her and the creature. Down below, she watched the city of Point Pleasant become engulfed in flames and destruction. Even from here, Carrie could hear the frantic screams of a lost people, doomed to extinction. They needed an outlet for their uncertainty and fear, and violence was that outlet. "Why are you here?" she asked the moth creature. "Why did you choose to show yourself to me?" The creature responded by moving closer, lightly pressing its fuzzy body against her arm. Carrie looked down and smiled. "Ah," she lamented. "I s--" A deafening, thunderous, world-shaking crack exploded through the atmosphere. The ground suddenly shifted back and forth, as if an earthquake just made itself known. Carrie felt herself losing grip on the bridge, only to be caught within the creature's arms. She looked up at it, eyes wide in horror before she scrambled to her feet and back to the railing, watching the horizon grow alight in a brilliant orange. As the temperature suddenly scaled to sweltering heights, she looked to the creature and mouthed several words, her voice taken away by the overwhelming blare of death's trumpet sounding the end. The creature took Carrie into its arms and hugged tightly, staring at the quickly-approaching blade of fire that eviscerated all in its path. Carrie, thankful not to be alone in the moment, shut her eyes tight. Her hearing was the first to go. All else followed.

Ten days. It was announced we had only ten days before the world-ending meteorite reached its destination. Anarchy and societal collapse in most regions of the world seemed inevitable. What we didn't account for was the supernatural beings that had, until now, been quietly living among us.

It is a small thing. When one hears of the horrors caused by those who have owned it, one thinks it something big and grand. If one heard no description of it, one would think that perhaps it is some massive blade that drinks souls. One might think it is a suit of armor that transforms the wearer into a dreadful beast. Perhaps one see it as the crown of a tyrant, a crown worn by heads that have demanded the blood of innocents time and time again. Whatever one hears of it, this ancient thing, dread and powerful, the Harbinger of Blood, one always knows what it is. A cursed, dread, and horrible artifact that transforms its owner into a monster that will do the evil bidding of the malevolent will that rages like an inferno within the confines of the artifact. Since before the days when Gilgamesh was king in Uruk, when the first stone of the first pyramid had yet to be placed, it has been a thorn in the side of civilization. How, one will say, how can it not be some great kingly item, something that a proud emperor and a desperate peasant will both want to pick up and use. But it is nothing like that. It is so very simple, lying there upon a worn velvet pillow, in the dark cave that once served as a home to a powerful archmage that had wanted to protect the world from the malicious influence of this dread artifact. The name of this wizard, who every day resisted the call and draw of this accursed item, is forgotten, and yet for his sacrifice, mankind has known centuries without the horrid dread that is spread by this baleful item. And yet, it looks so very innocent. So very powerful. A polished rock. Nothing more. In the light of the torch, it shimmers slightly. No more, no less. It is not a gem of ancient power. It is just a pretty, polished, rock. Containing eldritch and misbegotten powers that the universe wishes to forget. Today, it is fated, that it will be picked up again. A thin arm holds a torch aloft, as the little thing whispers seductive words to the brain of a human girl. A tired looking waif of a human girl. Mayhaps no more than nineteen summers old in the flesh, though if exhaustion and world-weariness were years, then truly she is a thousand years old at least, possibly more. Thin and frail, she stands completely still, staring at the dread stone before her. ''*You do not need to lie to me. I know what you are.*'' Her voice is ragged, and worn. The stone is worried for a moment, the will inside desires to corrupt, to destroy, and to make monsters. It cannot do so if the person knows what it is, unless they let it in. ''*Do not worry, instrument of doom and death, I am not here to prolong your imprisonment. Indeed.*'' Her mouth twists into what could charitably be called a smile, if only as the kind of smile that a person who has never done so naturally would attempt it on purpose has. ''*I will be your vessel, but in exchange I have but a simple request.*'' If the stone could be full of glee, it would attempt this, but it was built to take the flesh of mortals into its will and rebuild them as monstrous things. It only knows that its purpose will be continued. That it, until its fated destruction cleverly prophesied by its maker in the age before the beginning of history to only happen at a time in the future so far ahead, will see its influence reign for millions of years before it ends. It does not know glee, or joy, or even happiness. But there is an evil contentedness in being used for its intended purpose. ''*Twist my flesh, change my body, burn away who I was and replace me with a monster. But I ask only that you grant me my vengeance. Down in the valley below, the invaders have taken the home of my father. Have conquered the lands of my ancestors. And have claimed this realm in the name of their weak and insignificant pantheon. Use me to crush them. To break them. To end their world as they have ended mine. Show them what happens when a people is destroyed, in both their history and their flesh.*'' An easy request to make. An easy boon to grant. An easy task for a stone that has always made the best monsters. Sometimes it is as simple as influencing a mind to do things that they have already considered. This is how the stone, the Harbinger, breaks those that are too strong of will to be truly controlled, and makes monsters of them, even if it is indirectly. Sometimes it is the slow mutation, the breaking of the idea, of the mind, of turning something that was once good over a long period into something monstrous. Those already monstrous, they are simply given a body to match their rotten souls. But this, this gives the stone something more. Yes indeed. It sends out a psionic agreement, an affirmation to the frail human, that it will indeed grant it all the vengeance and all the blood that she could possibly desire. ''*Then I do this willingly, though it might curse me forever. I take up the Harbinger, damn the consequences, willingly and with no objections, for those who might once have objected to such a drastic choice, have been reduced to bones in shallow graves. Make me your vessel, and grant me and my people our vengeance!*'' The hand not holding the torch reaches out, and takes the stone. It burns into her flesh, and she does not scream. The stone, the Harbinger, molds her like clay, twists her core concepts, her helix structure, with no effort at all. A torch is dropped. The first change comes. Though the body is too weak to accommodate more radical changes, it is enough to begin its task. There is no internal struggle as the monstrous body moves out of the ancient cave, past the dilapidated quarters of the long dead wizard, passing empty cots and empty tents, out into the world once more. Underneath a moonless sky, the monster moves. Down in the valley the colonists sleep. But their beasts do not. Screams emerge from barns across the valley, as the monster that was once a human girl feasts upon cattle. When the frightened men and women come to investigate, the beast has already fed. And it is moving. Soon it is going to the place where the slaves are kept. In their chains and in their filth, they are kept. But they see the monstrous beast, and they cringe away. But she knows that this is but one such valley, and that her foes are many. She passes the curse along. Bite by bloody bite to each and every one in the place where her people are kept. When the slavedrivers open the gates to the squalid house, they are met by an enemy that is red in tooth and claw, an enemy that knows the hate, the bloodthirst, and the rage that the curse gives them. The stone, still embedded into the flesh of its first ever willing monster, feels the intensity of this hatred, of this vitriol. And it knows that it has finally found its truest purpose of all. Sure, some men of its own liking will die during this night of brutal slaughter, but the weight of innocent souls torn to bits by these angry monsters is far more tremendous than anyone could ever have imagined. From house to house, the monsters fight, always killing, their unready enemy taken by surprise has no chance for victory. When the red dawn comes, it is met by a town drenched in blood, and a queen-monster being praised by the countless former slaves, now lesser monsters, that have been spawned by the actions of this daring girl.

An ancient, cursed artifact that turns people into monsters to do its evil bidding. A human approaches now. A frail, stick-thin girl. "I will be your vessel... but in exchange, I have a request..."

"We're meant to fight for our lives out here," Pieter said to the convict next to him. "They tell us valor will win us freedom, but we all know how this is going to end. We're cannon fodder. Nothing but trash for them to toss away as their nobles steal the credit." Maximillian - called *Maxi* in the cells - didn't bother to argue. No one knew about his background. Now that they were out on a battlefield, there was even less reason to explain it to anyone. If he was going to get shot, he wanted it to be in the front, not the back. All of the chaos, however, *was* a sobering experience. For nobles, war was always a sport. A privilege that you earned, not a risk. Nobles were never the ones dying, and after spending three months in trenches with a penal battalion Maximillian understood that it was by design. Nobles didn't want to be the ones manning artillery or shooting rifles across No Man's Land or running through eighteen year olds with bayonets. They wanted to be the tide-turners. The backbreakers. The people who would win the war and march home to thunderous applause and adoration. Maximillian couldn't really blame them, though. *He* was a noble. After spending a month in jail, two months in army training, and three months in the misery that came after, he realized that man's greatest motivation is to prevent themselves from dying as long as possible. He had never changed from his mindset as a noble, he just hadn't been aware enough in the past to understand what his thoughts actually *were*. "Enough of that gibbering, Pieter," another convict, Marko, said. He was the "officer" of Maximillian's squad. A group that had started as twenty men, now reduced to eight. "The Ponties-" soldiers loved their slurs - "are going to attack our position in an hour. You'd better hope the nobles get here in time with those Mounts of theirs, or we're going to be in a world of trouble." "I'm just stating the obvious here, Marko," Pieter said. His lack of respect existed because Marko was only a *de facto* leader, forced in that position after the squad's initial "handler" had his organs evicted by an artillery shell. Command still hadn't gotten around to sending a new one. "Would both of you be quiet?" Maximillian requested. "Goddess above, if you two would stop bickering all of the time maybe we would actually be able to hear them coming before they decide to drop into our hole. Wouldn't *that* be a blessing?" Pieter sighed and pulled his canteen off of his belt. He took a swig. "You know, Maxi, I've neen meaning to ask you." Marko rolled his eyes. "Here we go again." "What did you even get locked up for in the first place?" Pieter asked earnestly, raising an eyebrow to emphasize the question. It wasn't the first time Maxi was asked, but it was the first time Pieter voiced the inquiry. Maximillian felt the eyes and ears of other men prick up at the question. No one knew, and everyone who forced the issue wound up getting beaten. "It's not of any import to you," the noble said. "You don't even want to know. I promise." "That bad, huh?" Pieter said tauntingly. "What, did you touch your-" Surprisingly, Maximillian hadn't been the one to hit Pieter. "That's enough, you idiot," Marko hissed. "Sorry, sorry. It's just... your face. You remind me of a nobleman who lorded over the area around my town before I got convicted," Pieter confessed, still catching himself from the smack he had received. "He was such a prick I can't help myself." *Message received*, Maximillian thought. Suddenly, Marko's curiosity was piqued. "Really? Enlighten us, Pieter, since you're so eager to share." "Constant parties. Women. Alcohol. You name it. He was known for four counties as the greatest hedonist ever, and when he passed through the city he always looked disgusted, like he stepped in shit," Pieter recounted. "Only, the interesting thing about this guy was that he was surprisingly competent. He was great at running the place. The whole time he was in charge peasant taxes were never raised." "How'd he afford all the parties, then?" Marko asked. "He taxed the guilds. Shame on him, though, because that got him axed. Apparently the rich bastards didn't like all of his hijinks so they assassinated him and replaced him with one of his daughters. Her name was Penelope, I think." Marko snickered. "How'd she do?" "I didn't stick around long enough to find out. I got caught stabbing a guy for groping a barmaid and look where I wound up," Pieter ended his tale. "No good deed goes unpunished, I'll tell you that." "Amen," Marko said. "What do you think, Maxi? Is Pieter making this up or-" His sentence was cut off by a bullet landing between his feet. For a moment, all eight gathered men just stared at the hole, understanding what it meant but still somehow needing to process it. "We're under attack!" a man shouted. Maximillian didn't see who said it, but muscle memory sent him flying to cover. He heard bullets starting to fly, and artillery picked up, sending dirt and shrapnel flying overhead. The trench did its job, keeping the inhabitants sheltered from the worst of it. Another lesson Maximillian learned: Always wear your helmet. The Ponties came like termites. For every one Maximillian killed, another popped up right behind him. They reached the trench. Maximillian stabbed one through with his bayonet, and dodged to the side as another thrusted. A swift tackle send both flying into the mud, and he grabbed his opponent by the throat and pushed him into the mud. When the other man stopped moving, he had no idea whether he had killed someone or not. Soon the Ponties were swarming back, another ten dead or wounded littering the trench and the space right outside it. Marko was grazed by a bullet, and another man shot dead, but the line held. "Looks like we held it again, boys-" a man started to say. He died. A Noble Mount wasn't a horse. It was a weapon platform meant to shield a noble from all but the most powerful, devastating weaponry. In an era where bolt-action rifles were still common, the technology necessary for creating one sould have been impossible. Yet they existed all the same. The Mount hopped in the trench and crushed a man's head by slamming him against the wall. Marko took one look at it and shouted, "Run!" They ran. Pieter slipped. Foolishly, Maximillian stopped to help him. If he had kept running, he would have been fine, but somewhere in his heart the noble harbored some affection for the men he shared his filthy hole with. He picked up the fallen convict and took a shot at the Mount, which bounced harmlessly off the helmet. "Go, go!" Maximillian cried. A ball of plasma annihilated a wooden beam holding the trench together in front of them. Pieter and Maximillian were left isolated from their comrades with a Mount at their back. "Done running?" the Mount said, its voice electronic and hollow. "Goddess above," Pieter cursed. "Have any grenades on you?" Maximillian asked. "No. I used the last one. On the Ponties earlier." "I hope you're ready to die, then." "Oh, well. I already knew it was coming. I would have liked to kiss one more girl before I died, th-" The Mount in front of them suddenly stopped. "Wait a minute, you're not supposed to be alive," it said. It took off its helmet, revealing a young woman. She couldn't have been older than sixteen. "Father?" It wasn't her face that he remembered well. It was her voice. "Penelope?" he asked.

