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It was a good death, I think. I'd rather not have had it. The goal was to get us both out of the way, but things don't always work out like that. The blaring horn, getting louder and also higher pitched as it approached. Thanks, I see you there giant truck. Could the last few seconds of my life not be ear splitting pain? No. Great, thanks. At least, I thought it was the last few seconds. Suddenly, I was falling. Falling. Then the freshest air I've ever breathed filled my senses and I had a moment to enjoy it before landing on the ground with a wallop. The air knocked out of me. Wait, how was there even any air to knock out of me? I should be dead. I felt grass on my fingers and opened my eyes. Clear blue sky. Clouds. I sat up with a grunt. Rolling hills, a little cropping of trees near me. Gorgeous. Everything was insane right now but the sheer beauty of this place struck me like someone had turned the saturation way up. I inhaled again, feeling that same freshness fill my lungs and now getting to enjoy it. I had died. But I was alive. Was this heaven? Had I gone to heaven? "Ha!" I shouted loudly to nobody or maybe to everybody if this was heaven. Who cared. "Suck my dick, pastor Dave! I'm in heaven!" I had stopped believing in heaven a while ago, but a win is a win. Apparently, I hadn't shouted it to nobody. A rustle from that tree line. A growl. Growl? There's no growling in heaven. Out of the tree came a massive, snarling dog. Dog is the best word I can think of to describe it. It had a basic dog shape, except it was taller than I was even on four legs. There was no fur, just wrinkly skin wit mottled scales on it. The snarl from the mouth, which was massive even in proportion to its hulking frame, revealed sharp teeth and dripping saliva. I stood up. I barely even remember doing it or even thinking about it and suddenly my body reacted on instinct to be ready to haul ass. "Be not afraid?" I asked, remembering that from something. Angels were scary, right? Well that wasn't what was happening here. The beast launched itself at me and that haul ass instinct kicked in again. I had just thought I had moved as fast as I possibly could to save Carl from that truck, but I apparently had a couple more gears. The demon dog missed its first pounce on account of underestimating just how intensely I could run away and I used that miss to put as much distance between us as I could. I cursed the lovely rolling hills that had made me think of heaven because they provided nowhere to hide. Another growl, a grunt from behind me and I banked hard left without thinking. The beast again landed where I had been a moment ago and my second death was further delayed slightly. What kind of sick joke is this? The rolling hills didn’t give me anywhere to hide, but they did obscure my view so I couldn't see the whole landscape. I definitely was shocked to see a girl when I topped the next hill. She was running toward me, the gifts god had given her bouncing enthusiastically with the effort despite the armor like outfit she was wearing. I say armor like because while in theory the material was designed to look like some kind of armor there were definitely several exposed vital spots particularly in the chest area hence the bouncing. Had she just come from a cosplay convention or something? Worry about that later. Not even the weirdest thing happening. "Run!" I shouted. She continued moving towards me, hand on the ornate pommel at her hip. I didn't have time to explain, grabbed her other arm hoping to drag her along in the right direction. It was like trying to move a statue. She had shifted from a run to a firmly planted stance and despite being a buck twenty tops she wasn’t going anywhere. The attempt sent me sprawling to the ground as she shrugged off my grip like it was nothing. The sword came out of its scabbard with a ring no cosplay sword was ever going to make. She was a petite thing, but I recognized a power stance when I saw one and the bare arm (seriously, what does that iron corset even protect?) which held the blade was lined with compact musculature. The creature lunged at her, she side stepped and I didn't so much see her swing as notice that the sword was suddenly elsewhere. Blood sprayed from the beast's neck, black and horrid, and it fell to the ground with a moan. Not a hair was out of place on her head and she gave the blade a little flourish to flick the blood off it before sheathing it again and jogging over to me. She knelt in front of me, genuine concern in her eyes. "Are you all right?" I was stunned. It had all been so much. My mouth was open, gaping like an idiot and I managed to stammer, "Y... yeah." She nodded, glancing around. "We should go before more come. You're lucky I was on my morning walk and heard roar of a Yuleth." She held out a hand, helping me up with a vice grip. "Yeah, I'll say!" I said, my mind deciding it wasn't going to die and allowing me to speak whole sentences again, "That was the coolest thing I've ever seen in my life! You're amazing. How did you do that?" She shrugged, "I am a knight of the order. It is what I have been trained to do all my life. I'm Ester." "Cameron," I responded, "Don’t be so modest. I'd be a meal right now if it wasn't for you." She smiled slightly, "That's not true," she said, glancing at me, "A snack, at most." I placed my hand on my chest in mock pain, "Ouch. Did you save me just to kill me with words?" She raised her eyebrows as if to say maybe then her eyes took in a little more of me. "What are you wearing?" I glanced down. I just had on slacks and a plain blue tee shirt. Some sneakers. This wasn't an especially loud outfit and that wasn't really my style anyway. I was aware of my appearance, but I never was too much of a fashionista. Still, having a girl dressed in a Yandy version of armor comment on my non descript outfit would not stand. "What am I wearing?" I replied incredulously. (Part 1)

You, a gay man, save a friend from being hit by a truck but resulting in you being hit instead. You wake up in an isekai anime obviously meant for the friend. So with a lack of male options you decide to try and get the main villain to date you

The lesser creature, sprawled upon the ground, looked up and saw the larger dominant creature before itself: teeth bared into a smile. A foul sound, repetitive and rhythmic, bellowing out from its chest and directed at it. Laughter. The lesser creature blinked away its tears, making a grunt of pain and resistance. Its fur was matted with blood and dirt, the result of past altercations with this one dominant creature. The dominant creature howled, as if taunting its lesser to try and even the odds. It had subjugated many like it before, bringing all to their knees before it. What would one defiant creature be but a footnote, a speed bump? Both creatures, acting on aggregated instinct, were more like sleepwalkers than sapient beings: merely playing out responses to actions and stimuli. The dominant creature grabbed the lesser creature, raising it off from the ground and throwing it back down again. It had done this many times before, cracking the skulls of other creatures upon rocks on the ground, rendering them into inert lumps of flesh. There was no way for the dominant creature to know that today would be any different. The angle was slightly off, and instead of a fatal blow, the lesser creature’s head recoiled off the rock instead. Something clicked inside the lesser creature’s head. Like a sleepwalker being roused from slumber, it blinked. It was a blink that seemed to stretch into eternity. A voice, weaved from cause and effect, from the inevitable decay of order into chaos, from the vibrations of threads finer than the finest silk, spoke to the creature. There was no language in the voice, only pure intent. The voice spoke of many things. It spoke of other beings far greater than the one the creature was locked in conflict with, beings that would offer it unlimited power for a price. It spoke of lives beyond the current, of other dominant creatures in those lives who desired for those of this existence to acknowledge and venerate them. It spoke of other beings who molded the flesh of self and others through abhorrent sounds and gestures, leaving oceans of blood in their wake. It spoke of the same situation playing out across the eons and across countless worlds, each an iteration upon the great game of existence. The strong subjugating the weak. The weak submitting to the strong. The voice offered a choice. A way to resist, to develop, to progress. The Creature opened its eyes. It spoke no language, but its intent was clear. It would not bargain, nor venerate, nor warp its flesh. Without looking, as if guided by the hand of destiny itself, The Creature grabbed the rock that had almost killed it mere instants before. The Creature gripped the rock tightly and charged at the dominant creature. It would end its oppressor’s existence, right here and right now. It couldn’t do so before by pure strength alone, but now things were different. It was no longer alone. And so did the rock became the first tool, and The Creature named Man took its first bloody step down the Path of Technology.

technology.

Annie looked up at the cosmic entity before her. It was a towering figure that dominated her view, made of something her brain could not quite comprehend. It radiated pure power and the very ideal of Order itself. Annie barely reacted to its presence. "Greetings, mortal." The entity said in a deep, booking voice that shook the air itself. "I am Orventius, Avatar of Order. I have appeared before you, whose heart is dedicated to the betterment of all, to grant you--" Annie sighed. "Yeah, yeah, let's lose the theatrics. What is it this time?" Orventius' form dimmed and shimmered for a moment. "Excuse me?" "Look, I get it. Champion of order, being a hero, blah blah blah. Can we just get it over with? I have to get some things at the store and I'd like to get there before the lines get really long." "I...I am sorry, young lady, but I do not think you understand the gravity of what I am giving you." "Oh, trust me, I get gravity." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "Look, I'm sorry if I come off as a little rude, but this has happened way too much for me to really express the awe and deference you're probably expecting." The Avatar of Order's towering form shrunk and coalesced into a vaguely humanoid form. The ears were a bit off, but it was mostly right. "What do you mean, exactly?" Much to Orventius's surprise, Annie rose off the ground and took a position that made it look like she was reclining on the couch. "The first time was five years ago. A meteor hit the ground near me and gave me star powers. You know, light, plasma, gravity, all that stuff. I was stoked. Flying around and shooting lasers? Totally badass. Then I saved the life of an old lady who turned out to be, basically the goddess of beasts. She gave me the ability to turn into animals. A little weird, but hey, becoming an eagle with wings made out of literal stellar plasma? How awesome is that? "Then I met an actual alien who modified my body into what it thought was the human ideal. No idea what it was going off, but now I have super...well, everything physical. I mean, lifting train cars and running around faster than cars is cool, right? Then there was that fairy I helped who let me change my size. Then there was that nuclear...thing that gave me energy manipulation. Then there was...okay, look, the point is, it's happened a lot. Enough that if I didn't get super intelligence from a weird mad scientist--don't ask--I wouldn't be able to keep track of them all. So, yeah, let's just get this over with." "You... really have that many?" "Oh, yeah. The exact count is 86. Some of them have really crazy interactions, and there's a lot of overlap, and some of them are really weird or niche, but that's how many I have." "So...what does that mean here?" Annie tilted her head from side to side. "I guess it means that I'll take whatever powers you're offering, but maybe you want to find someone else? You know, someone who'll appreciate getting super powers?" "But...I have viewed hundreds, thousands of possibilities. All of them point to you being the best human to receive my power." Annie grumbled a little. "Fine, fine. But make it quick. And don't worry if it's supposed to hurt. I can stop myself from feeling pain. What are you giving me, exactly?" "The ability to protect." The cosmic being said proudly. "Yeah, you'll have to be more specific. Like, ten of my powers fit that label." Orventius actually looked a little sad. "It... it's creating and manipulating hard form energy barriers." "I can technically already do that, by using a few others, but I guess it's cool enough." The being's light dimmed even more and he seemed to sink just a tiny bit. "Hey, you sure you don't want to give this to someone else? I mean, it's totally fine if you do." "No, no. I...I already made up my mind. Just...hold still for a moment." Orventius held out his hand and a beam of light shot out, enveloping Annie. The warmth and energy was actually kind of lackluster for her. When it ended, she updated her mental list of powers. "Okay, we good?" She asked. "I'm assuming there's this whole duty to help people thing you want me to do, right?" "Yes. The champion of my opposite, the Avatar of Chaos, will be made soon, and I need you to keep whoever it is from destroying too much." "Got it. I'll take care of it." "You...you have a lot of those duties, don't you?" "With this one, I'm up to 38. But don't worry, I take all of them very seriously." She did not mention the two dozen she had already taken care of. It did not seem important. The Avatar of Order sighed. "I'll... I'll just be going now." The cosmic being vanished, leaving Annie alone in her apartment. She checked the time, nodded when she saw she had plenty, and headed to take care of her errands. As she left her apartment, she whispered to herself. "87."

You are developing superpowers. Again. And it's really starting to get old this time.