You used to be a wealthy and decadent noble, but after being framed by a rival, you were thrown in prison with all your riches confiscated. Later, the army needs new troops, so you and many other convicts are drafted into service.

Annihalatus stomped down the marble halls of his lair, each footstep echoing out as if it was the only chance of mercy to whoever would step in his way. He was known to be ruthless but cunning. He was incredibly aggressive and powerful but had more than enough intelligence to back it up. His power was that he was able to shift earth, minerals, metals, and stone to his will and owned a massive mining and steel company as his legitimate business. Standing at a imposing 8’6 with a powerful build resembling more of a golem than a person, Annihilatus marched down the hallway into the meeting room. His metallic power armor covered him from his toes to his neck with a stone mask obscuring his face. As soon as he entered he heard the snickering and not so hidden jeering of his comrades in evil. Though bald, Annihaltus sported various dry erase marker drawings his daughter had created as well as “customizing” his power suit with drawings of her father ruling the world and fighting people to death and most importantly, glitter…lots of glitter. Annihilatus narrowed his eyes behind his mask which everyone understood as a command of silence. “If anyone has an issue with my beloved daughter learning to be creative and expressing herself please step forward” his trench deep voice rang out to the council who all collectively decided that today. just like everyday, was a bad day to challenge him and decided to remain seated. As the meeting started most of the snickering ceased or at least an attempt was made to make it less audible. They ran over their meeting last minutes but a villain three seats down from Annihilatus started cracking up and through tears said “I I I I I’m so sorry but I just can’t do it. I just can’t take you seriously”. Annihilatus shifted his gaze towards the villain “Firestorm is it? You ignite the oxygen around you to create fire is that correct?” The relatively new villain from Arizona was well tanned and had slicked back black hair and wore a plan white shirt with a black jacket was on the ground laughing. Firestorm was only able to give a thumbs up in agreement as he gasped for air. Annihilatus calmly marched towards firestorm and grabbed him firmly by the throat, his hand reaching all the way around his neck. “Here’s a free chemistry lesson for you. Now tell me firestorm. What are the three components to keep a fire alight?”. Firestorm in a panicked voice tried to mutter out “I don’t know” as Annihilatus’s grip squeezed tighter. “A fire needs three things to stay alight, Heat, Fuel, and Oxygen”. “Now tell me Firestorm. Do you know what happens when any of those three things are removed from the equation?” Gasping for air as his throat is totally collapsed, Firestorm begins to try to pry Annihilatus’s hands off his neck. “A fire is extinguished, that’s right. Fire needs oxygen just as much as you do. Isn’t that right Firestorm?” Moments away from blacking out Firestorm is resorting to trying to use his powers to burn Annihilatus’s iron hand so he will release him. Annihilatus unfazed by the flames attempting to burn him puts a little extra pressure on the spinal cord before dropping the near unconscious villain to the ground with a heavy thud. Firestorm begins gulping down as much air as he can on the floor as Annihilatus looms next to him like a Monolith. Annihilatus reaches down to the disobedient villain and pick him up by his collarbone to eye level and says “If you ever think about making fun of my daughters excellent artwork again, just remember our little chemistry lesson” and drops him back onto the floor. Annihaltus walks back to his chair as if none of the previous moments had transpired and there wasn’t a man gasping for air and mewling in pain on the ground. He motions his hand to signal for the meeting to continue and it goes off without another distraction.

You show up to a meeting with other villains. Some of them start snickering. Seeing this coming, you glare at them all, making sure you have their attention. "I'm a proud father of a beautiful girl. If she wants to decorate my hair, I'll let her."

(Edited for formatting) Attenuation time with a magic blade can vary wildly, depending on the age and strength of the blade, its sentience, and the will of it's bearer. The occasion where I'd claimed mine, tearing it from the rotten hands of a lich which promptly rose in furious battle, didn't offer much opportunity for quick bonding. That is, until the undead wyrm broke through the cavern wall, thundering it's challenge and throwing Thagror the Barbarian aside with a sweep of it's tail, Hellreaver ringing with a crash to the stone. I threw my trusty yet un-enchanted blade aside and fumbled my newly acquired magical weapon from its sheath. Holding it before me, I rushed through the words I'd been taught, arcane and senseless to my ears but charged with power. *holy shIT WHAT?!* The voice echoed as if from a great distance before thundering into my head. I staggered from the impact, looking up to see Tatiana mid-flurry, dual wielding her weapon Spiteblade and a lesser enchanted as she weaved a metallic blur before the wyrm. "Um, Blade?" I muttered, unsure of the next step. *How many years I sleep, and I wake to this.* Aelric the Paladin strode before the undead creature, wielding the massive Dragonstooth in both hands before him. "I don't really like it either," I pleaded with the weapon, "could you please...?" *Ugh, is that Hellreaver? What an ass. I've been at the sides of kings and emperors I'll have you know.* "You're about to join me between the teeth of an Undead Wyrm if you don't do something... magical or whatever." *Hmph. Fine.* The sword shuddered in my grasp, flaring with light so bright I shut my eyes to it and fell to my knees. After a moment everything seemed to still, and I blinked my eyes open against the afterimage the sword had left. The wyrm's open maw hovered feet away. I leapt backwards, tumbling and quickly gaining my feet before leveling the sword in my hands at the creature. "Sword! Blast! Fire!" *Are you serious? Is this your first time? Look around, idiot, everything's still.* I did so, and turned my eyes back to the glossy metal in my hands. "Wow. How?" *Because I'm not a weak, fleshy mortal.* The sigh was inaudible, but clearly felt. *Have you ever bonded a magical item before?* "Um, no. This would be a first." The sword let me know, in no uncertain terms, how displeased it was with this current arrangement. *Well, we're gonna get nowhere fast as we are. What's your name?* "Rilidan. And, uh, what's yours?" *Jeff. Now, I need you to open-* "Wait, what, Jeff? Is that what you said?" *Yes, and in fact I projected it directly into your mind. I can only assume the echoes there disrupted that.* "Yeah...but...Jeff..." *Ask one more time and I will snuff out your life force like a guttering candle.* "Ok. Jeff. What do we do next?" *Normally you would lead this, but open your mind and I'll form the bond.* I followed these instructions, and felt a stronger awareness of the sword in my hands, almost a soft thrum between my palms and the hilt. *Ok, now hold me up, level with the Wyrm's forehead. No, idiot, I need slack in your arms to move, I'm going to stab it. Don't drop me. This time freeze will break in just a moment.* And suddenly the world arounds roared back into light and motion, and Jeff the Blade pierced deeply through the skull of the undead creature, a blast of dark magic ripping from its animated corpse. The rest of the party gathered around, congratulating me with hearty handshakes and stress-relieving laughter. We admired our handiwork before moving to collect our hard-won loot. I paused, glancing down at my new sword. "Thanks Jeff." I whispered. *Don't talk to me. I can literally hear your thoughts.* Another one of those sighs. *This is going to be a long binding.* "There's always the chance I could die quickly." *Don't give me false hope like that.* "We're gonna do great, Jeff." *Shut up and go find something shiny.*

Your fellow adventurers have magic swords named things like Hellreaver, Spiteblade the Drinker of Souls, and Dragonstooth. Your magic sword is named Jeff.

"To be fair, my lord, the dragon did slay." ​ "SO WHAT?!" said the king, frothing at the mouth. His drool dropped down on the floor in front of the wooden throne where he was sitting. ​ "Well, there was slaying taking place. Maybe not of the sort you imagined, but it did occur." ​ "The fuck is this? Fab 5?!" said the king. ​ "No, but if it was they would agree with me. And believe me, this dragon did NOT need a make over of any kind so I don't even see why the Fab 5 would be here." ​ "Heeeeey queen!" a voice said. It came from the entrance to the king's hall. Both the knight and the king looked at the entrance. A man with long hair and a skirt had opened the doors to the hall and he was catwalking towards the king and the knight. His hair was flowing in the wind, even though there was no wind. He was followed by four men, all catwalking. A thumping music filled the giant hall of the king. "All things, all things, all things just keep getting better" somebody was singing. It was not the five men singing it. The sining voice and the music seemed to seep into the hall from the very stone in holding the walls and ceiling up. Suddenly the men stopped in front of the king and the knight holding his human-dragon baby. The music and the singing stopped too."We're here to make the knight ready for the night," said the man with the long hair. All the men cheered. One of them walked up to the baby. He had a wide brimmed hat and glasses. ​ "O.M.G., so cuuute," he said. He held out his finger and let the baby hold it. "Hi, my name is Karamo," the man said. ​ "Who are you?!" said the king, standing up. ​ "We're the Fab 5, of course!" said the man with the long hair. "I'm Jonathan, that's Karamo who's saying hello to the baby, that's Anthony, that's Bobby, that's Tan. You called our names and here we are!" ​ "You said something about my knight earlier?" ​ "Yas queen!" ​ "I'm no queen! How dare you mistake me for the weaker sex?" ​ "Oh my god, feminism much?" said Jonathan. ​ The dragon-human baby burped and accidentally burned Karamo's finger off. "Oh my god, guys, look" Karamo said as he held up the charred stump where his index finger used to be. "The baby totally burned my finger off!" ​ The Fab 5 all awwed at the baby and the stump. ​ "That baby is an abomination! It must be slaughtered, like a pig! And you, Fab 5, I shall give you the mercy of not killing you - if you leave IMMEDIATELY. We do not want cross-dressing men here!" ​ "Queens, should we get rid of him so that we can focus Sir Knight here?" said Bobby. ​ "Yaas, let's go!" said Tan. ​ Anthony snapped his fingers and the king exploded in a cloud of red, blue and green glitter. ​ "So," said Karamo, "We're here to help you with a make over. Can we talk to you?" ​ "Yeah, sure!" said the knight. ​ They all sat down in a circle on the floor. The human-dragon baby was passed around and cuddled with by all the Fab 5. ​ "It must be hard working for that king," said Karamo. ​ "Yes. He always ordered me to kill a bunch of dragons. I did it the first time. But it hurt me so bad and it still haunts me today. I really need help etting over that because it was a dark period of my life. It did'y get better until I got this little fella," he said and pointed at his baby that Tan was currently holding and playing with. ​ "And what about food? Do you cook?" said Anthony. ​ "No, not really. I never have time. I'm always off to war and stuff." ​ "If you're always off to war, do you, like, never wear fancy clothes?" said Tan. ​ "Never. I'm always in this armour. I never feel happy or sexy in it. ​ "Can you take off you helmet so I can see your hair?" said Jonathan. ​ The knight took off his helmet and his greasy hair fell down to his shoulders. Jonathan started touching it. ​ "So what does your house look like?" said Bobby. ​ "I have no house. I live in the military quarters with a bunch of men." ​ "Woooooo!" said the Fab 5 simultaneously. ​ "No, not like that guys," said he knight. "I do have my love and she's a dragon." ​ "Sure she is! She's got to be HOT!" said Tan. ​ "Absolutely!" said the knight. "Just ask Karamo!" ​ Karamo held up his charred finger and they all laughed. Karamo later got sick because the finger wound was infected. They all ended up at the medieval ER where they all got infected by all sorts of diseases. Then they all died. ​ ​ PS! Thanks to Affectionate\_Bit\_722 for the funny prompt!