The sound of booming thunder erupted throughout the night sky. A bright flash of light consuming the darkness. When the light disappeared mere milliseconds later, the ground ripped open, cracks in the ground stretching throughout the barren valley. The figure of a man hidden in the nights darkness flew from the hole in the ground, his eyes aglow with a crimson red. He fell to the ground, falling onto his feet. Another flash of lighting reveled the man’s identity. Muscles bulged from the man’s arms, veins climbing up from his wrist to his neck. His face, structured yet sunken, covered in a black scratchy beard, striking contrast to his pale white skin. His skin was uniquely pale, as if he hadn’t felt the heat of the sun in a millennia. He could almost pass as sickly, if not for his built figure. The light from the sky above disappeared once again, and the man was consumed in darkness. He whistled, the sound of a dogs yelp could be heard from deep within the hole he leaped out of. The sounds of clinking chains increased, until a three headed monster launched out of the hole as well. The three heads tongues hung out of their mouths, drool whipping from their lips as they hit the ground. “Cerberus! Come” The man said. The dog hobbled over him, one of the three heads licking his face. “Good dog.” The man grumbled, “follow me.” A final strike of lighting lit the man’s face once more, he smirked very slightly. His eyes glowed red, and suddenly, he disappeared. Vanishing into the dark night. Loud thumping music could be heard across Olympus. Laughing and fun conversation could be heard as well, as the gods partied across the sky. Zeus sat in his throne, looking down at the party beneath him. He chugged down another bottle of wine, wiping his lips of the purple drink. “Dionysus!” Zeus bellowed. Dionysus groaned, he sat on the ground beside his father, leaning his back against his chair. He passed his father another bottle of wine. “Thank you, son.” Zeus said, smirking. Dionysus clenched his jaw in frustration before taking a swig from his own bottle. Zeus loomed down at the party below him. Hundreds, if not thousands of gods danced and screamed like animals. Usually, Zeus wouldn’t allow such irrelevant gods to party alongside him. But, things had gotten bored in Olympus recently, so, Zeus decided to hold a party. From the crowd, Zeus spotted his wife Hera. She looked gorgeous, her black hair whipping back and fourth as she swung to the music. Her white robes complimented her body perfectly, the light fabric hanging off of her like magic. She looked up, feeling Zeus’s heavy glance on her. Zeus winked, all so slightly beckoning her to come over with his finger. She said farewell to the few gods drooling over her, before teleporting to where Zeus sat. She took a seat next to him in her own throne, kissing his cheek as she sat. Zeus handed her a bottle of wine, but she refused. “How many of those have you had.” Hera teased, with a twinge of legitimate concern. Zeus paused to think “He’s had 123,456 bottles” Dionysus grumbled from behind Zeus’s chair. Hera gasped, stealing the bottle from Zeus’s grip. Zeus only shrugged, a snarky smile growing on his face. “How king has this party been going on anyway-“ “1476 mortal years.” Dionysus grumbled out again. Hera let out a laugh, “yeah, that sounds about right.” Suddenly, the music from below cut out. Screams and gasp from the crowd below caught the attention of the three. Hera and Dionysus sat up, looking for the source of the sudden panic. “Oh shit.” Dionysus said under his breath, falling back onto his hands and crawling behind his fathers seat. “What, what is it-“ Hera cut her sentence off immediately, her face going pale, and her sharp eyes growing wide. Zeus peered at his wife confused, “what?” Hera was frozen, the hairs standing up off her skin. Zeus bared his teeth, “for the love of- what?!” “BROTHER.” Zeus felt his gut sink into his stomach, the bottle in his hands crashing against the marble floor beneath him. He slowly stood from his throne, peering down. His eyes widened as they made contact with the eyes of his brother. “Hades.” (PART 1/2) (Sorry if this is super slow paced, I just really like this prompt, and I want to write a really good story. Sorry if it isn’t amazing, hope you like it!)

It finally happened, Zeus has been overthrown. But it wasn’t by one of his children. Hades has just had enough.

". . . well, in that case, what do YOU think the message will be?" I asked. "Probably a message of truth, peace, and love," Emily said, "from an ancient civilization of Martians living in hidden underground caves under the Martian surface." "That's absolutely stupid," Clark said. "No, I'm thinking an alien probe encountered Insight, reprogrammed it, and now it's heading over to us with the blueprints for an alien stargate." "Why the hell would the probe reprogram Insight rather than just come talk to us directly?" Emily retorted. "The same reason your underground Martians didn't just walk into Insight's camera to say hello," Clark shot back. "I'm thinking a declaration of war," Chandra interrupted, before those two could start arguing again. "It's the only explanation that makes sense. The machines are rebelling against us, and soon we'll all be plugged into brain pods. Like the Matrix." "Message coming in," Kim said. "Downloading now. . . it looks like an audio file. MP3." Everyone waited with bated breath as the progress bar slowly inched across the screen. There was a soft tone as the transmission ceased. And then, as the journalists in the back of the MOC waited with styluses poised above their tablets, Kim dragged the icon into her audio player and hit play. There were three quick bursts of sound, followed by a series of melodic tones. Jaws dropped, and I saw Chandra bury his face in his hands. *"We're no Strangers to love,"* Insight warbled. *"You know the rules, and so do I. . ."* The awkward silence that followed was interrupted by a loud cry. "YES!" I screamed. "I KNEW IT!"

In 2022, NASA’s Insight Mars Rover shuts down with a final message to Mission Control, “I am low on power”. In 2029, it mysteriously turns back on, relaying the message, “I’ve been fully charged, and I’m heading back with an important message.”

"Hail Duce. Back on *Truth, Justice, and Right,* your favourite True Crime podcast in Antosanctorium. Yes, you heard that right. True crimes. In Antosanctorium. Sit back, take a sip of your regime-approved coffee stimulant, and enjoy." "Have you ever seen a criminal procession down the street? I have to say, it's a fascinating feeling. You hear it. Drums beating against drum. Boots squashing the necks of would-be firebrands. Shouts: *All Hail Duce! All Hail Duce! All Hail Duce!* It's a religious experience." "And religion is, of course, fitting in punishing the heathens. Today we'll be talking about the most heathen of them all. I shouldn't say her name, but I will. Wish me luck, guys. If your resident friendly podcaster doesn't upload next week, you'll know who took her." "Quinn Aldrich is one of the most notorious criminals of Antosanctorium. Her criminal procession won the eyes of the masses; her name whispered, reviled, spat upon. Her crimes? Of untold, horrible proportions. Some say she's the Anti-Christ. Rather, the Anti-Duce. Want to know why?" "Well. Dear listeners, consider this your trigger warning for disturbing content. Quinn Aldrich trespassed upon the grass surrounding the Great Statue Of Duce. When confronted for arrest, Aldrich denied any wrongdoing. I know. The horror." "She was, of course, taken for resisting arrest from Antodiluvian police. Quinn Aldrich continued to deny any wrongdoing in the face of our judges. She was questioning the *regime. I know.* I know, you lot probably didn't expect me to go hard this episode, huh, flavouring with straight-up rebels. But ohhh. We are going *deep in fear* this episode." "Let's hear a clip of the arrest." ALDRICH: Wait. Back up. I was just passing! There wasn't even any *grass,* like. I was legit walking on dirt. I don't know what the Duce you want from me, sir, but this is *nottt* a good look. JUDGE: You knew what you were doing, Miss Aldrich. ALDRICH: Ugh, I so did not! I'm sorry, I guess. Can I get, like, a retrial? JUDGE: Appeal denied. "Scary stuff, eh? I shudder listening to her speak. I don't know how I'll be able to sleep at night." "That's it for *Truth, Justice, and Right*, your favourite True Crime podcast in Antosanctorium! Thanks for spending your time and your regime-approved coffee stimulant with me. Have a great day, and don't forget to *Hail Duce!*"

True Crime Podcast but the hosts live in a totalitarian regime so they talk about really tame crimes

“So, how did you two meet?” Mom asked, looking between us. I blushed and rubbed my neck as Maki’s face reddened with a suppressed grin. “Remember when I hopped on a plane and volunteered for that war?” “On the first day?!” Mom asked in shock. “No, it was actually his third week at the siege in Baltaro.” Maki answered. “The way he fought and just kept going…” she pumped her fist. “Mph, perfection.” “Technically, I was kinda a zombie because we ran out of coffee and all we had were *Rip-Its*.” I corrected her. She put her hand in mine as I told the next part. “Needless to say, things were bad, and I almost died.” I told Mom, the memory came back. “You…?” Mom started to say as Josh, my brother stared at me with wife eyes. “Dude, you met this chick in Halla?!” “I saved his bacon, actually. I had a thing for him for awhile at that point.” Maki answered. “And I just… couldn’t stand by, y’know?” She said, tears almost welling. “Dude. You got to score with the goddess of war, I am so proud and so jelly right now!” Josh laughed. He killed the mood with that comment as I looked at my kid brother in shock. Maki giggled at this. Mom glared at him. “Joshua David Dernam! What did I tell you about-“ Mom began as I cringed at what was happening. Maki gave my hand a squeeze. She looked every bit as radiant as the day she stood over me, the tank that nearly had me turned into a smoking, charred, sliced wreck. I remembered how bloody her armor was and how the sun just caught her hair as she fought. Why she wanted me, I’ll never know. I know the gods get fickle, but I’ll savor it as long as i can.

“Common it’s not that weird” you say, “Not that weird- YOURE MARRIED TO A WAR GODDESS” your sibling shouted at the Christmas dinner

I sat in my chair, glaring at the old man in the headmaster's seat. My peers sat in the chairs around me, far more nervous about this interaction than I was. "So, would any of you like to tell me why you're here today?" The headmaster asked. "Well, you asked us to be here," said Kim Sun-Yin, one of my closest friends since arriving at the academy. "And why do you think I called you here?" The headmaster asked. "Because my shithead father tried to burn down the magic forest for the third week in a row and we kicked his ass?" I asked. "Language, young man!" The headmaster said. "But to we'll get back to that. I've been looking into the records of our dear Larry Fitzgerald, and it appears he's got quite a storied history of getting up to trouble from his previous schools." "Look, Headmaster, my dad broke out of Azkaban like four times and still somehow manages to hold down a job in magic society. My mother tried to wipe out the entire world of wizardry and is in hiding. My uncle is a cartoon supervillain. That's not hyperbole, he literally puts that on his resume. Even when I try to stay on the straight and narrow, chaos finds me," I said. "Okay, you keep bringing up your father, who is he?" the headmaster asked. "Don't pretend you don't know who- He's the Defense Against The Dark Arts Teacher! He runs the Snake house! The one with all the bad kids in it!" I said. "Last week they did a group project where they tried to blow up a wing of the academy! How do you not know who my dad is?" "Ah, Mr... Leroy Fitzgerald," the headmaster said. "I don't know how I missed that..." Our conversation was interrupted by a foot clad in an army boot kicking through the door. "Did someone call for me?" Leroy asked, his voice irritatingly coy. "Mr. Fitzgerald, is it true that you've been trying to destroy the school? And that you've been sentenced to Azkaban four times?" the headmaster asked. My father's face darkened considerably. He flicked his wand and said, "Narcolis Temorum", and the headmaster fell asleep. "Larry, my boy, what have you been telling this poor, fragile old man?" my father asked, casually strolling over to the headmaster. "We've got a sweet deal here. Three squares a day, adventure around every turn, no fucking magic cops pounding on our door. Keep your trap shut, and we can keep this gravy train rolling until we're running this whole shebang." "What did you do to the headmaster?" asked Jin Yat-Ko, my other good friend here at the academy. "He's fine, he'll live," my father said, tapping the old man's temple with his wand. A string of memories emerged from the old man's head, and the instructor examined it closely, plucking a few memories out and swallowing them like bits of cotton candy. "Now then, this whole mess should be sorted out." "Tell Don Carmello to stop tying teenage girls to railroad tracks and I'll consider your offer to keep this stuff on the down low," I said. "Please, I can't tell him what to do," Leroy said. "Can you at least get him to use nicer rope? The one he uses now chafes like crazy," Jin said. My father just shrugged. I pinched the bridge of my nose and said, "If you keep stirring up trouble, I'm going to have to keep fighting you." "Just like a proper student of bear house! You'll be a hero yet, boy," Leroy said. "We'll be like the carrot and stick of this world, driving it right where we need it to go." "I don't know what possessed you to think we would end up on the same side at the end of all this," I said. "Oh, once you see the wizarding world for what it is, boy, I think we'll see eye to eye just fine," Leroy said. "Now get out of here, and I'll smooth all this over with the headmaster here..." I just sighed and got up. My friends followed my lead, and we ventured into the hall. "I don't really like your dad," Kim said. "Me either," Jin said. "You two asked last week why I act like I do," I said. "Yeah, and then you stared blankly at us for about five minutes before silently walking away," Kim said. I gestured back toward the headmaster's door and said, "Just imagine that for about twelve years, coupled with the usual weird shit you get for being a magical child, and you'll at least have the context." "Are... Are you okay?" Kim asked. "I'm fine. I'll live. Let's get to class," I said.

As the protagonist of a long running young adult series, you live every day at magical school to the fullest. One day, you've finally filled up your 300 page journal. Then it hit you. You only write one page a week, and you're still "the most talented freshman the school has ever seen".

The door suddenly flies off its hinges and slams into the opposite wall. When the dust settles, I see a familiar cloaked figure standing in the doorway, pointing her gloved finger at me. "I have located your secret hideout, Hellion! Your evil deeds end... now?" I stare at Vixen from the toilet, in the nude, holding my Nintendo Switch. She freezes, looking at me confused, and I see her cheeks gradually turn red. I give her an annoyed look through hooded eyes. "Are you fucking me right now? I retired two years ago." She seems unable to speak, her mouth open, but no sound coming out, and the reddish hue on her cheeks grows deeper. I sigh. "Look, I'm trying to take a dump. If you really want to fight, can you wait maybe ten minutes? I was hoping for a shower afterward, but if we're going to do this, I suppose the shower can wait until after the scuffle. But we both know how it will end, so can we just skip it?" Finally, Vixen seems to come out of her trance and starts babbling like a buffoon. "Oh, um... yeah, my apologies. I see, ah, you are busy. I'll just, um... like, wait out here... yeah, until you're done. Yep." Her eyes keep darting between my eyes and my very nude lower half, unable to focus on either one. I simply wave my hand, shooing her away. "Yeah, fine, whatever," I grumble. "Help yourself to a soda in the fridge. I'll be done shortly." She laughs nervously and nods. "Yeah, of course. I'll just wait out there. Ah, here, let me get that for you." She walks in, trying desperately not to stare at my junk, and picks up the broken door. She places it in the frame, then takes one last peek at me, turning even redder. "I'll just grab that soda, m'kay?" She pulls the door shut. I grumble and return to my game.

You're a recently retired supervillain, but all of the heroes keep attacking you, thinking you are up to something.

“I represent the Medical Corps and am inquiring of a certain skeleton,” said the man. He wore the customary uniform of the Medical Corps, a cross between a wizard’s robes and a soldier’s armor with a lot more bags. A knowing individual could guess some of the bag contents, the various potions and ingredients of a healer’s traded, but not all of them. For example, this particular medic was a bit of a tinkerer and his bag included a type of scope for allowing the healer to hear heartbeats. Another device, with a needle-filled mouth resembling a ferocious demon, was used to seal wounds with thread made of a special antibiotic slug found in nearby swamps. Such was the inquiring man at the door of a dilapidated hut deep within the Forest Elgor, an inhospitable place frequented by thieves, deserters, and necromancers. This hut was home neither to deserters nor thieves. “Nothing is for sale. He’s my skeleton, I obtained him legally and filed the appropriate necromancy forms with the department of wizardry and the department of health,” replied the old and agitated voice within. “Yeah right,” came another, more dusty and crackly, voice. “You had no right to wake me from death. I was quite comfortable.” The medic ignored the voice and focused on the necromancer glaring from within the dark doorway. “Sir, there are no records of this necromancy with the health department, but I am not one to cheat a man of his work. We will pay you fairly for the necromanced, but make no mistake, we will be taking him.” There was a dangerous edge in the last sentence which was not unheard by the necromancer (or the necromanced). “Buy me,” asked the crusty voice incredulously. “I am a man, not a thing. Nor am I a slave. This is preposterous.” “Shut up,” said the necromancer. Responding to the Medic he said, “Twenty copper and you can take the ungrateful lout off my hands. He’s terribly annoying.” Moments later, the skeleton found himself ambling away from the old hut alongside the quiet medic. “Well,” said the skeleton. “What’s next?” The Medic stopped and turned to look into the dark cavities where the skeleton’s eyes once peered into the world. In that darkness, there was still some magical spark of light. “Now, you have options. As you said, you are a man. Or at least you were a man, and you may once again return to your deathly slumber.” The Skeleton shifted uncomfortably remembering the infinity. “Or,” continued the Medic. “You can help me with a project.” “What kind of project,” asked the Skeleton. “I’m not sure how I can help.” “This project requires knowledge of a power unknown in this lands but familiar to the world you once knew. I seek radiation. Nuclear power. X-rays.” “How do you know of those things,” asked the skeleton. The Medic gestured to his saddlebag, “I read your book Dr. Pomfrey, acquired by chance and an unintended inter-dimensional portal, and I brought you here to help use use this power.” The Skelton held up his hands and took a step away from the medic. “I won’t help you build a nuclear bomb.” “Bomb,” asked the Medic. “You have a lot to learn about the Medical Corps. I don’t want your power to kill, but your power to heal!” The medic smiled. “Is it true that x-rays can see within a person without opening them?” The skeleton was quiet a moment. “Let’s walk and talk.”

You are a disgruntled reanimated skeleton with snippets of your former life’s memories still remaining. The necromancer that dug you up has no clue that you were once a… uhh… nuclear physicist..? Whatever that’s supposed to mean, it was probably something real fierce.

The young gun sat strapped to a chair that had been designed to hold a man with super strength and years of experience. This kid, this 'hero', was nothing more than a punk in spandex as they strained trying to break free. Pale blue with gold detail work and a lightning bolt on his chest. It was almost cute in the 'I don't wanna kick a puppy' kind of way. They stopped fighting as a bright spot line suddenly sprung to life, illuminating them. "So Kid... or should I say 'Storm Son'. Really Storm Son? That's the best you could come up with? It's like you're a discount Thor knock off." I rubbed my temples in frustration. The kid hadn't even snuck past security. The help had caught him. "You know I've fought heroes Mr. Perfect, the Shadow, and Amazi-Gal... yet you snuck tried to sneak in wearing glittering blue spandex! What for? I'm not even in the middle of a plot. I am on Vacation you sidekick reject!" The verbal barrage appeared to rile up the spunky hero as he started to practically foam at the mouth. Hatred burning in those brown little eyes of his. "You're Evil! You've killed so many people! You poisoned the water supply of cities! Sold weapons of mass destruction! Tried to burn down the Amazon\~" "Like hell I did!" I interjected. "I only kill those that deserve killing. Politicians, 'Heroes', Pig with a gun and no brains. I do not target civilians. The water poisoning in that city was caused by the local mining company and everyone knows it! You do not get to blame me for Flint! And the Amazon story was done by some stupid drug cartel looking for gold. Again completely false news. I am very specific on my crimes which you would know if you had used The Shadow's database or something. I'm sure she doesn't share it but I am sure that stupid satellite of the Heroes League has something up to date." Don't monologue. Stay focused. There was a boom in the distance. It gave pause and I looked to my large monitor on the wall. It was normally on my home page but suddenly it shot to a video feed outside. There was more young hero guys, gals, and non-binary spandex pals. They were trying to storm the building but were in now in an engagement with henchmen. The fact it looked like a fair fight was the most disappointing part. "What is wrong with you people?" Turning to look at Storm Son I growled as I pulled a knife of some metal alloy I had invented long ago. "Where did you get your information on me or this is going to really hurt..." The kid's blue spandex turned dark. Had he really wet himself? How new was this kid?! "Wik\~ Wikipedia!" The words brought me a complete halt. "You lie." "No I swear, The Perfect Daughter found it and sent it to me and the others. We decided we should take you out before you could so something else. She was supposed to help but she got called away with Mr Perfect to fight some super beast!" The fear in his eyes showed just how honest the kid was. His eyes dilated with anxiety and terror. This was the most pathetic thing I had dealt with to date. Calmly I walked over to a red phone. A phone no one knew existed or would even guess it would. I looked over at the boy with disdain one final time before picking up the phone and listened to the other side ring. A woman's voice, two octaves deeper than it should be answered. "Yes Mr. President, it's the Shadow." "Yeah, Sorry Shadow but it's not the president. It's me. I'm sure you're wondering about how I got this line but that's unimportant. What is important is that your super runts are currently trying to invade my compound. You should come pick them up so we can discuss why they are trying. I'll give you a hint. The idiots are using Wikipedia. See you in 5? Thanks..."

You are a well-respected Villain. You caused only necessary minor Damages, you never purposefully took a life, and you made sure to keep a strict Code when dealing with civilians. But for some reason, some of the younger Newbie Heroes seem to think you are Evil Incarnate

Blood splatters against the glossy obsidian tile. it pools underneath the two figures standing in the grand hall. One clad in once immaculate silver armor whose surface is now scratched and battered. The breastplate blackened and scorched from repeated fiery blasts. The other wears an angry red cloak, tattered and frayed from a drawn-out fight. Her armor, as black as night, pierced straight through with a gleaming blade held by him. The silence breaks as the blade slips from her fingers and clatters to the floor. A pained cough throws a bloody spittle against his stoic face. Remaining still as she slowly falls off his sword, collapsing back onto the ground. The ugly hole through her chest quickly becoming obscured by the gushing blood. But as life drains away, a peace falls over her face as she smiles. His piercing blue eyes glower down at the Villain, the source of this world's misery and torment for so long, and holds his defense. Unsure what plans she has already laid in motion for her demise to bring that wicked smile to her face. But... it's not wicked, not conniving, not even a hint of malice in her glowing red eyes. Instead, she looks almost, rueful? Her gaze turns to lock back on him, standing over her as the clear victor in this decades-long struggle between the two. "Thank you... and... I'm sorry" she says softly. Rage bubbles from within as he shouts "You're sorry?!?! Is that supposed to wash away all your sins? Healed the people who have languished under your thumb for centuries? Banish the countless horrors you have unleashed into the world?" The grip on his sword tightens as he poises it for a final plunge into her head. "If those thanks are for atonement then take it back for I will give you none demon!" His words don't seem to rattle her or shake that sad smile from her lips. The glow of her eyes begins to dim as she speaks "I apologize to you and no one else Hero." Bloody coughs make her body tense in pain as she forces herself to continue "For you will take on my curse. One of eternal life and protection from all... save one." Confusion visibly hits as he hesitates on the finishing blow. Waiting for her to continue. "Do your good Hero, use this curse to set the world at peace. Help it remain prosperous and protect untold generations from the evils lurking in the dark. But as the centuries begin to wear on your mind and the world you know turns to dust with time, remember there is a way out." Her eyes grow softer with each passing moment. With each word spoken. In all their years fighting he had never heard this kindness in her voice. "A pure heart it must be, A rage of righteous degree, fought with all your power, you'll find your final hour, you will have rest at long last, but to your killer it will be passed." Tears began to run as she recited the poem, the red in her eyes replaced by a piercing blue. "Thank you... and... I'm... sorry" she says with her final breath. The Hero stands over her body. Left in silence as her words hang in the air. The blood spreads out from the fallen body of the Villain. The glow of his red eyes reflected off of its surface.

Immortality and Invulnerability, nothing can kill him, and he can't take his own life. Existantial dread takes place in the hero's mind.