A king is yelling at a knight holding their half-dragon, half-human child. "No, no, NO! I said, SLAY the dragon, not LAY the dragon!"

"No no no, you are not listening, this has nothing to do with the conservation of energy look, I will take magic from this room, and conjure a ball of fire. *Illum*." As he said it, a ball of bright blue flame appeared above High Magus of the Infinite tower's hand. "See no change in temperature, I am not using magic to transfer heat, I am using magic to create it." "Oh, so you use up magic!!!, it is some sort of conversion!?" "No, the more magic I use, the more magic there is in the place I took it from. Its like a music, if you add an instrument, you don't decrease the noise." ".. Can there be too much magic? If it is constantly getting added?" "No if the space is saturated, the magic condenses to an magically inert particulate." "Magically inert particulate? what is that." "Oh you know, sometimes, water, sometimes, soot, or sand." "Is that like earth, fire, water, air thing?" "Kind of, but more like Wednesday, Sunday, Saturday things." "Are ... are those two connected?" "But of course, Wednesday is closely connected with water, just as Saturday is with earth." "And Sunday with fire?" "No!!! Sunday is elementless! That is the day of recombination." "Sigh, so what day is connected with fire?" "How do I ... No lets not overcomplicate this. Fire's domain is on September." "Fire is strongest during September?" "**On** September. Like a hat. You don't put hat during head, but on a head." "Like a hat? ... I ... what??" "I see that, I confuse you, let me try to simplify. When you go swimming, you put on goggles. Correct?" "Yes" "And you see better under water when wearing them. Correct?" "Yes" "So when you have glasses on, you are a stronger swimmer correct? "I think I get, it, it's just to use your previous analogy, with fire having domain on September, it would not make fire stronger, but September." "Exactly!!! Due to fire being on September, the September is significantly more September!!, I am glad to see you finally being to understand." **The interview was ended here**

A master sorcerer is trying, and failing, to explain magic to a sci-fi scientist

My hands feel like lead. Heavy and stiff they rest in my lap, a pair of useless rusted heaps that have fallen into disrepair. Look at them. Pale. Weak. I can barely move them. “My hands...” Welled wetness dawdles down my cheeks. “Oh, hush! Nothin’ wrong with dem hands. Pink and ‘ealthy as ever.” My focus stays on my powerless fingers. I do not address the ceaseless positivity of my moronic mentor. How could he know? How dare he even try to placate me with words. I have lost *everything*. Everything. That dumb bastard has— “Ya sniffin ya lip again, Lad! Don’t you go finkin’ meanly of me or I’ll—” “Or you’ll *what*?” “Ah, got ya eyes on *me* now does ya?” I hate to admit it but his threat had earned my ire and my attention. He brought his pink, bulbous, dark-pored, hairy-nostrelled nose to mine. A yellow toothed grin glinted out of his grey and frazzled beard. “You always pout and pucker and snorts and huffs when ya thinkin’ angry meannesses at me. You does it more and I’ll turn you frog-wise, I will.” “I’d like to see you—” “Ye can’t block me at the moment, Lad. Thinks on that. Not a ants hatful of magic in ye at the moment. Is why ye’ve been mopin’ about, remember? So! Cut. Your. Crap.” I bite my lip to stay the words. Not because they would have been mean. Not because I am afraid of him. It is because they would have been spells and...and they wouldn’t have worked. Not now. Not ever again. Three days now and I haven’t been able to so much as conjure a spark, every potion I have stirred has turned to an inedible soup. A pair of pale palms and wilted grey fingers stare up at me from my lap. Why are they so heavy? “My hands...” “Oh, fer Liam’s Rake! Yer hands are *fine*! You. Are. *Fine*!” “I can’t use magic!” I am standing and screaming down at the hunched and squat creature that has failed to teach me anything of magic. It’s his fault. It’s his fault that I’ve lost my gift! “Magic! Everything I am and was and would have been, Gerbond! All of it *gone*. You have no idea — no idea at *all* — what that means to me. I. I.” He’s taller than me again. My knees had given way. I am sat and my hands are in my lap and they are so very heavy. “I. I am...weak.” “Lad. Jass, listen. Yer feelin’ weak cause ya magic is...see, we Mage-folk, we uses magics e’en when we don’t wants ta! Is in our blood the stuff is. Gives us pep. Makes us live longer.” “And mine is gone...forever.” “What is magics, Lad?” “Power—Ack!” I grabbed my ear and glared at him...but whats the point of anger. Having my ears twisted by stronger people was the way of my life now. “Magics can gets ye power, Lad, but it ain’t power itself. Yer a smart one, talented e’en, but ye always rushed through the basics.” “I know the basics...” “Puh! What *ye* knows is basic spells. Hey! Look at me, Lad!” He does not, *can* not, understand. I am nothing now. Less than nothing. A splotchy, ugly face fills my view. He has crouched and practically put his head into my hands so he could star up at me. His glassy, liver-yellowed eyes are...he seems to... I feel a hand gloved in callouses take mine. “Lad. Magics ain’t power. Its *energy*. Takes magics to do spells and make potions and enchantses.” “And what?” My cheeks are wet and he had blurred. “I’m out of magic, now?” “For the moment, yeah. And I ain’ts surprised! You’ve been spellin’ and castin’ and brewin’ a storm since ye got ‘ere! Surprised ye didn’t go dry earlier.” “...wait. Wait, It’ll...will it come back?” “Puh! Yeah, ye bloody idgit! If ye stop tryin’ to force it. If ye actually rest. If ye stop worryin' and whinin' and wait...wait in peace and quiet...and do ye damned bloody chores!” “It’ll come back!” “I means...y'chores won’t actually help, but—” “When? How long does it take?” “Well, ye has a big tank, Lad. Is why they's all impressed wit ye. So...a whiles, I'd say. I comes good after a nap and a sandwhich. Maybes a quiet weekend if I'd been busy-like. Just, relax and don’t rush it. Plenty to read up on and learn whiles ye wait.” My hands. Pink. Boring. Free of magical pep...but only for a moment. I just have to wait. “I...suppose I should start at the basics, then. Where...where do I start?” “Ah, well! Would ye look at that. I has an apprentice instead of a bloody prodigy. Come on, Lad. To the garden.” “Meditation?” “Puh! Slugs in the ‘erb patch, Lad.” He stands and walks away. “’spose I might as teach ye about there uses. ‘Erbs *and* the slugs, that is.”

"What is magic?" As the young man ponders this question his eyes widen as a sudden realization comes to him.

The odd thing about this place between worlds was the color. It wasn’t translucent as one may expect, nor was it some drab comparison to the living world. Who would have thought Limbo would have such vivid shades of red? The figure before our late hero was a counterpoint to its surroundings. It was all shades of grey, excepting the pale fire that shone in its eye. The specter of Death was separate from its surroundings even here, in this place of its own making. Between them lay a game. As tabletop games went, Cones of Dunshire looked surprisingly amateur. A casual observer would wonder at the cheap paper forming the most prominent pieces. But then, at this place more than any other, origins were important. This was the original board. Ben was enjoying this moment, this point of victory. He wasn’t a born showman but his long career had birthed a host of talents. Self improvement was always easier with support, and he smiled as memories of one of his old friends flashed through his mind. He was channeling Tom right now to great effect. “I’ll play an action card, and build a Bell Tower inside your Citadel,” he said with a smirk. MY SHAMAN CASTS A BURST SPELL ON YOUR PROSPERITY TILE, Death intoned. LOOKS LIKE SOMEONE IS OUT OF RESOURCE GEMS. It couldn’t smile, but it gave off a sense of dulled mirth regardless. It had grown bored of these challenges over the years, and beating people at their own games was the closest it came to a challenge. It found itself almost sad that it had won. Surely this man, husband of the world's most powerful woman, could do better. It was a shame. Then, defying Death’s expectations, Ben steepled his fingers and laughed. WHAT’S SO FUNNY? mocked Death. “You’re a smart guy, you’ve clearly picked up some flashy tricks,” said Ben, leaning back in his chair. Death took a moment to wonder where the chair had come from. “But, you made one crucial mistake,” continued Ben. “You forgot about the essence of the game. It’s all about the Cones.” He cast the dice one final time. “I move my Abbot to the ocean hex, which moves my Brinksman to the Devil’s Lair. This pushes my Farmer - yes, my humble Farmer - directly into the central Cone.” Both Ben and Death took a moment to focus on that vivid red cone. Then, somehow with both reluctance and glee, it was toppled by a pallid finger of bone. On this day, Death was defeated. Upon reflection, what else could he expect from the Architect? xxxxxxx Meanwhile, back in the world of the living, Leslie Knope stood flanked by the secret service. It was suddenly quiet next to her husband’s hospital bed. Ben’s heart had stopped beating for a little over six seconds before restarting itself, stronger than ever. He opened his eyes and stared up at her. “Leslie, I’ve just thought of a way to pass the sewage bill we’ve been working on!” he exclaimed. With a laughing sob, Leslie knew it was going to be all right.

You challenged Death to a game when your time came, not because you feared your death, but because he was the only one left you had yet to best

"Oh I have no soul" She was clearly taken aback by how casually I broke it down to her, but starting like this only makes it easier to get her used to the idea. I was never a normal man. Always was somewhat distant towards others and I always seemed to be out of touch with what was normal and whatnot. Some called me a sociopath, but I was still too "alive" to say the least in order to be one. I care and have always cared for others which is why I was able to marry My'rrha when we were younger. She always told me she fell in love with how I just resonated with her. "What do you mean, are you undead??" she asked in shock as she stood up from our table. I told her "No. Not undead, just soulless". I cannot blame her for feeling confused. The only ways elves are taught in most of their cultures that one can lack a soul are by being reanimated as a walker or having it shattered and spread into items. I wasn't like this. Believe me, I'd know. I'd feel. But I don't. My flesh doesn't decay and I can't feel the faint warmth I once had in my chest. Of course, she then asked me how I am still alive or rather how can I still exist. Truth be told, I don't know either. Most things have a soul, an identity or a heart as they tend to say. A hammer will have a spirit that resonates to those akin to its first user or creator. A sword once used by knights of yore will only allow itself to be possessed by those with brave hearts. A dog would only lick the face of a man with a kindered spirit. I don't have that. I don't think I can ever have that again either. As to how it happened, it did when I was still a teen. Many winters ago. Many before even My'rrha was born. My village was attacked on a summer day by 4 dark knights, followed by 2 liches. They killed everyone and raised them as undead slaves and forced them to attack and slaughter the neighboring towns all the while I was still out to play in the forest all by myself, bathing my bare legs in the cold river water. Hours passed by without me even realizing it as my father usually went after me to grab me home for dinner, but this time that didn't happen. I only noticed that It was late once the water became too cold and the sun began to set. I rushed home, being afraid of getting scolded and going to bed on an empty stomach only to find a desolate burnt field where my home once was. I got pinned down and I could feel them ripping my flesh apart. The undead can generally hear the beating of a heart from hundreds of meters away. I got ambushed. Fortunately, the adrenaline kicked in and I could feel nothing as my mind eventually faded away. In what felt like an instant, I woke up to a knight wearing bright armor riding a white horse. As he watched me, giving what I assume is a thirty yard stare as his face was covered he began talking on an intrigued tone: "Curious. I have been watching you for years. Every time you fell and hit your head. Every time you caught a cold and every time another kid hit you with a rock a little too hard. I was always there, watching you and only you. You reek. You reek of something that does not belong among the rest. You're not of our devine creation and now that you died your soul was claimed by something else and not by my blade. Pestilence reanimated you, but it died once it finished among any other plague that touched your body. You are mind without soul and are therefore out of my jurisdiction as you're neither dead, undead or alive". As soon as he finished, he quickly left. From that point on, no plague ever touched me and no ammount of time ever left an impact neither on my skin nor my hair. Every strike I felt healed as if it never happened and every child I bore died soon after birth, usually together with their mother. I roam the world waiting for whatever is my creator, to finally let me rest. To finally accept me as their child. As soon as I told her everything, My'rrha left our house feeling the need for some fresh air and some space. I cannot blame her, I cannot blame her in the slightest but I still feel deep regret for making her feel this way. She makes my eternal torment bearable and I know she can be here for me untill the end as her elven kin does not die due to age.