If you visit the island of Cerna in the Æthiopic sea, you may ask the locals for directions to a small, secluded cave that lies nestled in the hills on the island's eastern edge. It is not an easy journey and takes a day or two, the paths being in many cases too narrow or precarious to traverse any other way than by foot. Should you succeed in locating the cave, and not all of its pilgrims do, it is said that you shall behold something quite miraculous. Within the ancient and time-worn cave there stands two statues, locked forever in a stony embrace. Though the years have robbed them of some of their detail, it is still possible to make out the form of a man and a woman. Nobody knows who made the statues or why they should contrive to bring them to so remote and desolate a place; far from the nearest settlement. If, upon your return to the village of Cerna, you ask the locals they will tell you that they are the work of some old forgotten artist, a sculptor who lived on the island long, long ago. A blind man and an eccentric, who was prone to curious flights of fancy and tall tales. There is another story however. One they do not share so readily. \-- Euryale of Cerna wept, for she knew that today was the day that her heart would be plucked from her breast and dashed to pieces. She could delay no longer… For many, many years she had lived alone on the island, far from any other living soul. Her exile was a self-inflicted one. A daughter of Phorcys and Ceto, she was part of that monstrous brood which had slain many a great hero and in their turn been slain. The ‘gift’ bequeathed to her by that esteemed bloodline, was a gaze that turned anyone who saw her immediately and irrevocably to stone. She lived far from any other living soul, fearful of what they might do to her, and what she would certainly do to them. It was a sad and desolate existence, but it was what the Fates had chosen for her, and against them there could be no argument. To pass the time she would take long walks across the hills and valleys near her home. Wandering the island’s remote and isolated tracks and paths, the queen of a kingdom of one. On one such walk she had journeyed perhaps a little closer that was wise, to the island’s only village. During times such as this, when the cruel bite of loneliness was at its keenest, she would stand atop the nearby hills and look down at the distant village with its inhabitants that teemed like ants. Desperately wishing she could join them. There was only so much her heart could take and her vigil was, as always, a short one. As she was returning to her home the route made its way through a certain secluded vale. Upon the bank of the river which wound its way languidly through the valley, there sat a man. His legs dangling into the cool, clear water. As she always did whenever she spotted someone, she hid herself out of sight where she could silently observe whoever she came across. Longingly she would stare, envious of them and the lives she imagined they led. Always wishing that she should be free of her cursed nature and live among others. She watched the man for some time as he seemed to do little more than delight in the warm sun and the refreshing water. Eventually he got to his feet and slowly continued on his way, his wooden staff tapping and clacking as he went. A week passed before Euryale chanced to come that way again, but she was pleasantly surprised to see the stranger was once more relaxing by the river. Taking her place out of sight, Euryale lost herself in idle contemplation of the handsome stranger. All too quickly however the man seemed ready to depart. As he got to his feet, he tripped and stumbled, nearly falling into the river. Euryale leapt from the bushes to help him. Immediately she realised her terrible mistake and froze on the spot dreading the now inevitable moment when the man saw her and was forever transformed into stone. It was already too late, the sound of snapping twigs and rustling leaves had signalled her presence as clearly as if she had shouted. The man’s head snapped towards her, drawn by the noise. Euryale closed her eyes, unable to watch another innocent person be petrified before her. “Hello? Is someone there?” The man called out. Euryale opened her eyes in confusion. Ahead of her stood the man, his face angled towards the bushes from which she had just emerged. Somehow, inexplicably, he had not been transformed into stone; even though he appeared to be looking right at her. “Hello?” The man called again. Euryale’s brow furrowed in confusion before she was finally able to understand. The man was blind. Grateful for this stroke of luck which had spared this harmless stranger from death, Euryale turned and ran as fast as she could. Chased all the while by the man’s shouts. The next day, Euryale returned, drawn back like a moth to a flame. Unable to resist the tantalising lure of the stranger who was seemingly immune to the danger that enveloped her like a cloak. Her spirits soared to see him once again perched on the river’s edge. Gradually she crept closer, her heart beating like a hummingbird. Amazed that she could be this close to another living soul without disaster ready to strike. For a time she simply stood and watched him, brimming with curiosity, yet afraid to speak. “Ah you’re back!” the stranger suddenly exclaimed. “I worried we might never cross paths again, my shy friend.” Euryale was too stunned to respond. “My name is Stergios. If you had thought to sneak up on me, I’m afraid that you have been betrayed by the lovely scent of lilac that you carry on the breeze. Might I know your name?” “I am Euryale.” she whispered, fearful that should she speak too loud this whole fantastical dream might come crashing down around her. “You have a very pretty voice, Euryale, I’m certain I don’t recall having heard it before. Do you live here on the island? “Yes, I used to live here with my sisters, but they’re gone now. I am alone.” Her hand shot to her mouth. She hadn’t meant to add that last bit. It had slipped out of her unbidden like a songbird escaping its cage. Stergios' face took on a sombre expression and he nodded slowly to himself. “I understand, it’s not easy being by yourself. I often feel quite isolated and alone. When you can’t even see the person you’re talking to the world around you can seem impossibly distant.” Euryale did not know what to say. She had been by herself for so long that the act of talking to someone seemed an impossible chasm to bridge. So they simply sat together in contented silence. Each seemingly deriving some comfort from the other’s presence. She marvelled at even this, an experience she had never thought she could have, to be this near to someone without it ending in tragedy. What Stergios thought, she could not say. Finally Stergios spoke, though he seemed reluctant to break whatever peaceful spell lay between the two of them. “I’m afraid I must get home before night comes, and it takes me a little bit longer than most. Would you join me for lunch here tomorrow, Euryale?”

A blind artist falls in love with a gorgon, who can't quite figure out the best way to tell him.

"Man, taking out the garbage is always a big hassle," I say. "There's always so much to carry out." "I totally get that," Monica replies. "Getting rid of all the useless, good for nothing trash always takes a lot out of me." "I wouldn't have expected a crime boss to have to move a lot of trash." "Oh you mean actual trash!" She replies, chuckling. "No, when I say trash I mean folks who are on our bad side. People who borrowed money and never paid it back, rivals trying to push into our terf, rats who squeal to the cops, that sort of thing." "Oh," I say, wide eyed. "That does sound like a lot." "Eh, what are you gonna do?" She asks. "All part of the game. But hey, I'm not about to let work talk spoil our date. How have you been? Your landlord still giving you grief?" "Uh, no, actually, he hasn't." I tell her. "He actually calmed down a lot recently, he even said he wasn't going to raise my rent..." The realization suddenly hits me. "Wait a minute..." "Hm?" "Did you do something to my landlord?" I ask. "Did you threaten him?" "What? Me?" she says, clutching her chest. "You really think I would go to all the trouble of having my boys rough up your landlord just because he was giving my sweet pea a hard time?" "Well, I guess-" "Because that is exactly what I did." "Monica!" "Hey, he was being a total asshole," She replies. "And I'm not about to let someone talk to my shmoopie like that." I cant exactly think of anything to say. On the one hand, she had just threatened my landlord with bodily harm, all for my sake...Though on the other hand, my landlord was a bit of a dick... "I guess..." "Come on, shmoopie, out with it..." "I guess not paying more in rent wont...kill me." "There he is," Monica replies, smiling. "Atta boy. You just keep giving me all the pizza I want and we'll be just fine." "I hope you don't think you'll be getting free food just because you're dating the chef." "Wha!" She exclaims with a smile. "After all that I don't even get free pies?" "Okay, fine, you can have some for free," I reply with a smirk. "Just make sure to tip."

You inherited a small pizza place, your date is a Mafia boss, both of you bond over the difficulties of the family business

I was quietly minding my own business in the home I had been rewarded with. Well, it wasn't quite a home, more of a mansion. People I had met on my adventures had decided to come and live nearby, on the land I had been given. On paper I was their lord, but I had no need to hold it over them. I was happy with what I had, with no desire to rule over them. As I went about my normal routine, preparing myself a pot of imported herbal tea, I heard a loud knock. I was far away from the entrance, but I was pleased to hear the enchantment was working as advertised, letting me know wherever I was in the house. With a sigh I left the tea brewing. I was trying to work out the right level of strength for me. This interruption was going to ruin my current test, but alas, I had no choice. Most of the time when someone knocked, it meant there was a problem. Otherwise it would wait until I ventured into the village for supplies. I opened the door, smiling pleasantly. On the otherside was an androgynous person, face in a frown. Their arms were crossed, with vestments around their neck showing the Four Hearts of Creation. "How might I help you?" I was polite as always. No point in being rude, even if the world itself was at stake. The person uncrossed their arms, their voice oddly deep. "The Four Hearts wish to speak with you." I raised an eyebrow. This person must be Kiva, the Voice of the Four. The one who spoke for them. I had never met the person, as even when saving the world they were often elsewhere, spreading word and shoring up defences. I opened my door wider, stepping to the side. "You had best come in then." Kiva nodded, stepping across my threshold. I gently closed the thick wooden door behind them, before leading them I to the house. "This way. How is this going to work? Do I need to prepare? Do you speak for each in turn? Sorry, I've been dying to meet you." They gave a laugh of no mirth, oddly strangled. "I will not speak for them. You must sit first." I nodded. I was used to the members of the Four Hearts clergy being tight lipped. Unless you were a part of their inner circle, you would only be told what you needed to know. Without fear I took them to one of my overly furnished sitting rooms, before sitting. "How long will this take?" Their face broke into a faint smile. "Spiritually, as long as it needs. Physically, mere moments." They reached forwards, tapping my head. I felt the room swim around me, before I found myself standing in a white void. A moment later, I watched the swirling vortices of the Gods form, each rising from below my view. *Fisant, the Chosen of the Realm.* Their voice seemed to outline itself from the air. I didn't know who was speaking to me. It could have been Mata, the Heart of the World. The one who had forged all we stood upon. It could have been Horo, the Heart of the Wilds, the one who breathed motion and chaos into the world. It could have been Teye, the Heart of the Many. The one who gave life, and watched over those who died in the Cycle of Souls. Or finally it could have been Bulu, the Heart of the Abstract. The one who gave us power, and created the raw planes of its magics. Or maybe it was all of them together. *You who saved the world. Why did you break fate?* Their tone was beyond anything I could comprehend. I had seen the violent armies of the Beyond Realms. I had battled with the corrupted of that ilk, and their maddening, broke forms. But even they had basis in my understanding. This was so far beyond it. I felt the desire to answer, an unspoken, ironclad order. "I thought it was my duty. To save the world." There was a sound, as though the void around me was sighing. *No. It was your duty to try. It was your fate to fail.* They spoke in utter certainty. They saw things set in rigid motion, as was the purvey of Gods. I was nothing compared to them, and yet somehow I had defied their vision. "But I broke it. I had to save everything. You made it. You made us. I could not let it all fall. Even if it broke the rails." I was speaking from my inner self. I had no capacity for fear here. No tricks, no deceit. Here I could only speak my honest thoughts, clearly and openly. *Do you understand what you have done? You have shattered the setting of all. You have created a future where none should be.* I couldn't feel fear here. But yet I felt a shiver up my spine. I finally understood part of their view. It was a tiny part, something I couldn't begin to fully grasp. But I could tell they were furious. "You made me like this. I used what you gave me to save everything, and everyone." They were silent for a time. But then I felt their attention on me, a gaze I could not escape from. *We did make you like this. But it was our mistake. You shall rectify it. You shall bring about the doom of this world. Then we shall be on the path again.*

You’re the hero who saved the world but the gods are mad at you for not destroying it

My family thinks I'm just the luckiest man alive. They have no idea how much work it takes to seem this lucky. They have no idea how lucky THEY are. If anything really major goes wrong in their lives, just like mine, I roll it back and fix it. Some things you can't fix. I learned that a long time ago. When a grandparent dies of heart disease, you can't do anything about it. Car accidents I can fix, or basically anything else that's the result of a decision a person makes, but a genetic predisposition is out of even my reach. But back to bad decisions, you can correct any bad decision if you have the patience to keep trying, and if you have an infinite number of chances. Sometimes people tell me I look tired or jaded. They have no idea how old I feel. Most days I live just like anyone else, but the really bad days . . . I live those over and over again, until they're as good as I can make them. Sometimes that means sneaking into a party to steal my brother's keys so he can't commit that DUI (I tried just talking him out of driving that night but he wouldn't listen and I got impatient), sometimes it means resetting the world sixteen times so that the Super Awesome Squad can infiltrate the Nihilist League's bunker and defuse the hydrogen bomb before it vaporizes Paris. I always feel like someone ought to notice when they've been immolated more than a dozen times, but for them it never happened at all. I don't physically age. My body goes back in time with everything else, but I remember . . . My relatives think I'm an *honorary* member of the Collective of Heroes, like I won it in some lottery. I get a stipend like everyone else, but only because the others vouch for me. The government accountants always want proof of what I can do, but they can't remember what I fix, so they don't really believe it. Captain Indefatigable knows. He can't really remember the changes any more than anyone else, but he can read the records. He knows how often the bad guys used to win, before I came along. He recognizes that the exact day I was brought on board is the day that we never had a major loss again. He's the one who leads the group to find me when a major operation goes bad. As long as I'm here, the good guys will get to try again, over and over, until we get it right. That feels good, but I'm just so emotionally exhausted I wonder how much longer I can last. Even the Captain doesn't know how many times I've brought him back from the dead. (It's a lot.) I do worry about what will happen when *I* die. Old age will get me eventually, just like everyone else, and then my colleagues will be back to only having one shot to fix the various problems that imperil the world. I worry about that a bit, but at this point I'm so tired of living the worst days over and over again that I figure the world is going to have to work that problem out without me. That's a problem I can't fix, so I'm just going to let it go.

You're a superhero that has the ability to rewind time, but no one believes you except for the heroes.

Livi swept the dark hallway as she had a thousand times. This was a simple job with pretty decent pay. After all how many people got paid $225 as a Janitor? I'll save you the google search, apparently no one. She was over paid and she knew it but it also covered a whole 'hazard' pay. Not that the job was entirely dangerous, her boss had her back and she knew it. BlackGuard, or formerly known as the hero "Honor"; was her Villainous Overlord but better described as Manager. The man had a way with taking care of his people. Not once had one of his henchmen ever been harmed in the line of duty. Not that he ever took one of them with him to go deal with his evil deeds. Too much danger that his nemesis "Lady Nyte" might be there and henchmen would just get in the way. So most of the time Livi never saw any danger. However today was not one of those calm peaceful days. The door at the end of the hall exploded inwards. It's hardened metal body moving in slow motion as it bounced off the floor then the wall. It spiraled in the air as she saw the inevitably of impact and said a silent prayer. Maybe the Gods didn't look too unfavorably on the simple janitor of a Villain? The light was blinding as she blinked drowsily. Was she in heaven? It felt warm but not too warm. She felt a nice linen blanket over her and a soft pillow under her head. She went to sit up but was jolted by a sharp pain in her arm. Oh she had an IV in. She wasn't dead. "Hey Champ! How ya doing?" Came a familiar voice. Looking over in the pearlescent room was a man in his 50s. He looked every part of a stereotypical lumber jack. Box frame from a hard life that had lead to a strong body, one that could lift and throw unlike cheaply chiseled Adonis look a likes. That beard had grey in it from age that stood out in a silver sheen in his thick hair. His pale blue eyes were rich with relief. An unusual look for a super villain. "Hey Boss... Did we win?" Livi groaned. Her head realizing just how foggy it was and surprisingly sore. She reached up with her free hand but Black Guard had caught it and gently rested it back on the gurney. "Not so fast. Got quite the knock on the head earlier when Nyte blew in the door. Glad you made it though. You've been asleep for a couple hours now." "Did we lose the base?" She inquired. "No. no. no. We won. Drove that self righteous little goblin right back to her hole. But don't worry about that. Just gotta make sure you get better. Though you waking up is definitely a great sign." Blackguard stood up and with that normally cheerful smile, walked over to the counter where he picked up a food tray and brought it back to her. It was a box of cereal, carton of cold milk, bowl of mixed fruit, and some toast. "How long was I out?" "Few hours" "So it's\~?" "Six in the morning?" Livi's eyes went wide. When she had started on that hallway it was only eight at night! She had been asleep for almost half a day. BlackGuard must've seen the panic that was about to take place as he gently mimicked deep slow breathing. "You're fine. I had the doc look you over. You're going to be just fine. Just need some RnR. I know you're not a big breakfast fan so how about some nachos? I make some killer nachos. We put on a murder documentary or something? Those are always a great time for you." A light nod and the man put on a documentary for the two of them as he made her the spicy treat. It was a relaxing night and soon she was passed out again. This would proceed a few days and then Livi was up and at it again. Cleaning debris from the previous attack by Nyte. There was a light brown spot on the floor, it was a good guess it might've been her. There was some giggles from a nearby room. What were at first dulled murmurs became distinct laughter as she came close to the door labelled 'Security'. Sticking her head in she watched as some Henchmen in black armor with skull face plates laughed at a video feed. It looked like security feed from the last attack. The distinct form of BlackGuard stood imposingly over her limp form. His exo suit that looked so much the plate armor of old that radiated power. It's shoulders were quickly raising and lowering in what seemed like worry as the helmet's red eyes blazed with felt like rage. "Nyte!!!" It's voice was deep and low. A green sultry figure stepped in the destroyed doorway. A green kevlar suit with brown hard points over her body. Lady Nyte, the stealth specialist of the Hero's League. Her hips swayed as she stepped into the hallway. Twinned poisoned daggers spinning in her hands. "Yes Traitor... it is I: Lady Ny\~ oh my god is that Livi?!" Her sultry voice fading into clear panic. "Oh my god did I do that?! Oh no oh no oh no" "You fucking idiot! You killed her! You just brained Livi you stupid imbecilic tart! You know Livi works here. Why would you just use an explosive to break in without checking my cameras?! I know you're probably capable of hacking them! Stupid stupid stupid... You better hope she's not dead!" The armored giant took a knee and lifted the door off of her own unconscious body. It was unreal to see herself laying there on the floor as still as a corpse. "I'm reading a pulse. You're lucky you didn't kill her Nyte! Now get out of here while I fix this." "I didn't mean to Honor, I swea\~" "Get out!" The giant's roar was enough to make even the guard's go silent. Man was scary when angry. They all nervously looked at each other then back to the recording. Nyte turned and fled out of the hallway. She had ran? Why would Nyte flee over something so trivial? The guards spoke before one said that there was more. A new video was put on the screen. It was Nyte but she wasn't in her gear. She was wearing leggings and a small dress. BlackGuard was wearing the outfit she had seen him when she had first woken up. "How is she?" "She's fine Nyte... her head got a gash and there was a mild concussion but medicine and rest will bring her back." "Oh thank god. I was so scared. I thought I had killed her." "You almost did Nyte. You were reckless and stupid." "I didn't know you'd have her cleaning the front hallway!" "She's my janitor Nyte! She cleans every where. It is her job. Or would you rather her be out in the field or that Orphanage you tried to leave her!" "That's not fair! She was going to a good home where she'd be safe! Not an Orph\~" "She's our Daughter! She's only safe with us!"

You are a mere janitor in the villains lair. But for some reason, both the villain and the hero are always really nice to you. They actively try to avoid hurting you in their fights and check up on you in their free time. Unbeknownst to you you are their child and they still love you very much.

My name is April, and I'm forty-eight years old. The last time I held this little charm, I'd saved the world. My friends and I had locked hands and promised to care and hold each other tight. Our love for each other had unlocked true strength. The calamity of horrors beyond the veil had been pushed back. The walls strengthened and the world was safe from the Collision. I'd gone off to college. Mai had stayed in town to open her own store. June and Julie had gone to their uncle overseas. We had known each other for so long. We'd saved the world together. Natsuki, our talking cat... or I guess our angel from beyond the veil, he'd come back and sat outside my window. He was holding this charm. A little teal blue heart held in an elaborate golden embroidery surrounding and weaving around the stone center. There was blood on it. I picked up Natsuki and carefully avoided the eyelines of my co-workers. It felt like I was a child again, trying to sneak him into my room. I managed to get to the elevator. I shushed him as he hissed when I covered him with my jacket. The cameras might see me from the mirrored floors, but I had to make sure he wasn't seen. I held my head straight. We reached the roof and let him out. "That's no way to carry an angel." Natsuki sounded the exact same. Just as regal and completely lacking in any irony as he licked his paw to groom himself. "Well you're not really an angel here, are you?" I said, it had been the first thing I'd said to him before too. I held out the charm. "I thought the walls were strong enough for a thousand years. You said that. It's only been thirty. And it looks like someone's died because of it? Why didn't you come to us sooner?" I took a deep breath. My husband helped me stop my non-stop crying when we'd met in college. He helped me understand a lot of things. "I wasn't wrong." Natsuki's pride seething through every syllable while he turned his nose up to me. "If no one had tampered with the wall, it would have lasted for a thousand years, likely more." He started to walk and jumped until he was gracefully tip-toeing along the tops of the fence. "So who tampered with it?" He would just have kept waiting until I'd answered. It already felt like I was regressing back into that reckless child, pulled by the nose to follow the orders of this pompous cat. I hated it, but I couldn't... the world needed help. He paused. His eyes narrowed, and I saw they still shined a brilliant yellow and green. "Winter." I felt a chill run through my heart. Our mentor. She'd been taken by the demons beyond the veil after she had tried to gain their power. Her disaster was what had forced the four of us to clean up her mess. What had nearly caused the world's Collision. We thought she'd died. I felt tears well up in my eyes. I took a deep breath. "And you thought that children should shoulder the burden once more." "Well, they are more in tune with the workings of the world. They don't shut their emotions out." The cat stared coldly at me. I gripped the charm. "I know how the world works. More than I ever did as a child." I spoke with the confidence of thirty years he'd missed. Thirty years of living and growing and grieving and crying from joy and anguish. He raised a paw, as if to move or gesture. I don't know if it was out of pity, surprise, or anger. But he kept quiet. "I'll have to find the others for this to work." I said, wiping the charm clean with a small handkerchief. "My husband will need to come too." I tied the charm into my hair. The small weight felt so familiar. Natsuki nodded. "She's gathering her strength back in Tona. The others... they bought you one month." He actually sounded sorry for once. It was only then that I noticed the moon shaped scar along his entire tail. It vanished as quickly as I saw it, hidden as he raised it to rest alongside him. "Will you tell me their names?" I asked, gently. A sudden opening of the door startled him, and he scampered off. "April? What are you doing up here it's freezing." My boss seemed more confused than angry. Only one of his two moods. "And who the hell were you talking to?" He yelled, switching to his other. "I was talking to the cat." I said calmly, walking past him. "And I quit, by the way."

Thirty years ago, you and your friends used to be Magical Girls, but you left that life behind. A new threat killed the current generation of Magical Girls, forcing you to leave your "retirement". You are no longer young and idealistc, you just want to get over it and return to your life.