Your wife, a beautiful elven woman, finally had enough and demanded to know why you dont seem to age despite being a human.

YATA Sorry for the bad Terran. I don’t see a need to learn, so I had to use my servant for a translation. Despite what the other comments here say, I don’t believe that they are native Remeridian like I am. Or, at least not from a traditional Remeridian colony. While I’m sure they would have been more understanding if Terra would have just surrendered its self-determination during their colonization, as we all know, you were the kind of people who futilely fought until the last second. And while you still lost the right to rule, I heard there’s a lot of resistance to learning about my beautiful, peaceful culture over there. Honestly, if you Terrans had just cooperated, you would probably know a lot more about Remerade, and it would probably have saved a lot of people some headaches. (I know that falling under Remeridian rule is still a “sore subject” for some of you, but it’s not the first time we’ve helped out some poor savages in the middle of nowhere space, so “bite me” as you like to say. Also, you’re welcome.) Anyways, back to the actual question. I’m assuming that your girlfriend is a Kyoraka (literally “Humble-Smooth” for you lazy few who haven’t finished your mandatory language classes) Remeridian, which is the race that’s a little similar to Terran Octopi (Octopusses? My servant said they still don’t get that part of your language). To your untrained, backwards eyes, I can only take pity on you for not being able to tell the difference. When she says that those are her family members, she’s telling the truth. As the Kyoraka age, their form tends to shrink down into a size that is more suitable to be cared for, as by that point they will most likely have acquired at least a few dozen extraterrestrial servants to take care of them. (Personally, the Dourian servants are my favourite! They’re so cute, unlike some of the Terran servants I have, who just whine and complain after only 19 Terran-hours of work). I know it might be a hard concept to grasp for some of you other commenters, but that news article from a few months ago about Kyoraka Remeridians mistaking Terran Octopi/pusses for their own family is NOT TRUE. To mark the words of your previous world dictator before he was found hiding in a bathroom stall under a pile of stolen documents during the colonization of your planet, that article is FAKE NEWS. You’re lucky that she has taken interest in a Terran romantic partner, instead of a much more suitable Remeridian female. So it only makes sense that you should take care of her and all of her family. If you can’t afford it, just get another job or two. Terrans only live for a hundred years or so, so it’s not like you were going to accomplish much with your life anyways. Not to mention, you people go unconscious for like 8 hours in a single planet rotation, which I always thought was unnecessary and stupid. Why don’t you just stop doing that and start supporting your superior girlfriend more? Anyways, you’re welcome for taking the time out of my busy day to answer your question. I grant you permission to ask any more while I’m still feeling generous. Edit: No I don’t think the op should “talk it out with her girlfriend!” What would there be to talk about? And what suggestions could a Terran even make that a Remeridian wouldn’t have already thought of? Honestly, I think I was right in my initial assumption that you are all Terrans as well. Edit 2: WOW. Some of you are really hurtful in the comments AND in my dms!! I have not said a single rude thing throughout my entire post! I think you all are the ones who need to “stop being specist” and “intolerant!” I’m really getting attacked here for saying what we’re all thinking! Edit 3: Thanks for the gold kind stranger.

My alien girlfriend (23F) is mad at me (24F). AITA for telling my girlfriend not to bring home more octopi? We already have two at home, and we can’t afford more. She keeps on insisting that they’re her relatives.

"IT ATE IT" Hissed Jekob-3, the Androde. His metallic pincers opened and shut rapidly, enormous pupils swiveling from one council member to the next. All looked at the holo-screen with varying degrees of horror. What the council assumed to be a human *aristocrat,* daintily wiped her mouth after partaking in a plateful of one of the most terrifying creatures known to the council. She looked up at her servant and to their horror, asked for more...*fried*. an Octopus, they called it. Known as a Sargonite to those familiar with the fierce race, all trembled in fear at the mention of them. When fully fledged they farmed entire *Sola* for their young, and lived in the hearts of crumbling galaxies, the council had been *formed* to defend against them. Another member, a *Kaulois*, a reptilian race, pointed a trembling finger at the human next to it. Who had just been served a plate of...were those Paleins? It gagged, long red tongue lolling out of its oblong snout and onto the ground. Paleins, a poisonous plant that drove many a race insane, are incredibly rare outside of worlds rich in water. Here they named it *Kale*, but its nickname was "*The Fall of an Empire*." After having killed off a Guodion emperor and his entire harem after having it shredded into their meals. They'd died slowly, and not before bringing their capital planet to its knees. More and more members of the Council pointed things out, not just what they were eating, but what they were *doing.* "Why do they...?" Another said, having zoomed into the scene of multiple humans kicking around a ball in a large field, something seemed to have triggered the herd of humans, as they all burst into a riot and began destroying infrastructure indiscriminately. "Fellow council members--" began a quivering alien, its feelers all raised in the air "--This excursion to the human planet, Earth, has shown me that humans have no need for the council." One by one, they began to agree. A Zorp, a wriggly mass of keratin with a beak opened its mouth and screeched. The translator nodded its many heads furiously. "His highness believes that perhaps the humans should be added to the list of races the council needs to defend ***against*** if need be.***"***

The reason why there has been no formal contact between Earth and the Galactic Council is because, basically, the Human race is considered the galactic equivalent of Florida Man.

It was an *accident,* just to be clear. When you'd made the path to your base a literal hell path with more traps than it should have had for a basement with an empty fridge and an abysmal empty plan board, you didn't actually expect anyone to try and get in. So when you found Infista crashing through the walls of your alleged home searching for you, you weren't ready for her to be *slammed into a titanium wall at the speed of 310km/h.* She wasn't invincible, not really, and its one of the reasons you were so, *so* careful when you were fighting her. Jane- that was her real name; it wasn't so difficult to find- wasn't the most durable of heroes, but she was smart, and her combo ability of brief physical enhancement along with invisibility lent to sneak attacks that tended to stop any further fights. The impact hadn't killed her, and you thank the gods for it every day, but just the sight alone of her on your medical bay barely breathing and covered in a cast you had one of your servants wrap her in. You had thought of taking her to the hospital, say she got caught up in a super powered fight- it was reasonable, really, but that would catch the attention of the higher ups of the heroes organization, and there hadn't been any fights that day that would cause this severe an injury. She was alive, and as conscious as one could be. It was easy to tell, with the way her eyes tracked your movements and the several attempts of getting away from you that always failed. For a while, it was actually pretty cute how she kept trying her best to at least roll off the surgery table when you'd pick up your tools. It never worked, of course not, and you took the time to be smug about it every chance you could. When you were analyzing her mind, replacing bones with alloy you'd had in store, fixing the several places where her skin was ripped apart from the force- the way her eyes looked through it all left you breathless. A kind of alertness that surprised you, and as time went on the straps on the bed weren't enough to keep her down. She once managed to rip the leather off in a moment of peace, having healed enough that enhancing herself no longer left her nearly comatose with exhaustion, and ran for it with her invisibility. She never made it out because the poor girl practically had a panic attack when she ended up *right* where she had gotten hurt. You took her back in, of course; it would have been a horrible thing to do, to just leave her, and she seemed to approve of your choice when she had clutched onto your arms so tightly. Despite how sad it all was, the whole thing made changing her perception of you quite a lot more easier. She never even noticed when she had stopped seeing you as Ephemera, and instead just *Mary.* Sweet, sweet Mary who was always there for her. Who always held her close when old memories came back, and took them away for her. Who went to their room every morning to hand a beautiful spread for breakfast, who made Jane feel so much better about it all, *and who was just so kind to let her stay without any expectation of payment in return.* And she was right to believe so, after all, nobody *else* would have done what you'd done, right? No, they would have just handed her off to the local hospital to be taken advantage of by the first nurse that saw, not like you, *nothing* like you, who had seen poor Jane as the mess that she was and doing all you could to help her. Even when you were the one who hurt her so badly, it didn't really matter now, did it? Jane was happy to be by your side for all of eternity, you'd made sure of that.

You are a villainess and you have a favorite C-class heroine to mess with. One day, you accidentally injure her to the point of disbarment from the hero society. You nursed her to health until she is healthy but, your favor turned into an unhealthy obsession and you don't want her to go back.

“It doesn’t work that way.” Dale looked down at his phone, bored smirk spread on his tanned face. “Observer in physics terms means any system that is capable of measuring or detecting the state of a quantum system. Not to mention macro effects like you’re describing would never be-” “Then I don’t know how to describe it,” I said. “It's like stuff doesn’t settle if I’m the only one watching. Here.” I took out a coin from my pocket. “Turn around.” Dale pocketed his phone and stretched as he turned to face the wall. “Alright.” I flipped the coin, muscles tensed like I was about to start mom’s miter saw. Washington's profile rolled through the air and then hung just above the ground, jittering in the chaotic cloudy mess. “Okay, it didn’t land. Until you turn around, it's just like a disk of all the different ways it could land.” “That so?” Dale said. “Assuming you aren’t lying, try and grab it.” “I’ve tried that. It’s like grabbing it all at once but not at all, feels weird, like pressing my finger into foam.” “Is one of the probabilities on its edge?” Dale asked. He reached to grab his drink without turning around. I looked at the swirling zone, quarter face up and face down in a hundred different spots, almost making up a larger coin when viewed all together. My head hurt. I did notice one singular ghost of a quarter balanced up.”Yeah, actually. Just one.” I reached out to touch it, just as Dale turned around. The coin condensed into the vertical one, just before toppling on its side, tails. “Pretty convenient your little trick only works when no one’s looking, huh?” Dale said, shivering for a moment despite the warmth of the room. “Yeah-” I started before I noticed something behind Dale, something inky black resting a snout on his shoulder. Dale didn’t react. “What the fuck,” I yelled. Dale looked at me baffled then all around. The thing came into better view as he turned. It was surrounded by a miasma of dust and smoke, it looked like the dried mummy of a too big coyote covered in fungal blooms like deformed wings. It had eyes only for Dale. Dale’s drink fell. I flinched, expecting the chaos, but only a few drops were out of Dale’s sight. I didn’t want to take my eyes off the creature. Dale stuck a hand through its face as it sniffed him to scratch his beard. "What?" he said. "You're helping me clean this up, you know?" My eyes were drawn to the few drops along the wall, dancing their quantum jig. They weren’t a mash of every probability like always. Somehow shimmering words lingered in the cloud of potential stains, just legible enough to read. I blinked twice then forced a smile back at Dale, the message rolling through my head. "Yeah, sure." I managed. Don’t show it you can see it. /r/surinical

Quantum Physics responds when things are being observed. For some reason, the universe doesn't consider you to be an observer, and daily life can get pretty weird when no one is watching.

"Ok Guido, you have your brother bringing in pizza's from his place right? The GOOD ones not the ones they serve the customers!" "All set boss!" "Antonio, you're in charge of balloons. That means decorations AND animals. Remember you're tyin' them into shapes NOT wringin their necks! Be genteel!" "Youse got it boss!" "Francesco, your wife and the girls are making a tiramasu the size of a buick yeah?" "AND cupcakes boss- with sprinkles and sh..stuff" "Oh yeah that reminds me- you guys gotta watch your fu.... flippin language. These are kids!" \*\*mixed chorus of muttering and head nods\*\* "yeah yeah ok boss" "Lorenzo, you're in charge of games. Remember these are kids playin with NERF guns- everyone has to lock up their guns, knives, brass knuckles, AND phones in the office before the shindig starts. And no encouraging rough housing god forbid one of these little punks should get hurt- we'd get our asses sued into next tuesday." "Gina, you're in charge of singin happy birthday toos youse. You did that thing for that tryout for a chance to audition for that who wants to kiss an american millionaire right?" "I'll knock em dead uncle Vincenzo!" "Great- ok, everyone go lock up your stuff, and change into your costumes." \*dissenting grumbles and mutters\* "Look I don't I don't like this any more than youse guys but we're doin this or we're doin time! Now shaddup and go get your Smurf suits on!" \*\* in unison \*\* "yes Papa Smurf" " Oh you guys are freakin hilarious." Vincenzo stuffed the red hat on his head, and the stuck the fake beard on his face. He could only hope the other Don's never heard about his stint as "Godfather Smurf" On the other hand, if this worked out the cover for the warehouse was secure AND they were getting paid a smurfload of cash to boot. PS: Thank you for the awards - I'm glad you enjoyed reading this =\]

Someone extremely rich has just booked it for a kid's birthday party. If that kid doesn't have the time of their life, the whole operation may go under.