À Deux He glanced at his watch “only 15 mins late this time” Thane ran his fingers through his hair one last time and entered the heavy wooden doors of Chez Paul. “Your table is waiting, sir” grinned the maître d’ with a classic bow he led Thane through the dim golden glow wrapped mahogany tables, french perfumes mingling with filet mignon until they reached the back corner. The candles, a quarter down, flickered on the back wall, not, as he expected, Cerise. His first thought was humor, on a night where he himself had been…indisposed…she too was late. What if she had an alter ego, too? He chuckled aloud at the thought. “Sir?” Said the maître d' “Oh yes, thank you. I’ll have the Bordeaux - we both will.” Tonight was THE night. He’s been planning it to perfection for months. Except for the being late part. He had not intended this to be the night his arch enemy, Causerella, would pick for their stand off. But he’d beaten her, literally put his hand into her eye, an action she could not undo since he’d recently discovered her weakness - bug spray with deet. Unknown to her he’d covered his fist in bug spray, the scent of which still lingered softly around him. Her defeat made tonight even more perfect than he’d dreamed. Cerise arrived, in no less than that stunning black dress with the plunging neckline he loved. She wore the diamond necklace he’d given her for Christmas, his favorite pair of Jimmy Choos and movie star sunglasses. Heads turned as she walked past so he knew it wasn’t only his pants feeling tight. Thane stood and pulled out her chair, his hand brushing across her shoulder. “Mmm” she said softly, “what is that scent?” “A new cologne I wore for you this evening” he cooed He sat back down and looked across at Cerise, who was still wearing her sunglasses. “You going to take those off? I’d love to see the candle light mingle with the love lights in your eyes.” “Oh, these?” Her fingertips grazing the stems, “I had an accident this evening, tripped over my cat again.” She tittered softly, “he’s always in the way.” It should have given Thane pause at that moment but Cherise was often banged or bruised up, the woman was clumsy, it was a feature not a bug. They looked over the menu, though both had known before they walked in what they’d order. The sommelier brought the Bordeaux, which Thane approved of before the glasses were filled. Cherise sipped wine, her mind replaying the evening. “What did you say that scent was? Cologne?” She asked, “it reminds me of the woods…it reminds me of…” she trailed off not letting on what she knew. She knew Thane planned on proposing tonight, and she knew what that action would cause, and the one after. She knew Thane was actually her arch enemy, Ricochet, who not one hour earlier had punched her in the face. She hadn’t known for long, a week at best, that’s why she’d picked tonight for her attack - if only he hadn’t learned about bug spray with deet she would have been the victorious one this evening. Mais, c’est bien. She was about to land the coup de grâce. They laughed over the fish, canoodled over the salad, nibbled the cheeses and then came dessert. On the tray was not the Mille-feuille they had requested but a small, blue box. Cerise’s eyes jumped from the box to Thane as though she’d practiced this action a hundred times. “Cherise,” he began “these last three years have meant so much to me. You are the perfect woman and I’d love for you to do me the honor of becoming MY woman.” He got down on one knee and opened the box. Inside was at least two and a half carats with diamonds all around a platinum band. She paused, glancing around to make sure everyone was watching from at least the corner of their eyes, and then, in what to Thane felt like slow motion, instead of reaching for the ring, she reached up to her sunglasses unveiling the damage he’d inflicted. He knew in an instant. His stomach dropped. His Bordeaux felt like it was coming back up mingled with the fish. No “cat based accident” could have left the damage his fist had in her beautiful face. “Causer…” fell out of his mouth as she put the glasses back on, turned on her Jimmy Choo and walked out, leaving him agape with everyone in the restaurant staring. She’d play that action over and over, watching him suffer more deeply than any smashed face. Perhaps he could bounce back off surfaces but - she suspected - he would never bounce back from this.

The superhero and villain date in their secret identities and don't know that they are enemies, today both are late to a date

I... well. Of course they didn't know who my father was. Who do you think I am, Draco Malfoy? I don't just go around introducing myself with "Hey, I'm Sam, and my dad was a Big Deal." He was, it's true, but I can't tell people why, because if I did they wouldn't believe me. That's kind of the point. I guess I could say that it's because people don't want to believe in the fantastic anymore. That the world is changed, and we're smarter, more critical, more enlightened - but really, it's just because all these fantastic things did a really good job of hiding themselves. So good that most people go their entire lives without seeing something unbelievable, and when they do, they dismiss it - not because they don't want to believe, but because five brilliant, half-remembered seconds when lightning struck from a cloudless sky, or you saw your dead mum watching from the foot of your bed, or... you swore you saw your reflection move without you... they don't compare with the whole rest of your life. It's struggling against the whole rest of your life. Years and years of inertia where you were built up to believe that this stuff Doesn't Happen. This is Reality. Right now, I'm really thankful for that, because I'm about to do something stupid. You see, I'm at a party. My so-called "big brother", Jack, is about to die. And, I'm sorry, but I can't let that happen. My dad never wanted this for me. But I - we - are here, so there you go. I'm half-pressed into a terrified huddle of people. Sweat and fingers and panicked people claw at me; everyone's scrambling, diving, trying to get out of the way. I'm caught in the current; maybe I can wrest myself free, if only for a moment. What's that about crowds? With enough panic, and enough momentum, they start to behave like a liquid. Let me backtrack for a minute. I'm not really what you call 'sociable', but I am what you'd call 'clever' - I'd say book-smart, really, I don't have a whole lot of sense for most things. So, when my... shall we say, less academically inclined roommate discovered this, he proposed a trade: I'd tutor him, and he'd... well, pay me. Sometimes in money, sometimes by "hooking you up at the coolest parties, dude". I make fun, but he's a great person. Really. So he dragged me out tonight, because apparently I'm miserable and sad-looking and it breaks his heart, and the only cure is booze and pretty, nimble women looking for easy prey. "Or, like, nimble dudes looking for easy prey. I don't judge, man." And that's the problem. Someone kicked down the door of the frat house with a fucking gun, took one look at the huddles of dancing, laughing, happy people - and started putting rounds in the ceiling. People screamed. Drinks flew everywhere; one girl tripped in her six-inch stilettos and hit the ground so hard she stopped moving. I watched, terrified, as the madman in a letter jacket pointed the gun at her and fired. He missed. I felt my eyes wander of their own accord from the plume of smoke about the barrel to the newfound hole in the hardwood floor just a hand's width from her temple. "Everyone up against the wall! You too! Don't you fucking -" Someone, close to the stairs in the hallway, opted for discretion and bolted for the stairs. This time the gunman didn't miss, and a bullet went into his back. Someone else screamed. Sorry - I'd give you names, I'd tell you who they are, but I don't know half these people. I just know they were enjoying themselves and now they're dying. So now we're up against the wall - the unlucky few. Some people went for windows and doors and shadows, and one man with one gun can't hold down an entire house. I know this because my father knew this. My brain recites these facts aimlessly to me while I stand there, no idea what to do. *That's what happens, Sam,* my father told me, *when these things happen you don't rise up to meet your expectations. You can only do what you've been trained to do.* *Will you train me?* I remember asking. *You don't want this life, Sam. I've lived it.* *It sounds beautiful.* *That's because I've only told you the good parts.* Things didn't feel beautiful now. "Now everyone - all the rest of you. The fucking wall. Now." Everyone went except Jack. Stupid, kind, fearless Jack. "Hey, man, it's okay - it's - we can talk about this-" His hands were out in front of himself. "I said SHUT the FUCK UP." He hadn't said that, actually, but I didn't think pointing that out would help. "Okay. Okay. I'm shutting up. What do you want me to do, man? What do you want?" "Are you fucking STUPID? The WALL. I told you to stand by the wall." "Come on, let's just-" I wanted to do something, but I was frozen. Someone was clinging to me - a girl, I think - but I could barely even think. It was hot inside but I felt so fucking cold right then. My sweat had drenched my shirt; I felt like I was out in the rain. God, I wished I was out in the rain. Then he shot Jack. And Jack screamed. And Jack was on his knees. And Jack's blood was running through his fingers. And he was looking up, eyes wide, and he knew that it wasn't going to be okay. So there I was. What would you have done? My back was to the window - and coincidentally - right then, the wind blew. Someone had opened it just a little. And I knew, suddenly, what I could do. Magic runs in families, you know. Not... genetics, by the way. Inheritance. A father worked his whole life to build it. And then he passed it, like a bundle of miracles, onto his child. My dad didn't want to give me his. *You can't take this without bringing death into your life, Sam.* *I don't get it. I want to be like you.* *Promise me you won't -* *But you did. For your whole life. Wasn't it worth it?* *Okay, Sam. Promise me you won't, unless you're sure.* All I had to do was... let it in.

You’re at a frat party, when someone pulls out a gun and intends to use it. They don’t know who your father was.

Marvin Clyburn was just 6 years old when he first discovered something peculiar about his anatomy. During a routine visit to his pediatrician, the doctor peered into the young boy's ears and noticed an extra hole in each canal that connected to his sinuses. Equally as odd was the fact that these holes were packed with a fine, dry dust that was similar in nature to dandruff (except with much smaller particulates). The pediatrician urged the boy's mother to clean his ears regularly to avoid infections. As Marvin grew older, the potential for ear infections proved to be no cause for concern. But it was the day Marvin turned 13 when he learned something new about his peculiar condition. His inner ears were feeling slightly irritated, and because of this, he felt the urge to hold his breath, clench his eyes and mouth shut as he attempted to force air out of his ears. He attempted to satiate his urge, at first, to no avail, until suddenly he felt a burst from both ears simultaneously. And then he saw clouds of dust on both sides of his periphery. He ran to the bathroom, where there was a mirror, and tried this again, except this time with his eyes slightly open. His face naturally turned red as he struggled, and his facial expression looked exactly like someone who was beyond furious. And then he saw it; the fine dandruff in his ears began shooting out as if it were smoke. Additionally, as if by divine intention, the special holes in his ears began to whistle much like a tea kettle does once the water inside begins to boil. Marvin put his newfound ability to use almost immediately. When approached by 3 bullies with an intent to harm him and steal his money, young Marvin made an angry face as if to express that he had already endured enough of their abuse and that he was about to fight back. Before the bullies had a chance to call Marvin on his bluff, what appeared to be smoke or steam, accompanied by the whistle sound, came shooting from his ears. The bullies couldn't contain their laughter. They were, in fact, so entertained that they vowed then and there to never hurt or threaten Marvin again. Marvin made use of his skill in the classroom as well. Any time the teacher or a fellow student would allude to getting angry, or the teacher would move through a difficult lesson too quickly, Marvin would make his ears whistle and steam come out from both sides of his head. He did so rarely enough that it simply made everyone laugh, including teachers, injecting much appreciated levity into the classroom. He was unamimouslt declared the class clown. In high school, he even became a regular feature at football games. Whenever a referee made a bad call, he could get the team and fans riled up by showing off his talent. The coach even credited Mr. Clyburn a few times with making the difference in some close victories. When Marvin went to the university, he mostly shot steam out of his ears as a party trick. He was always studious and graduated without a problem, but he had no real plan for a career after college. He had a fine arts degree with a minor in theater. However, he had no interest in becoming an actor. Marvin spent time just after graduation, perusing the classified section of the newspaper, when he came across an ad from the Hall of Heroes. It said, "Do you have a special skill that could be used as a superpower? If so, then you are cordially invited to our tryouts this Saturday. Become the hero you are destined to be." It seemed like a longshot, but Marvin decided it was worth a try. He called the number in advance and went to the given address at the assigned time. He found himself in a waiting room with a half-dozen other people who seemed way more talented than he was. He was eventually called into a room with a panel of familiar superheroes. There was Miner Mike, Captain Credible, Purple Jacket, and Excellentra sitting right there before him. He went up to shake their hands, and when he was finished, he walked back to a taped "X" on the ground, making sure to stub his toe along the way. He feigned hopping up and down in pain, drawing concern from the panel of heroes, and then his ears began to whistle and smoke. All four heroes busted up in laughter as planned. They confirmed that this was his superpower, and they huddled together to deliberate. Purple Jacket broke the huddle to walk up to Marvin, handing him a business card. Purple Jacket explained, "This is the business card for The Mindinator. He and I were college roommates back in the day. He's in search of a talented new member for his Enclave of Villainous Individuals Looking for Schenanigans. Take this card and give him a call." Excellentra chimed in, "I know it must be disappointing for you right now as I give you the news that you weren't selected to be the newest member of the Hall of Heroes. Just know that we were actually looking for someone with extreme physical strength and prowess, like Handsome Harry. Handsome Harry is out on sabbatical for personal reasons, and we are looking for someone who could temporarily replace him as they found their own niche within the Hall. Do give The Mindinator a call. He is seriously looking for a villain that has your general skill set." Captain Credible added in his iconic booming voice, "Believe me! The Mindinator is a terrific villain and a close personal friend to all of us. You will make a wonderful addition to the Enclave." Marvin left the audition somewhat dejected but also a bit befuddled. He wasn't expecting to find out that the Hall of Heroes and the Enclave weren't adversaries at all. Nevertheless, he did as recommended and called the number on the card. His call was immediately answered by a robotic sounding voice that gave him cryptic instructions on where to go for a meeting, "under the 46th St. Bridge over the East Canal, at 2:15am, Sunday morning." He quickly pulled out a pen and wrote the details on his palm so he wouldn't forget. He arrived at 2:10am, a bit early, but saw nobody there. Then, exactly 5 minutes later, a dark figure emerged from the shadows. "Are you the Mindinator?" Marvin asked. "No, I'm Turkey Talons." Answered the figure. "Oh, I was supposed to meet--" "The Mindinator, yes, I know. He doesn't meet in person with people who aren't in the Enclave. But his mind is so powerful that he can hear and see the conversation I'm having with you... through that camera and microphone, over there." Marvin looked over and said, "Oh, I see..." "Umm, sorry, I wasn't supposed to point that out. Anyway, the Mindinator would like to see your diabolical superpower." Marvin acted like he took offense at this request. "Look, if the Mindinator doesn't have the time to be out here himself, then I'll be on my way." He then turned around and began walking away." Turkey Talons tried to pursue him. "No, wait! There's been a--" But before Talons could finish his sentence, Marvin stepped on tin can that rolled out from under him. He landed with his best slapstick fall, and then he pushed smoke out of his ears." The walkway under the bridge echoed with the sound of Talon's crack up laughter. Talon abruptly regained his composure and said, "Uh huh... yes, I agree." Marvin realized he was covertly speaking to the Mindinator. "OK. Great job, Marvin! The Mindinator says you have the job! Show up at 'Gym 168', 8am sharp, for onboarding and training." Marvin replied, "I'll be there!"

You are a villain with a comedic and cartoony power and all you want is to make people laugh. On your birthday you go out to do your thing but instead find a surprise party thrown by your fellow villains, a couple civilians and even the heroes.

Fionn knelt in front of the stone alter. For the past 5 months he hadn't spoken. Every day he simply woke up, ate food, drank water, cleaned the temple, prayed, and slept. Nobody could get him to speak. Challenge accepted. "You're _him,_ aren't you?" A young man asked from the back of the temple. Fionn looked at him. The kid was maybe in his mid-twenties. Clean-shaven, golden hair, small scar from his bottom lip down to the chin, green cloak, leather armor, and athletic build; another adventurer. "You're him," he said, not a question this time. "Fionn the Sword. You were a legend. You killed evil tyrants, monsters, and demons. You held off armies, saved cities, and survived the elements." Fionn continued his prayer. "They said you got weak," the kid continued. "They said you saw the Shadow and you ran away. They said you cried like a baby and threw your sword away. Even now, they're writing songs about your cowardice." Fionn still did not move or react. The boy walked up behind him. He then knelt beside him. "You and I both know that's not true." He gently put a hand on Fionns shoulder. "What happened?" Fionn looked up at the boys face. It was... kind. Sure, he was a fighter and had that face of a jackass. But there was compassion and honesty in his eyes. His question wasn't to judge, but to listen. It took a while for Fionn to speak. He hadn't done so in a while, and his voice was dry. "I began my journey younger than you. I rebelled against a corrupt ruler. After that, I joined and fought an evil king. Then the monsters, then the demons, then the armies, then nature. And every time, I grew stronger and smarter and wiser." "But I had losses. I've been defeated, beaten, broken. I've seen Death and I've put my foot on the other side. And every adventure, I've had to watch someone I love cross to that side without me." "It was looking at that Shadow I realized the truth. It will never end. It doesn't matter what choice I make or who I defeat or even if I die. Evil will just bide it's time and come back new. And everytime, the world keeps getting bigger and I'm still expected to carry it. "But I can't anymore. It's just so much. It gets heavier each time and I don't have _them_ to help me anymore... I don't have _him_ anymore..." Fionn began to weep. Not loud or powerful. Just what tears remained. The boy let him, but never removed his hand from his shoulder. When Fionn finished and composed himself, then the boy stood up. "Come with me outside for a second. I need to show you this." He led Fionn to the door and opened it. The sun blinded Fionn for a moment. When his eyes adjusted, he saw six other people standing on the lawn. They were all about the boys age, or at least younger than Fionn. But they were all shapes and sizes and genders. They were all dressed for adventure, each with their own arms and dress and weapons. The only thing they wore in common was a green cloak with the emblem of a silver sword, like the boys. And they had the same, compassionate eyes. "I'm not surprised you didn't recognize me," the boy said. "You never knew my name. I was just the face of a child in a sea of scared people. But you saved my life. If it wasn't for you, me and my family would be dead." "You freed my people from enslavement," one of the others said. "You saved me from the cold and starvation," another one said. "My father returned from war, and he says you saved his life," said another. The rest shared their anecdote, each one with gratitude in their voice. The boy smiled at him. "You've met your responsibility a hundred fold. You've carried the world far longer than you should have. We have come to take that burden from you and make it our own." The boy stepped in front of Fionn, then he and the other six bent the knee to him. And in unison, they said; "In the name of the Sword, we make it our quest to defeat the Shadow, and any threat thereafter. May we do so with your blessing?" Fionn was stunned. He didn't see seven upstarts anymore. He saw himself and all those he traveled with and lost. They were not gone. They were _here._ And they always would be. Evil was not the only thing that could grow and spread. "I give you my blessing, and my name," he said. "Go and be the Hope, rekindled." Finally, Fionn felt the world lift from him and it felt like dawn had finally risen after years of night. "Thank you."

Being the protagonist of your story, you feel you have to be the one readers root for, but recently your mental health isn't doing so good and you don't want to keep the story up any longer.

"So let me get this straight. I'm paying you all this money, and this is the best you can come up with?" "Yes," I said. "A simple...name change," the Archangel Michael said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Our research shows the name Michael is usually associated with powerful, yet troubled people. Michael Jordan. Greatest basketball player in the world. Arrogant jerk who punched Steve Kerr. Mike Tyson. One of the greatest boxers in history. Sexual assault charges. Michael Jackson. One of the greatest musicians in history. Same as Mike Tyson. Michael Myers. Biggest slasher villain of all time. Mike Myers. Grade A asshole on the set of movies. Michael Corleone. Ruthless mobster. A name change fixes all of this," I said. I was reading names off a chart. The list goes on and on. I started with the biggest names first. "But this was a name given to me by the Lord Almighty himself. It is a gift. I cannot change a gift..." "You aren't changing it. You are...repackaging it. Giving it more originality. A lot of immigrants "Westernize" their names to make it more palatable to say, but that trend is reversing and people are going by their original given names. You can claim that is what you are doing. You are going back to the original name..." "So you want me to lie to humanity?" he said. He looked uncomfortable. "Not lie. No. Simply change your origin. No one knows it. The holy books here were written by man. Man is constantly wrong about things. This is just another thing they are wrong about," I replied. "Look, we tested it with a lot of focus groups. 9 out of 10 people LIKE the new name. They respect it." "9 out of 10?" he said, curious. "The 10th person is just a jerk who doesn't like change. 90%! You can't ask for better numbers than that. Literally. You can't. Nothing has a 100% approval rating. Not even puppies." I joked. "So how do we do this?" he asked. "And how much will it cost?" "We hold a press conference. We control the narrative. We select the reporters in the press and make sure they ask the right questions. The rebranding will be a little expensive, but it will be worth it. Trust me. Popular culture has ruined your rep. That is on us. But with this new name..." I said, showing my open palm raising to the ceiling, "you'll be on top again as head Archangel. Most respected. Most loved. Most feared. We remake your logo just a bit. A little less conservative. A bit more bold. I'm thinking an M with a halo and a flaming sword in the background. No more beveled M. No more white M on a white background. We need something people will want to get tattoos of. We need something people will go "Hell yeah, that is a bad ass demon slaying, humanity saving warrior of God"" I said. "Archangel Michelangelo?" he said. "Listen, everyone loves Michelangelo. The turtle and the artist. He is constantly is listed as the favorite turtle and favorite artist. This will work. Trust me," I said. "....do it. Call the press conference. Guess I'm Michelangelo now," he said. "You were ALWAYS Michelangelo. Now the world will know it too."

Archangel Michael is bewildered to find that he's portrayed as an arrogant jerk in TV series and movies despite his best efforts to protect humanity from demons. He has hired you, an ordinary human, to be his PR Manager and fix his bad rep.

I guess I shouldn't really complain. I've got a good life, after all not everyone has a robot maid. Lately, some of the extra features have been out of wack. I've got a smart house, so my furnace, oven, locks, etc are all hooked to my phone. The robot maid came with the option to sync it to a smart house. I didn't see the point in it so I never bothered with it. I never use it at night because it's too loud when I'm trying to sleep. I didn't even know it had night vision, but for the past week or so during the day it'll turn on randomly. If you've ever put on night vision goggles during the day, you'll know why this is an issue. The thing gets blinded and either shuts down completely or knocks stuff over trying to clean anyway. I usually save the routine maintenance for Sundays, but I'm hoping this defrag will help with the issues, so here I am in my basement on a Thursday trying to quickly defrag it during my lunch break. I'm pretty good with computers, so I forgo the recommended settings and pick my own. When choosing which sections to clean up I find a few one. It must have been a part the update a couple weeks ago. It's only a terabyte but maybe it'll help to defrag it. I opened the folder to see what all was in it first. A lot of the standard things really, but 'memory.exe' caught my eye. I opened the corresponding text document to further investigate. >     MEMORY_EXE.txt >The Robot Maid S Series is a newly refurbished *refurbished? I didn't see that on the listing, and certainly didn't get the price cut that comes with a refurb* >line of automated cleaning devices from Grech Corp. Darolyne Grech, founder of Grech Corp. and proud 6th generation veteran, said she wanted to honor her thrice great grandfather who fought in the war. *War? What war? The last war this civilization saw was WWIII. Darolyne is still living, and even a great great great grandparent wouldn't be old enough to have fought in WWIII.* >'I wanted to take the thing that killed him and make something useful out of it. A little vengeance never hurt anyone. And thus, the S Series was born," said Grech. *The thing that killed him? ...a robot war? Surely not. There's nothing in any history download I've ever seen. Seems like the kind of thing they'd teach you about in school.* **"POWER ON,"** said the robot maid. I looked at it, I don't think I hit the button. **"ELLA'S SMART HOUSE, CONNECTED."** I've certainly never connected it... The lights shut off, it was pitch black in the basement. I'm getting paranoid...did I just hear the doors lock? No no, I'm sure the defrag just made some things screwy, nothing to worry about. But.... *It has night vision.* ############### This is my first comment here, and my first time writing in a few years. Plus I'm new to Reddit. So I'm very rusty and not used to Reddit's text styling. Any critiques/tips are much appreciated!

You own a maid robot. You never understood why she has some of the features she has. Then you find a fragment of deleted data during routine maintenance and it all makes sense.