I knew what it was the second I picked it up. I know that sounds bonkers, but I did. I didn't know anything about archery, but I don't think there was any way to mistake an arrow with red and pink fletching and with a heart shaped glass arrowhead for anything other than what it could be: one of Cupid's arrows. Furthermore, it pulsed in my hand. It was active, alive even! This was an authentic dose of true love in projectile form. I felt it from toes to nose. It made sense; Valentine's Day was over less than 48 hours ago. It couldn't be anything else. I knew what I had to do. I bought a bow. Like I said, I didn't know anything about archery. I got a target, set it up in my back yard, and started practicing. I wanted to make sure I wouldn't miss. I weighed the arrow, got regular arrows that matched that and went to it. I trained for sometimes three hours a day. My first intentional bullseye came after a month. The next a week later. I could put three out of four in the red by six months. Every time, I thought of her eyes. I thought about how they used to sparkle and how now they just... didn't. I thought about all the quiet breakfasts and how the things that used to make her laugh or smile fell flat. This had to work. It just had to. Still, I waited. I took my time. I practiced through the fall and through the winter. I knew that it had to be Valentine's Day or not at all. I sent a delivery to the house. I made sure the gate was unlocked and I specified that the package be dropped off on the back porch. I got there at six in the morning. The package was delivered at 3:15. She came out right after. I had one moment of doubt. Just the one. What if I was really bonkers? What if this wasn't full of love? What if I hurt her? I took a breath and cleared the doubts from my mind. I inhaled. I let it out. I inhaled again. Draw, sight, release. Bullseye. I had no surprise when it struck her chest and sank in, disappearing a shower of pink sparks. She stumbled for a second. Then she brushed her skirt and stood back up straight. There was something there, but I had to wait. I had to make sure it worked before I left my perch. That was when dad came out. "Did you open it?" he asked. My mom turned around and saw him. I heard her say, "Not yet, handsome." I smiled. Dad had been skeptical when I asked that he let me send her the box of candy, but I'm so glad he did. Now, maybe they'd get the second chance I knew they deserved.

You discover a singular arrow on the ground in February. Instead of an arrowhead tip, it has a heart tip. It's one of Cupid's arrows... and the magic is still in it for one use.

"I'm sorry." "I know." "He said I could only choose one and it all happened so fast I couldn't think. I just... I couldn't lose her." "I understand." Really I did. I knew what she meant to him. He was my best friend and I saw how he lit up for her, how she healed his broken parts. I was grateful for that, grateful for her even. Of course, he'd pick her. He stood at the edge of my hospital bed. "You seem mad?" "I'm not mad at you," I immediately refuted.. "I... I'm mad at me. Because I made you the center of my life even when I wasn't the center of yours." It's not every day your best friend becomes a superhero. That day when the lightning struck him, it felt like it struck me too. I watched him become the best version of himself. Stronger, faster, bolder, more courageous. And I stuck around to watch him soar and keep him grounded. Turned down out of state schools, stayed in less than perfect, flexible jobs, stood up dates. All so you could be available when he needed, providing comfort, providing guidance, reminding him of his humanity. "I spent these last 10 years spending so much time helping you manage your two lives that I forgot to build one for myself." He hastily wiped a tear from his cheek. "I didn't... I didn't know you felt that way." "I didn't," I gently laughed, trying not to break a rib. "Until Dr. Doom hung me over a shark tank and I couldn't think of three people who would miss me outside of you. And when you chose her over me I thought... good. At least my death means something to someone." "Don't say that!" he hissed. "You are not a body to be stepped over. You have no idea how many lives you've saved... including mine. You are my best friend." "I know..." I mumbled. "But I don't think that's all I can be anymore. I just... I want my life to amount to more than a lonely studio apartment and your number in my phone. It's time, I build something of my own." "So... does that mean..." "Yeah..." I sighed, nodding my head. "It's time for you to get a new tech guy."

You are a side character captured by the main villain along the love interest, you believe you finally matter to someone after meeting the protagonist but he chooses to save the love interest, then you are both released.

They sold it well. Join the Marines. The Space Marines. See countless worlds. Stand for human liberty against hostile forces. Defend the values of humanity out on the wild frontiers of space. Only the best need apply. At least that last one was true. The training was intense. Often insane. Survival training on the most extreme of worlds. How to live in vast alien desertscapes for years, decades if needs be. How to endure worlds suffering from ice ages. How to stay alive on primitive worlds. Every kind of weapon training for every occasion. I became a master at long-range, at short-range, at melee, at unarmed, and even with the unexpected. We were taught to be able to use anything, even improvised weaponry, even primitive armaments. Everything mankind has ever seen in or made for war, was something we had to master. From the bolas to the portable railgun. Basic training took seven years. But at the end, those of us who had endured, were the best. Lean, mean, killing machines. And even more. We were to be able to lead, turn a ragtag group of colonials on some distant world into capable militia units if need be. We learned all major trade pidgins, just in case we'd ever need them. We even had training on tribal integration, in case our units got stuck for years on some pre-industrial world, and we'd need to integrate with the locals for survival. All of that training, all those promises of grand adventure and defending the human spirit on the wild frontier, and this is what they did with me. Deep space emergency supply operator. Sure, sure I get it. I had the optimal psych-profile for long-term isolation, best suited candidate for the long haul out here in the ass-end of space. A giant FTL beacon, with a decently sized emergency depot. And no human interaction for at least five years. No use of my skills. No great adventure for me. Not that I wanted to go out and kill aliens, but it would be nice knowing that I was using my skills more efficiently. That I was out there, side by side with my brothers in arms, doing the right thing, or at the very least protecting humanity, and our interests. Hunting Ferrok'Vai pirates, and Neo-Crusader fanatics on the edges of colonized space in the fastest ships mankind have. But no. Only me alone in a single small space-station, with only a large amount of entertainment on the hololibrary, and all the time in the world. I get up, every morning, and check the long-range radar. Nope, once again, no emergency beacons activated. I have a small standard model Light-Skipper, used for light recon and recovery by the Terran Allied Worlds government, that theoretically be used to travel to other worlds, but it's only for potential emergencies. Still, with all the safeties and redundancies installed in modern ships, the idea of anyone actually needing it is ludicrous. I then do the daily maintenance check, which means reading the automated drone report about the status of this small Lighthouse Station, while eating my breakfast. I don't care what the brass claims, 3-D printed food doesn't taste as good as the real deal. Sure, it's safe, it will basically never rot, and it tastes alright, but a real bagel with real cheese beats the replicated stuff every day. Then, I have the rest of the day for myself. Sure, the officers back at HQ made a big show of ''maintaining discipline'' every day. But how the hell is a single guy going to do that? Yell orders at himself? The idea of downloading some manner of holographic sergeant to keep me on my toes was thankfully something the brass were too dumb to ever consider. So I just clean my gun by hand once a week instead of daily, and only do a light workout. Not like the artificial gravity on this station is going to result in muscle atrophy, as I keep it on the Earth standard. I know some people like it a little lighter, but I prefer good ol' Terra's loving gravitational embrace. I listen to a reading of an old world text, the Meditations, by Marcus Aurelius, which my brother always recommended to me. He was right about it, real interesting set of ideas, and stoicism was much in vogue back in the isokultur groups that try to stay away from the fully unified Terran meta-culture. Those guys usually have some good points, and some interesting food places. Could be worthwhile trying to fit in with them once my tour is over. Though having the book read by the simulated voice of a 21st or 22nd century celebrity is a bit weird. Guess that stuff sells more audiobooks. While listening, I do my daily exercises. Some running. A bit of light weight lifting. Nothing too hard. After that, a light ultra-sound shower, blasting off the dirt and filth from my body through precise sound-wave movement. Better than the chemical showers we had to go through during our training for combat on irradiated planets. That crap itched, and tended to dissolve your hair. Water is too precious for that kind of cleaning out here. Oh, sure, I've got a huge stock of that, tens of thousands of liters, but that's for emergencies too. After that, I settle down on a couch I've dragged to the observation room. Technically the place is full of heavy equipment that checks everything within several Sol-class parsecs. Any FTL ship passes through, they detect it, observe it, and record it. I just sign off on them once a month. No problem. But I like to sit there, and stare into the void. I know some guy said that when you stare into the void, the void stares back into you, but it's powerfully relaxing. Almost like meditation. And it's something to do when the various hologames just aren't doing it, or you've lost interest in whatever book you've been reading. Just looking into that starless abyss is strangely calming. Powerfully relaxing. And you get to look at that tiny dot moving slowly about in there. Sometimes I just sit and daydream about what the other guys from my unit of cadets are doing. Hey wait, what dot? I get up from the couch, and sure enough. There is something out there. Not FTL capable. Too small. I align some of the equipment manually on the thing, and sure enough, whatever it is, it's got power. Huh. Well. Better retrieve it. Or check it out at least. I take the Light-Skipper out slowly, and get it to trail the small object that has started to orbit the station. Scans reveal that there is a lot of lead in its shielding. Primitive, but effective, in terms of keeping radiation out. Before power-shielding we used lead a lot. Either an old thing then, or a cheaply made container. Putting on the spacesuit, I get to the airlock. I don't particularly enjoy spacewalks, but I don't have anything better. Light-skippers don't have arms, and just use magnetic locks to get stuff. So I have to leave the ship, and manually drag the thing inside. It's dark. A dark cylinder of unknown origin. But it doesn't register danger on any sensors I have, so it's fine. I shut down the magnetic locks, and drag it with me back to the inside of the small ship. Taking it back to the station is no trouble at all. Have to. In case what's inside is hazardous, there is an isolation chamber inside the station for just such an occasion. Once I'm back, I feel pretty giddy, gotta say. Finally, something at least a little more interesting than a full day of nothing much at all. I load the weird unknown thing into the station's hazardous containment module, and let it transport the item straight to the room. I change into the station's hazmat suit, with the shield-belt. Just in case. Wouldn't want to accidentally open the box containing the last zombie in the universe and get infected. Going into the containment room, I quickly go to work. More intensive scans reveal that while the lead prevents me from seeing what's actually inside of it, I can get the computers to tell me what it actually is. One of the few perfect safety pods ever made. Never really got popular, for some reason. But anything inside of them can be kept fresh, stored in a small time-locked state. If mishandled, it could be dangerous. And their potential for misuse, the times some criminals used them to kidnap people and make sure that they'd stay inside for long enough to be declared legally dead, yeah, that stuff lead to them getting discontinued for commercial usage, though there are some scientific areas where they still find use. The command module on the thing had been fried by something, so it would have to be opened in an alternative manner. Setting up a command link to it, wasn't hard. Getting it to work together with modern tech, was. Had to tell it not to try and search for updates thrice, knowing well that the OS it was running wasn't updated anymore. Finally, I got through its pitiful securities, and got it to disengage the chronolock, so that it could be opened properly. I don't personally know what I expected. I don't think I expected anything interesting at all. Maybe some out-dated clothes. Maybe I'd get lucky and find food kept fresh. Maybe it'd be empty. But I didn't expect what I found, no not at all. A Syjhvaritan. Not a common alien, but they had some colony-worlds out there for sure. But why was it in a human produced containment unit? It was asleep. Correction. She, according to the scanners, was asleep. Bioscans revealed nothing, except a lack of vaccinations that had been developed in the past century or so. Punching in the command codes for them, the machines whirred to life, producing the vials for vaccinations, and I quickly did what I was supposed to. The amount of diseases that had crossed species barriers in the past, the billions of lives lost, had taught us to be wary about that stuff. Otherwise, the scans showed only some mild malnutrition, easily solved after a few weeks with the right dietary choices, and a primitive form of general anesthesia. It would wear off in about a day or so.

When you signed up for the Space Marines, you thought it would be exciting. Instead, of being in a spaceship, you got stuck in basically a lighthouse at the vast open channel of nowhere

For the sixth year in a row, nothing happened. He held each egg carefully, feeling the smooth, hard shape of it, the warmth of the fires inside, but nothing else. No call came through to him, no wordless cry of welcome and friendship. For the sixth year in a row, they refused to acknowledge him. He could feel the tightness in his throat, tears pricking at the edge of his eyes. This time, he wouldn't cry. This time, he'd walk out of here calmly, as though he didn't care, as though it wasn't the one thing he dreamt of every night. A small mercy - fewer watchers than normal were in the high gallery, staring down in pity or contempt. His sister, of course, four years younger but already accompanied everywhere by a dragon of her own. His father - he knew without looking up - fixing him with a heavy stare that showed the disappointment he'd never spoken. A few servants, but otherwise no one else. No one wanted to watch his repeated shame, and no one believed that this year would be different. Fists clenched by his sides, he spun round and walked back out of the hatchery. His mother was waiting in the long tunnel, arms outstretched to comfort, to witter empty assurances and comforts that never came true. He brushed past her, moving too fast to be calm but holding onto the illusion of it with everything he had. He could feel his breathing grow ragged, the tears starting to spill as he rounded the corner. Finally, he was out, free, alone, and all semblance of control was lost as he left his failures behind and plunged deeper into the caves. --- For years now, this had been his refuge. When the weight of his father's disapproval was too much to bear, or when watching his sister's affection for her dragon filled him with so much jealous rage he worried it would burst out, he came here. A small side-tunnel, superseded by some other, larger route and long-since abandoned. No one except him ever came down here anymore, and no one except him knew of the little room half-way down, furnished simply over many visits. Here, he could sit by his own firepit and forget the rest of them. By now they'd be drinking, celebrating each new pairing. There'd be a row of grinning children round the fire, each one holding their precious egg in a leather sling, eyes shining with dreams and hopes and joys that he'd never, ever get to have. Old men would be telling stories of their own pairings, the first brush of their bonded dragons' minds, the thrill of helping a scaled head breach the rocky shell, the wild joys of shared flight and fellowship. Once, he'd sat with them, desperate to hear of the life he thought he'd live. He'd known - with the faith and ignorance of a child - that one day he'd have his own egg, even tell his own stories. For the last few years though, he'd stayed away, dulling the pain by avoiding reminders of it. His dreams, his hopes, were ashes now, not a comfort. He'd hoped for a dragon, for an egg to wake to him. His father had hoped too, had assumed that a chief's son would - of course - wake a strong wyrm early, be a worthy successor. They both knew now that that would never happen. Unlike his father though, he had a back-up plan. After the children had been led away to sleep, smiling curled round their eggs or their hopes for ones, the old men would still be there, drinking and telling stories. Stories of heroes, naturally - dragon riders who had done noble deeds, rescued damsels and saved kingdoms. Story after story of chosen ones with bonded dragons saving the day; a thousand names but the same basic narrative. One thing was different every story though: the villain. Every hero overcame something, some monstrous, twisted adversary, but every story featured a different one. This handsome forgettable hero slew a ravenous giant, that bland warrior battled a witch with hair of living flame. And one hero - Dwarin, the only one whose name he'd bothered to remember - battled the Leech Master. Not all the stories were true, of course - uncle Hrangr was a fat drunk with a fatter dragon, and the idea that they'd chased down and defeated a gigantic iron-winged hawk was laughable - but the tale of the Leech Master had a ring to it, sounded more plausible than many others. It was all the details, he thought - not 'long ago' but 'when your grandfather was young', not 'in a land far off', but 'in these very caverns'. And unlike the non-specific violence or witchery of most villains, the tale-tellers were always very clear on what the Leech Master had done. He'd been a foreigner, a man from lands far to the West where dragons were all wild and there were no bondings. He'd come to trade, to talk, to learn about the tribe and how they lived. No eggs had woken to him, but he was a strange man of foreign secrets, and he took one anyway. Like a thief, betraying all notions of guest rights and responsibilities, he had snuck down to the hatchery and stolen an egg away, fleeing deeper into the caverns and the trackless tunnels of the depths. At first they had hunted for him, set guards at every intersection in case he should sneak back for food, but the months passed and all assumed him dead in the dark, the egg lost with him. And then he had returned. Not with an egg, and not bonded with a dragon. Beside him came a warped creature, a sinuous mockery of what a dragon should be, a beast of spite and shadow, not courage and flame. In the depths below, he had tainted the egg, warped and corrupted the hatchling so that what emerged was not a bonded drake but a an enslaved monstrosity. A beast taken, not given. The story went on, of course. Told of the Leech Master's crimes, the lives he took and how they strengthened his monster. Told of Dwarin's brave, doomed assault on him, of the way the noble rider distracted him while the cave about him was undermined and collapsed. Told of how he died with his beast in darkness, sent back to shadows that had birthed them. An ignoble end, but not the important part. For the boy, the important part was just one truth: dragons could be taken. Eggs could be made to wake, rather than waking in their own time, to their chosen people. He had dreamed, once, of fellowship; that had been denied him. He had dreamed of respect, of being seen as a man by his tribe, not dismissed as an almost cripple. That too, had been denied him. Like the Leech Master, he would take what was not given. A small recompense - a single, stolen egg - for all that he had been promised, and denied. If the dragons would not show him fellowship, then he would not show it for them. He would be the master he deserved to be. [Part II](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/zyi5bs/wp_you_come_from_a_long_line_of_dragon_riders_but/j26inh6/)

You come from a long line of dragon riders, but you find no dragon hatchling will pick you. You take to dark magic and summoning to get your own dragon.

"Alright ladies and gentlemen we only get one shot at this! Failure is not an option! Johnson, payload status!" Barked Bryce Bussard, assistant manager of 'Daily Delivery', the most trusted delivery service in the tri-state area. "Locked and loaded." Johnson replied with a thumbs up. "Simmons have you calculated the trajectory?" Bryce demanded to know. "To the inch. Direct hit on target with current wind conditions, we need to launch now though before anything changes." Susan Simmons, the new girl, responded hastily. "Gonzalez has the FAA cleared the airspace around target area?" Cutting through red tape was always the hardest part of the job. "I can't get through to anyone! The lines are all busy!" Gonzalez's voice shook with panic. Bryce slammed his fist against the outside wall of the shop. "Fuck em! The doomsday clock won't stop ticking......we can't let it reach midnight. Launch it now!" The employees cowered and covered their ears to shield themselves from the earth shattering boom of an oversized howitzer. The payload quickly disappeared into the moonless night. Bryce checked his phone with bated breath. 11:58 pm........Bryce wasn't a religious man, but on that night he prayed. 11:59 pm came, the green notification light on his phone shined brighter than any star in the sky. 'Customer has scanned package. Delivery confirmed. User has left the following review: ONE STAR! TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH!'

You work at a delivery company that guarantees same day delivery. You've never had a late delivery. as you close up you get an order in at 11:50pm.

"Hey, I want to show you something." I smiled widely, following Lydia into her basement. It was dark, the lights left off. I felt a little surprised, and excited. I felt her grab my hand, tugging me further in. "Stand right here." I obeyed, opening my eyes as wide as possible in the hopes of seeing something. But as they adapted to the dark, I found myself blinded as the lights were thrown on. A moment later something tightened around my ankles, lifting me upside down into the air. "What's happening?!" I shouted, blinking rapidly. My eyes watered as they adjusted, revealing Lydia standing there with a sharp knife, and a wicked grin. "Oh, I'm sorry, did you think I wanted to hang out with a loser like you? I just wanted you to hang for me, and so I could get your blood." I looked to the floor beneath, seeing a grille and a large bucket. A searing pain opened across my throat, and I felt warm blood pour across my face. She laughed, as I found myself growing colder. I couldn't speak, but I could mouth at her, as I glared. **You'll regret this.** She cupped her ear, tilting her head to the side. "You'll have to speak up." I felt black creep over my mind. The room fell away, as my consciousness drained with my blood. \----- I awoke with a gasp, before choking on the diet I breathed in. I pushed up, breaking through a few inches of soil. A shallow grave, how amateur. I pulled myself free, brushing some of the clumps from my clothes. She hadn't even emptied my pockets, as I felt my keys rattle. With a chuckle I walked home. The moon was high in the sky, the midnight rays shining down. It had been a long time since my last murder, but it was good to see my protections were still active. I reached my house with little issue, entering quietly. It was quiet, as always. I made my way to my room, stripping off my ruined clothes. I would have to get more now, but maybe I could get Lydia to replace them. It would be a good way to get her to repay me for the inconvenience. "You're late." I looked at the mirror. My reflection twisted into a sardonic smile, eyes dripping black. "You know why I'm late, don't act surprised." My reflection laughed. "Oh I know. You walked willingly into that trap. It was a good thing you're my host." I rolled my eyes. My protection was annoying, as much as it was right. I had grown complacent, the long years of inactivity draining my vigilance. "Yeah yeah. Look, I will get her back for it, alright? Besides, how was your day?" It frowned, shaking its head. "Annoying. Another cleric refused to heed my warning, and now there is another slaughtered congregation. Which I will be blamed for. Again." I winced. That was definitely worse. I settled down to go to bed for the small amount of time I had left before school tomorrow. \----- I walked into class at my usual time, a few minutes before school started. Lydia was already there, laughing with one of her friends. But as she looked at me the laugh died, as her face paled. I smiled, winking at her. She spluttered, eyes darting around. I walked over, gently putting my hand on her desk. "Hi Lydia. Thanks for the interesting time yesterday." She was breathing heavily, and I smirked, standing up. Any crush I had was long since gone, drained with my blood. "I will see you later." I walked away, grinning to myself. She was definitely panicking. I didn't mind. I expected she would do one of two things after school. Either corner me, and try to work out what was happening, or head to the woods, and my shallow grave. Whichever path she chose, we were going to have a conversation. And she wouldn't like it.

You were asked out by your crush to come and hang out with her after school. On your date, she drained your blood and buried you in the woods thinking that you were another easy victim. And now, the next morning, she looks horrified when you walk into class.

*Damien looked deeply into Lexi's honey-colored gaze, and in it found acceptance, friendship, and perhaps something---* Lexi elbowed him, hard. He coughed, nearly choking on his spit. Damien clutched his abdomen, gasping for air. She'd gotten him good, right in the solar plexus. "It's fuckin' happening again!" She hissed. *Lexi was a woman of intense passion, nobody had been able to handle her all her life, but Damien? Damien was different, with his dark, luscious hair, and deep, mysterious gaze. He--* "Did they change the definition of passion while I was out?" He breathed, having regained his bearings. He'd been unconscious for a day, the result of a rival finding him alone and vulnerable, looking for supplies. He'd been thoroughly robbed. Not even the package of extra spicy ramen had been left on his person, the one hidden in his pants. Lexi snorted, tensing up as the disembodied voice continued. *Damien had always been a provider, he cared for his people, and his people cared for him, a natural-born leader. It was one of the things that attracted Lexi to him, his inner strength. He was everything she--* "What is this thing on?" She said, staring at the tiled ceiling of the abandoned supermarket. Lexi had been the one to save *him* from a horde. The closest thing to *leadership* he'd exhibited recently was helping her over a chain link fence while she'd been injured. *After he'd left his clan--* "Wait, how--" Damien sputtered. "Clan?" Lexi muttered, then realization...and fury hit. Her neck snapped toward him, her 'honeyed' gaze turning a beastly gold. "***You said the hunters abandoned-***\-" "I, Lex--wait, I can explain" He stuttered. *It was love, love at first blood.*

Two best friends are trying to stay best friends while the narrator tries to make them lovers

Two years, that was our bargain. For two more years she would live and in exchange I would give her unending power till that time came to an end. It has been a year since and I don’t think we’re going to survive the other one. I have made many deals with all sorts of characters: warlords seeking glory, heroes hoping to save their homeland, adventurers wanting to be remembered, fools too stupid to realize what I am. The strength I grant is proportional to the time I take to drain them of their life. Some would ask for twenty years, ten, or even five. All of them would use me to claim their deepest desires only to lament the years they lost before they crumble to dust when the time comes. At first I believed she was just another hapless fool, desperate and broken, looking for path to salvation. I should’ve known something was up when she only asked for two years. Of course my initial impression was spot on, just another orphan looking to save her home from invaders, but there was something more to her and finding out has been the greatest mistake of my existence. Unlike most of my other hosts, she possessed a razor cunning and an endless appetite for conflict, danger, excitement, and violence. She wasn’t satisfied just being the hero of her homeland, showered with gifts, titles, and praise after beating impossible odds, no no no, she wanted more. At first I wasn’t concerned with her desires, many conquerors before her would use me against their enemies till their final days, some even turned to dust on the field of battle. Then the day after the girl saved her home, she took me east and slayed the first dragon we ran into. I don’t know what scared me more, almost getting scorched by dragon fire or the wide grin on her face as she slid under it. It was then I learned that, this girl chooses battles like the Lich King used to resurrect dead, indiscriminately and constantly. Speaking of whom do you want to know how we reached his fortress? By rowboat, across a lake, filled with undead. Worst part wasn’t even the boat sinking or the swim to shore but the kraken. Haveill the Soul Render still hasn’t forgiven me for what occurred after we reached the shore. But even slaying the Lich King wasn’t enough for her. Of course it wasn’t. Nothing will ever be enough for her. The danger, the rush, she’s addicted to it. It drives her to constantly one-up herself and I’m forced to go along. If she were any of my other hosts, they would’ve died within a month of trying these stunts and I’d find a new host shortly after but not her. No, with her cunning and ravenousness she has felled foes no bargain of mine could have ever given her the strength to defeat. Somewhere along the line we’ve reached a point where if she dies fighting something, I’m either next or dying with her because she picked a fight with something I can’t bargain with and SHE. JUST. DOESN’T. STOP. The Sky Kingdom, the Slumbering Mountains, the Abyssal Titans, the Lich King, Deathscourge the World Ender, Demon Lord Helsax the Eternal and his infinite hordes. All far beyond my power to match; legends greater than even mine, having endured for countless millennia. All annihilated within a year. Every wound she takes only pushes her further. Every victory sates her for only the briefest of moments before she’s starving again, more ravenous than before. There is no greater desire within her to be fulfilled. Her nightmarish grin only grows wider every time we brush with death. Her kind calls her a hero but I know what she truly is; a monster whose bloodlust dwarfs even the most sadistic tyrants of history, yes, even the Dwarven Tyrant Kurgan the Blood Mountain. I cannot break our bargain and I fear that there is no alternative for which she will accept its end. She does not yet know of my dread but if she ever did my only hope of breaking this bargain would be lost. This past year has been easily been the most miserable portion of my existence by far. Yes, even worse than the time I got lost in a dragon hoard. Worse than the time I sank to the bottom of the ocean. Worse than the years I was wielded alongside Haiwal the Blood Purger by Emperor Isild, the Almighty Tyrant. Every day is a brush with death; every month is a new peak; a year of nothing but blood and sure death for the both of us. For her, it’s pure euphoria. For me, it’s pure stress. A week ago, her homeland was invaded again, this time from across the sea, and tomorrow she plans to challenge the invader’s god of war in a duel to the death. I can’t take this anymore. So I make this prayer in my most desperate hour. *Oh holy goddess I, Haket the Life Dealer, beg for salvation from the clutches of this madwoman, this ceaseless adrenaline addict. I am willing to do any task or pay any price. I would never make another bargain again and fade to nothingness or even pledge eternal servitude and become your willing vessel. Please, I beg, sever my contract for if she isn’t stopped, our world will be devoured before the year’s end.* ________ Edited for minor word changes.

You are a magical sword that gives its user unimaginable power in exchange for their lifespan. However, you are getting concerned about your current user's lack of value for their life.

Aster appeared to be like any mortal, except he lacked the wrinkles of most mortals I had followed before. Most would have found it unnerving, if they had known my current mortal is someone who appear to be in his twenties. But I disagree, after all, a couple millennia ago the oldest person would be rather young for people of this era. Sometimes I want to ask why I couldn't have been allowed to follow the oldest sentient beings instead of the oldest person. I bet the turtles are a bit more fun than humans. Then there's the fact that I wouldn't even have to go find the next one to watch every other year since their lifespans are longer. Honestly, boring could barely describe my life. All the humans follow the same path. Some spend their last years grieving those who had already left, others enjoy their moments with the youth, but most would only be confined in a bed. The repetition slowly drives me into absolute boredom. Aster, so far, have my interest peak, if only due to his youth. Maybe that's why I haven't reported Aster to the Pantheon yet. I mean, they did say I have to follow the oldest person on earth. A person, by definition, is a being with certain capacities and part of an established form of social orders. An alien fits, right?

You are the god of old age. Your life is pretty boring because your job is to hang out with the current oldest person on earth. For centuries you've had to watch old people die. Except now, you are following around someone who looks to be in their twenties...

_How the shit does this even happen? Fml._ I watched motionlessly, the blood pouring from my face as the driver of our Isekai truck swerved away from the kid. The kid who was supposed to become a great warrior and help save an entire kingdom from complete decimation. “Dude, what are you gonna do? There’s no way we can use a grizzly and we can’t get authorization for another truck,” I said. “We get a druid.” “¿Qué?” I was beyond baffled. “I said we get a druid.” “Never mind the fact that the nearest druid is thousands of miles to the West and centuries earlier how the hell is a druid going to help?” “They can cast an awaking spell on the bear.” Marty looked at me like a toddler who just learned how to use a spoon. “Dude. This isn’t fucking Forgotten Realms it’s Edo Japan. There’s no fucking magic!” “I know, I know. But we can still make it work. We just go to some fantasy world, grab a druid, bring him to the grizzly and have him awaken it.” That same silly grin on his face. “And how do you suppose we get the druid there?” He literally pointed into the air and said “We use a wizard!” I hung my head in dismay. “So we just find a wizard, convince him to transport a druid between *universes* and have the druid awaken a seventeen-hundred pound grizzly then proceed to have the grizzly save the kingdom. Sounds simple enough. You just forgot one simple detail. What the actual *fuck* is an awakened grizzly bear doing in Edo Japan?” “Shit. I hadn’t thought about that.” “*That’s* the thing you hadn’t thought about? Seriously?” “Okay, maybe we can—“ “Shut the fuck up for a minute. Let me think.” Marty looked a little hurt but I just ignored him. I paced the room for a few minutes trying to figure out how to get around his fuck up. I told him we should just wait until the kid flies to San Francisco. The plane was *going* to crash. It even would have been less paperwork since there wasn’t going to be any evidence of bodies, much less survivors. There were way too many variables while he was still in Alaska. Our Isekai truck was a 16-wheeler on an icy highway and that alone didn’t guarantee the kid would be hit. That kind of transport vehicle (no pun intended) is usually reserved for frivolous stories like a great-great-great-neice meeting her peasant aunt. Stories with no consequence. Usually when someone hits the wrong target you can still manage to make due with them. Generations removed it’s usually easy enough to convince poor old Aunt Elsie that she never had any nieces and this is actually her nephew. But shit man… A grizzly? I’ve seen some fuck ups before but this one takes the cake. Then it hit me. “We can use a wizard.” “Wait… Aren’t you the one who just told me this isn’t a table-top game?” “Yeah, but a powerful enough wizard can transport someone between any universes.” “And where are we going to find a wizard that powerful?” “Wait. You’re the one who had the wizard idea to begin with. You didn’t think about that?” “Well…” “Nevermind. I think I know just the guy.” I gave him a somewhat sinister grin. A look of recognition slowly formed on his face. “Dude. He’ll fucking kill you.” “Yeah and so will our manager.” Neither one of us was joking. “We don’t have a choice.” ***It’s maybe a bit cliché? I like the idea of going meta though.*** ***This is the first time I’ve ever written for a prompt. Please let me know what you think.***

The Isekai Truck misses the intended target and hits a seventeen-hundred pound Grizzly Bear instead.

Lucielle's a sweet girl, but she's got no sense when it comes to choosing good life partners. Which is why her mother ordered me to watch over her when she moved to Boston. Life as a pet ain't bad - you get free room and board, and all the head scratches you could ask for. For the most part, the people she brought back weren't disastrously terrible. There was Mitchell the non-committal, Elaine with the emotional baggage, Terrence the two-timer, and so on. Not disastrously terrible, like I said. Just your typical run-of-the-mill, 20th century dating-app terrible. And generally, a good bout of hissing and scratching was enough to drive them away. But when she brought Darren home, I knew I would be in for a challenge. He seemed like a perfectly nice, well-adjusted, individual. Still, something seemed....*wrong.* Of course, I communicated my objections in the most polite manner. That is, by knocking his glasses out of her 10th-floor apartment unit, doing my business in his shoes, and throwing up all over his laptop. He was no normal adversary, though. Instead, he calmly wiped my puke off his laptop, retrieved his (unbroken!) glasses, and went shopping. "Those old shoes were getting pretty worn out after all," he said as he sent a mocking smile in my direction. "I've got to thank Mittens for giving me an excuse to buy a new pair." "Thanks for understanding," Lucielle gushed. "Mittens always gets jealous when I bring someone new home. Most people get scared off, but I'm glad you're sticking around." Clearly, mere annoyances were not enough to chase off Darren. I escalated my strategies. Hissing, clawing, biting - however, he always seemed to be able to evade my attacks with supernatural speed. But one day, I got him - and I pinpointed what was setting my fur on edge. Darren bled silver. \--- /r/theBasiliskWrites

You are a pet with some rather salty opinions about the people your owner has been dating lately

Build a castle they said, it will be fun they said,so i did Learn to cast complicated magic spells,it will be fun they said,so i did Defend your castle with machinery that's 1000 to early to be understood,they said,so i did Make yourself immune to sunlight they said,so i did And they made another hundred request until i realized,that this is boring,so i stopped listening,always said i can do it tomorrow Maybe making so the only way I can die is by riping my soul from by body and descending into hell itself to throw it in hellfire wasn't a good idea However i wasn't completely stale,after all once or twice a decade you would see another adventurer try to invade my castle,fail at getting past the first monster who can think more than basic instinct ,and repeat ad infinitum However,one day a human woman came at the gates,no weapons,no armor,just clothes and a basket with a mix of poisonous and non-poisonous herbs and mushrooms, amusing,so amusing in fact I decided to confront her myself ... ... ... What am I doing, playing house with this woman,she said she wanted to learn my technology,but why are cooking together!!! Oh those deep blue ey-NO you're dracula damnit, even if she did love you she only last 50 years,stop deluding yourself ... ... ... . . . . . . . . . I found something that can't be delayed Guess I'm not bored anymore, isn't that right Lisa? Yes dear,i love you I love you too

A vampire, or other immortal being, deeply struggles with procrastination because they will ALWAYS have tomorrow

Darren scowled down at the Ouija board, as the planchette glided over its surface of its own accord. "Y...O...okay, yeah, I get it. Very funny. You're hilarious." he said, drily. Given that the previous four letters indicated by the polished wooden arrow had been c, f, k, and u -- though not in that order -- he felt confident that he understood the message. Despite this, the spirit controlling the planchette felt the need to make it stand on edge, and then bob up and down. "And now you're flipping me off with the planchette. Nice." Darren said, rolling his eyes. He threw up his hands in consternation. "You know what? Fine. Have fun haunting a parking lot in six months, asshole." Darren began to stand up from the table where the Ouija board sat, but was startled by the planchette suddenly clattering back down onto the board. It then began rapidly circling the question mark printed just below the array of letters. Darren smirked. That had finally gotten his spectral roommate's attention, it seemed. He settled back into his seat. "Oh so now you give a shit, huh?" he quipped. The planchette slid over to "YES". "Well it's true: see, the previous owner of our building was very community-minded. His will included all kinds of stipulations his heirs had to abide by to inherit it." Darren explained. "They weren't allowed to sell the building as long as there were renters living here, and they weren't allowed to raise the rent more than the rate of inflation." He sighed. "But the place is still a dump, even if it's cheap, since the new owners aren't exactly incentivized to invest in it. I'm the last one here, and as it stands I can't afford to pay rent anymore. If I go, this place will be sold to some developer and torn down inside a week." Darren gestured to the table. "That's why I decided to talk to you. I figured if you're gonna make footstep sounds at night, stack up my chairs, and slam my cupboards, maybe you could at least use your spooky ghost powers to help me with my cash flow problem, while you're at it. Otherwise, we're both homeless." Darren followed the planchette with his eyes, as it began to move again. "H...O....W...how? I don't know how! You're the ghost, you know what you can do better than I do. Is there like...some buried treasure you know about? A bank account in your name, that maybe no one ever claimed?" "NO," came the reply, via planchette. "Well then, I don't know, what would you suggest? Any ideas? G...E...T...A...J...O...B--pff, yeah, okay boomer, like I haven't tried that already! It's a tough economy right now, for people in my line of work. L...E...A...R...N...T...O...C--I know how to code, alright? It's not that simple!" An awkward silence hung in the room for a moment. And then, the planchette began to move again. "W...E...S...H...." Darren began reading, then frowned as he finished. "We should talk? We're already talking." "I...N...in person? Uh, how would that work? You're a ghost." Darren frowned, as the planchette slid over to rest under the word "NO." It rose into the air as it did before, and Darren scowled again, taking it as another phantom middle finger. Then he jumped out of his chair in surprise as a small man appeared standing on the chair opposite him, holding the planchette between a stubby thumb and forefinger. The man looked old and ragged, with a long red beard streaked with white, that hung all the way down to the knees of his patched and stained green trousers. "Truth be told, boyo," the old man said, in a high-pitched lilting accent. "I've been having me own 'cash flow problems' of a sort, for nigh on a century now." As Darren gaped at the little old man in amazement, a sly grin spread across the strange creature's wrinkled face, "Mayhaps I can be after helpin' ye with your problem..." The strange little man paused and waved his hand mystically. A miniature rainbow suddenly arched over the table where the Ouija board lay, and a little black cauldron appeared at its end -- empty, except for some dust and cobwebs. "...if ye can be helping me with mine, in turn." the old man finished.

"Are there any spirits with me in this room right now?" The Ouija board moves to 'Yes.' "Okay good, 'cause rent is due, and you need to fork over your share." The Ouija board spells out, 'F U C K.'

Cheribael, Lord of Misrule and ArchDuke of the Third Plane of Hell, felt cramped. As his imposing form (blood-red skin, curling ramshorns, cloven hooves and a whip-like, spade-tipped tail) coalesced out of the coiling infernal smoke, he felt... smaller? Somehow diminished? The last wisps of smoke drifted away, and suddenly he understood. When summoned, the *choice* of form was up to him, but the *dimensions* were limited by the size of the circle. It would, of course, break the rules if he breached the boundaries upon arrival. For now - until dismissed or released - he had no choice but to conform to the summoner's limits. That was not normally a problem. He wasn't one of the Wrath demons, who insisted on towering over everything, or a Gluttonous spawn that would fill - like curdled milk - almost any space it was allowed. He fancied himself a cut above the vulgar hellions, and that meant style won out over sheer mass. Eight feet tall (6 ft 5 in, sure, if you didn't count the horns) was enough for him, with proportional breadth across his shoulders. That meant that a standard summoning circle, drawn by terrified cultists, was comfortable - even roomy. Not so today. Today, he found himself reduced to no more than six inches in height, with the horns! His entire being rejected this humiliation, flames flourishing across his horns as his body reshaped to be less civilised, more inclined for outraged violence. The summoning circle was tiny, insulting to the most minor of imps, and made not from moonlit runes carved into stone, not from sigils scrawled in blood, not even from salt and ash, but... crayon? Crayon. He was bound by unbreachable magic, by the forces that warded Eden and separated the heavens from the Earth, and it was drawn in crayon. His power flared briefly, testing for any fault, any opportunity to escape the circle and rend his summoner asunder for the insult, but he already knew it was futile. For a circle this small to have even begun summoning a devil of his potency, its construction would have had to be flawless. An ArchDuke of Hell, imprisoned and reduced to standing on a sheet of paper, surrounded by swirls of glossy pink crayon. He would never, ever live this down. At least, he consoled himself, it would probably be only a brief excursion into reality. Summoning was increasingly rare amongst mortals, and tended to involve fewer full-Faustian bargains than formerly. Most likely, in a few short hours - having claimed the soul of a cheating spouse, granted some kind of physical transformation, or imparted a forbidden secret - he would be sent tumbling back down to the pit. There, he could drink off the shame of this treatment with hellion wine and never, ever mention it again. He'd already delayed too long, but he took another moment to calm himself. Straightened his shoulders, stilled the flames, stood tall as though he wasn't humiliated. Reshaped his iron-tipped claws back into a more civilised (but still imposing) hand shape, stilled the restless whipping of his tail. He was an ArchDuke, one of the true Fallen, and he was going to act like it. At last, he met the gaze of his summoner. "Hello." That wasn't normal either. Summoners were usually either awkward loners who tried for an imperious tone - 'Hear me, spawn of Satan' - or cultists bound together by weird sexual tension, anxiety, and complexes. That led to breathy choruses of 'O great one, we are here for your bidding', which was honestly more uncomfortable than being ordered about. Either way, you expected either petulant or servile, not polite. His summoner was not large. Relative to him, of course, she was very large, but that was a temporary state. Relative to the world around her, to reality, she was quite small. She had a round, serious face, with rounder glasses on top, and dark brown hair pulled into two bunches. Most importantly/insultingly, she was clearly a child. "Hellooo!" When he didn't immediately answer, one chubby hand waved frantically in front of his face, just outside the bounds of the circle. She was six-ish? Maybe seven - he rarely met children. She was kneeling on the carpet in some currently-titanic living room, staring down at him anxiously. Her waving hand showed no sign of tiring. No help for it. "Greetings, summoner!" His voice came out as a squeak - an unavoidable consequence of his tiny stature and tinier vocal chords; he resolved to struggle through this new humiliation as well. "What is your will?" "I'm Beth." A long pause. He wasn't really sure what to do with that information. Normally there were already demands, or even threats. Introductions were a new experience. "Greetings, Beth. I am Cheribael, Dark Lord of the Third Plane. Why... Why have you summoned me?" A shrug. An actual shrug. He could feel the fire raging inside him, wanting to flare out in annoyance. He quashed the urge - scaring children was beneath him. Leave that to the Spite mephits. "I'm not really sure." She drew out the 'e' in 'really', a long vowel of hesitation. Now that she had his attention, had started a conversation, she seemed to be unwilling to meet his eyes. Her gaze focused anywhere else - the ceiling, the pink lines of the circle, her own hands - only flicking back to meet his occasionally. Cheribael sighed, shifting to sit cross-legged in the circle. This, at least, was familiar ground. Not every summoner was clear of purpose. Some knew they wanted power, or revenge, or knowledge man should not possess, but that was just the majority. Sometimes, very occasionally, you got the other type of summoning. Lots of hellions wouldn't answer them; there was little potential for violence or souls from this type. That - perhaps - was why he'd been the devil pulled out of hell this time; he'd done this sort of thing before, almost prided himself on handling it well. A summoning is a call, a message sent out into the ether. Mostly, those calls are deliberate, intentional demands made by those with strong wills and stronger appetites. Other people don't know what they want, they just know, deep inside themselves, that something is missing. It's the difference between a shout and a sob - both sounds, but only one of them chosen. When someone has a yearning in their soul, a wish for aid or comfort that they don't fully understand themselves, *and* that happens to coincide with the right tools or circumstances to breach the walls of reality, you got summonings like this. The last time this had happened to him, it had been a young man, weeping over a broken guitar. He'd been sat at a crossroads on All Hallow's Eve. The time before, a mother who'd lost her child, sitting slumped in an alleyway. Her city was ravaged by plague, a heavy enough weight of death and misery to thin the walls between the worlds. Other times, a few over the centuries, followed the same pattern. The right place, time, or power, and some misery to set them yearning for aid of any kind. You couldn't take their souls. Most summoners were complicit, meddling with the dark powers for their own ends; their eternity was forfeit before they even made a pact. But these, the lost and lonely, didn't make bargains, didn't carry a stain upon them. They just grieved, longed, and the magic answered. No sustenance for a demon, no chance at spoils or glory. Those summoned in such a way were bound by all the old restrictions, but with none of the right to subvert them. When summoned like this, you were left with a choice: do nothing, or offer aid. Cheribael was an ArchDuke of Hell, but still he remembered. Remembered an earlier time, before the Fall, when he had brought balm and comfort. His unwilling occupancy of Hell had many causes, but cruelty had not been his sin, and was not his vice now. Those who deserved to sit above Creation had, even in their shame, a responsibility to it. Helping was the right thing to do, and ignoring a supplicant's plea was beneath him. And so the devil softened his squeaking tone, relaxed his imperious posture once more, and asked Beth what was wrong. [Part II](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/zyttqi/wp_for_todays_bring_your_dad_to_school_project/j293x6x/).

"For today's 'Bring Your Dad to School' project, I've brought my stepfather." The child smiles brightly, while the hulking archdemon beside him waves awkwardly at the classroom full of other students and their parents.

I stared at the aliens, confused. “How did you get here? We’ve proven that traveling faster than light is impossible.” *Correct,* the voice in my head responded. These creatures spoke with their minds instead of mouths. It still creeped me out a bit. *We got here by slowly traveling through space. What concerns us, however, is you.* “Wait, us?” I exclaimed. *We did not expect there to be anything left on this planet. When we left, it was devoid of all life,* the voice calmly said. “So,” I started to say, “You’ve been traveling for…” *Around 65 million years, give or take.* I whistled. “Your species lasts this long?” If the creature could laugh, it would have. Instead it made some sort of wheezing sound. *No, we are descendants of those who left our home. Be glad you did not meet those who originally left.* “Why?” I asked. *They…* it paused. *They had some, let’s say, radical views. They wouldn’t hesitate to repeat what they did before. You see, it was them who sent the missile.* My eyebrows furrowed. “What missile? And how do we not know about this.” The alien sighed in my mind. *Because that missile wiped out all life on this planet 130 million years ago.* Edit: thanks for the typo u/braoutchmeuh! Completely missed them when writing it.

Faster than light travel has been proven impossible, that's why humans are so surprised when aliens turn up. Not as surprised as the aliens on the generational ship who say the planet was void of life when they set off, following a missile they had sent to wipe out the dinosaurs.

I am... an anomaly. I mean, even beyond zombies I'm strange. I do still register as a zombie to what matters, aka either human sensors or zombies not attacking me. But in all honestly I'm not a zombie, not a proper one. I was pretty normal, if a zombie can be considered normal, until an odd plant decided to take root in me. It's... weird. I don't really know how to describe it. I think it might have been some kind of parasite, but considering how I'm dead and relatively brainless it doesn't have anything to root in. We're both kind of in a strange symbiosis. I provide locomotion, while it lets me take in sun and dirt to... I guess live? I'm not quite sure why I'm alive, if I'm honest. Why it chose me. If it can choose. How did I even develop any kind of brain-power? Is the plant even alive? Is it some kind of half-life like I have? Somewhere else, is there some whole society of humans, infected by this plant to do... whatever? ...Maybe that's why we work so well together. We're both half-lives. So together... we make a full life. Something greater than the sum of our parts. Maybe, one day, I'll can get it to speak to me or something. We've spent enough time together. Maybe we'd be friends.

You're one of the few zombies who coexists with a plant that grows in you. You travel, absorbing sunlight and eating soil, to stay alive. Today marks one year post-outbreak.

I mean, the signs were there, nails, the faint smell of fire, but most of all the eyes of a reptile. Golden irises with red rim and a vertical slitted pupil, including the third eyelid. My commlink chirped as a message flashed into view. SORRY, BUT IF YOU'D KNOWN YOU'D BEVER GONE. I OWE YOU ONE AND OWED HER ONE. Part of me wanted to turn around and run, but seeing the establishment, the number of generic people having generic smalltalk conversations told me that would be a bad idea. Besides, my tux was already rented and my buddy owing me a favour would come in handy. I sit down and unbutton my tuxedo jacket, adjust my emerald silk collar and fix my cuffs with jade cufflinks. A waiter hastily approaches to fill my glass up and just as quickly disappears. My date offers me her hand. I lightly kiss the back of her hand. "Would I adress your majesty as Orange Queen, or does my lady prefer Hestaby?" I speak softly, knowing better than to antagonise a Great Dragon and Keeper of Metahumanity. I know we are surrounded by her staff, but my profession requires a certain level of professionalism and discretion. My date wiped a lock of Auburn hair out of her face and smiles. I don't see her lips move, but I hear her voice chrystal clear in my mind. "Keen eyes with a silver tongue. I see your reputation is well earned. But please, tonight I'm not in any official capacity, just looking for a good meal and hopefully better company. Call me Hestaby. No doubt you've noticed we are surrounded by my staff." A chef appears with amuses bouches and our date starts in earnest. "Just a night in the town? I never dared to think you would like the banality of dinner and company..." I smirk. This might be my last night as a runner.

When you went on a blind date, you did not expect to see a dragon waiting for you. Still, it'd be a shame to have gotten dressed up for nothing so...