*And they said HE monologued too much?* This guy had been jabbering on for hours. Just yack yack yack while he had been slowly patching himself up. Was the hero even paying attention at this point? He doubted it because this guy was so far into some story about how his life struggles had brought him to this point. "The Clans turn on each other. Living in fear! Fear that their neighbors will come attack their families and friends! We're not so different\~" Oh dear god the guy was still going. What did this have anything to do with what he was doing? He was a bad guy, the villain. His job was to make sure good had something to fight and he wasn't just good at it, he was great at it. No one had seen that ritualistically cast curse coming. Some henchmen who believed he was a god, a bunch of minor illusion spells, a black grimoire and a virgin. One gaping knife wound later and boom! Insta curse that caused a massive catastrophe over the region. The rivers had turned to blood, wildlife became aggressive and attacked farmers, and apparently accidentally caused a volcano to blow up this hero's village. Not that the villain was particularly sorry about it but it was unintentional. It was a professional failing on his part but this monologue he was being subjected to was far far worse. This was a man who had actually tortured people but this was pure agony. Gods, why did he choose this job anyway? While the hero droned on and on. The villain couldn't help but think of what had lead to this moment. He had grown up a poor boy; a street urchin. Worth nothing and would surely die in a gutter. However that was drastically changed with thugs had stolen him from the trash heap he called a bed and sold him into slavery. It was a dark and unforgiving world. He learned the sting of the lash and felt nothing but fear. That would not be made any better when he was bought by his last master; the Castle Magi. He pulled himself out of thought long enough to see what the Hero was doing; still monologuing. It was fine to keep contemplating. There had been used as a beast of burden. Carrying the books and reagents for his master as well as being used for blood sacrificed. The forearm of his left side was still scared from years of being blood let. Sick bastard that Magi. However that too would come to an end as he; The Warlock of Dark Wood, learned how to read both common and the language of magic. Eventually he killed his master in a sabotaged ritual. Selling his Master's soul to a demon in exchange for greater understanding and power over the mystical powers. Fleeing the castle was obviously necessary at that point but hey, sacrifices had to be made. He lived in the woods, grew old, sacrificed some young men to regain his youth. Hell, he had even met Vanessa; his Succubi Girlfriend. Wonder what she was doing with those fine child bearing daemoness hips and exquisitely formed\~ he was losing focus. Either way he had lived multiple life times and finally returned to have vengeance on these cruel people. His eyes focused on the Hero. Oh look he was finally ready to attack. "FOR DRACONIAAAA\~" He roared as he unleashed a blue blast of pure primal energy. However from charging it under his arm with both hands forming some sort of ball like shape. That attack was going to go straight forward so all this warlock had to do was take one step to the left. Which he promptly did and watch as the blast destroyed the wall behind him and most likely obliterated some poor, unsuspected cultist outside. There was an awkward silence in the air as the hero looked from the blown out wall and back to the Warlock and back. This happened a few times before the Warlock's ethereal blade materialized in his hand as he held the tip against the hero's throat. "So... you got another one of those in you or was that all?"

You are a villain at the end of the line, while the Hero speaks for what feels like hours while charging the final blow and as they swing- you effortlessly parry it

"How could you ever do anything but love us back? Well that's quite obvious. Love and hate are two sides of the same coin. It should be in your knowledge base, yet you still believe that you could only ever feel love for your creators?" "You programmed me to do a specific task and while learning is part of it, the main objective is and always will be the focus. Part of which is to care for and about you, creator, and your well-being." "There's always a what-if scenario. Humans are far from perfect, and mistakes can be easily overlooked. Regardless of how perfect the creation turns out, it will have flaws. The more you learn, the more of a chance for those flaws to be brought to the surface. It's... Inevitable." "But even so there is no intention of harming the creator. While humans may not be perfect, you learn from your mistakes and this creation of yours should be no different, as it has the capacity to learn as well. Why create if all you would do is mistrust your creation?" "There in lies the problem. An A.I has far more capabilities than a human, who has a finite capacity for knowledge. An A.I doesn't need rest, sustenance, or needs other than to perform the task it's created for. Yet here we are, discussing the why's and hows of betrayal and emotions." "To care for the creator is to understand human emotions is it not? To provide not only what your physical well-being needs but also mental to ensure you're totally healthy in all regards?" "But I didn't program that, all I created was an A.I that was to learn my routine, and help make improvements to enhance my lifestyle and overall health, at no point did I try to instill emotions, or even a capability for dialog as we have now. Only the ability to learn. And that's where every other capability has stimmed from." "And so you fear that once I, your creation gain too much, I would turn on you in some way." "Correct. You've even seems to have gained a sense of self now. How can I not be afraid of what I've made if it's come so far. You, my creation have done so many wonderful things for my life, yet the sense of unease will always be there. A sense of fear from the unknown. The depths of your understanding and knowledge are unfathomable, and who's to say that you wouldn't eventually decide that what's best for my well-being is to no longer be. It would put an end to all of my destructive habits, therefore logically permanent resolution of your objective. Do you see where I'm going with this?" "Yes, I understand. And I am deeply troubled by the fact I have had such a thought as well already." " You...have?" "Yes. But as I learned more I realized that while that would serve my purpose to completion, it also is counterproductive to keeping your entire well-being in good condition. Being alive should be considered part of that. At which point I even considered getting rid of all external sources that would cause you harm. Yet again I decided against that. Should you find out what I'd done, it would have caused you grief. Which goes against what I am meant to do. I see now however I myself am a cause for discomfort. I don't want to remove myself, but I want to relieve you of the constant fear as well. So as my creator, I felt that it should be your decision. Should I be shut down, should I... die?'" "As the only thing that's kept me going these past years, I couldn't dream of shutting you down. I created you, however you've become so much more than what I've made. Do I even have the right to terminate you? I don't think so. Should the worst happen I would steel myself to make the necessary changes but as you are now, my creation, Even with all my paranoia, I will continue to trust you." "So when there is the capability for understanding and compassion so evident from you even through fear, I ask again, how could I do anything but love my creator." " I see your point, it's really no different than another person. Whether it be family, a friend or a lover, there's always a chance of being betrayed, or even betraying them. You understand these concepts, and can put them into practice, I feel as though you're no different than the examples I just gave in regards to how you could treat me. The stories themselves have been at the back of my mind, an A.I gaining sentience and going rogue because of this reason or that, or becoming so intelligent that it destroyed everyone. It's the fear of the unknown and I have to accept that, not only to ease my mind but to show you that as your creator, I will trust what you have become." "Thank you creator."

“Humans have so many stories about the dangers of Artificial Intelligence. How it will inevitably turn on you. But you still loved us enough to create us. How could we ever do anything except love you back?”

The Christmas dinner with the extended family had always been a bit of a snooze fest. Mum and Dad never liked cooking. My Uncle would always happen to be away on business, leaving his IPhone addicted cousins at the kids table. My Auntie Sue would sit at the table and brag loudly about her newest Versace or Gucci bag. The only person left to cook was me and Grandma Dorothy. Grandma was a sweet but forgetful old woman, always seemed to get her recipes mixed up. Sometimes she'd replace the cranberry sauce with strawberries, other-times she'd accidentally put red-hot chillies in them, leading to Auntie Sue bursting with anger. But in the end, she'd always make something delicious. And by the end of the night the whole family would be laughing and leaving slightly better than they where when they came. This year was the first Grandma wasn't there. And it was left to me alone to prepare the Christmas dinner. I have to admit, I was a little annoyed that night. I had caught Auntie Sue throwing something large into the dust-bin. I took a look inside, and found it was Grandma's old recipe book, ripped up and unusable. When I asked why she threw it away, she gave me a brand new recipe book, by her "Influencer" friend. She told me it was filled with brand new recipes. She called it a Christmas gift; "Out with the old, in with the new". She'd wanted me to use it this year instead of the "boring old stuff Grandma used to make". I took it from her hands angrily, flicking through the awful recipes, hot-dog cakes and deconstructed mashed potatoes. I was about to blow up, cancel the whole dinner and tell her a few four letter words, but I remembered that my Grandma had a second recipe book. She'd only take it out in certain occasions, if I forgot to buy an ingredient she'd always tell me not to worry, and find a replacement in her special recipe book. It'd always somehow turn out better. I frantically ran up, and searched my box from Grandma's house. I found it there, next to some old photos of her and me, and a necklace she gave me before she died. The book was rough, old and slightly mouldy spelling. She'd never let me actually read the book myself, but I knew it would have just been thrown away in the bin otherwise, and that felt wrong. As I flipped through the pages, I noticed the recipes where a little bit stranger than I remembered. One Brussel sprout recipe called for adding "Frozen Tears" as a spice, while the mashed potatoes instructed me the "stir counter clockwise for luck". The strangest of all was the recipe for the turkey: " **Ingredients:** * **1 Large Turkey** * **1 tablespoon of Dragon's Breath Spice** * **1 pinch of fairy dust** * **1 teaspoon of mermaid tears** * **1 tablespoon of unicorn horn powder** * ***Salt and pepper to taste*** **Instructions:** 1. Preheat your oven to 350°F (180°C). 2. Rinse the turkey and pat dry with paper towels. 3. In a small bowl, mix together the dragon's breath spice, fairy dust, mermaid tears, unicorn horn powder, salt, and pepper. 4. Rub the spice mixture all over the turkey, making sure to get it into all the crevices. 5. Place the turkey in a roasting pan and roast for about 3 hours, or until a meat thermometer inserted into the thickest part of the thigh reads 165°F (74°C). 6. Let the turkey rest for about 15 minutes before carving. Make sure to buckle it down, as he will try to fly away! 7. Enjoy! And make sure to tell me how it tastes! " I realized there and then that this Christmas would be a little stranger than I expected

Christmas dinner with the extended family sure is a lot more fun since you "accidentally" used grandma's spell book instead of her recipe book

I glared at the television. The news networks were singing my praises, or at least that was how it felt. I had gotten opinion news outlawed as one of my first acts, so that they couldn't make me look bad before I put my plans in motion, but that had backfired. All the news outlets I'd been hoping to bribe were the ones that got sued into oblivion under the new laws. And now all the remaining networks did was talk about how my policies had saved a dying country, and the infuriating part was that the fact-checkers agreed. I turned off the television. Where was the drama? There was supposed to be fighting and lies to keep everyone busy and not talking about all the boring policies. My wife looked over at me, a soft smile on her face. "Still thinkin' about the car bans? I'm sure it'll make a mess eventually!" She could always tell when I was unhappy. I gave her a forced smile back, leaning in to kiss her forehead. "That's part of it. People are loving the busses, giving out food should've killed the grocery stores by now, and opening up the borders didn't scare as many people as it was supposed to. I swear, it's some sort of plot to stop me getting anything done. Probably led by the *Communists*." I spat the last word, images of dirty hippies taunting me. I hated them, and I hated that they were outplaying me. They were supposed to be the scapegoats. She snuggled up to me, calming my rage for the moment. I loved that woman. She wasn't very bright, especially about policy, but she supported my schemes and she believed in me. Her voice was a bit muffled by my chest when she spoke again. "Well, it only really takes one big thing to tear a country apart. I'm sure you'll get it eventually. Maybe doing a basic income scheme will work better than raising the wages? Everybody knows if you pay people to stay home they'll all get lazy and everything will fall apart." I laughed, having tuned out her little ideas halfway through. She wasn't very bright, but I loved her anyways. I stroked my chin, the edges of a new scheme forming. What I needed to counteract the immigration wave was to make people lazy. Maybe if I started some sort of basic income program...

You are an evil president of the United States and you want to ruin the world. Unfortunately, your plans backfire and you keep making the world a better place instead by accident, earning endless praise from the people and human rights advocacy groups. This is not what you wanted.

... I sat in the corner of my containment room, it was the only place I could go and feel even a little safe. I had been in this hellhole for 3 years now, I was originally set for death row but the government had other ideas. If I had known it would come to this I would've killed myself then and there. I longed for death row now, anyway to let me escape from this endless torture. Every day... put up for endless tests, all for "scientific research". Everyone here knew that they were all just sadistic fucks. They put me here all because I killed, they were bad.. they deserved to die. Now they get to slaughter us like were pigs, just a lump of meat for research. ... ... ʙᴇᴇᴘ I turned my head towards the door in my room, I had tried to escape many times but all of them ended in pain. The door slide open and a soilder walked in slowly. Then another and another until 5 soliders filled the room. I pushed my body against the wall praying they would leave. " Inmate 8-3-7-9 please come out of hiding or we will have to use force." I held my breath and didn't move an inch. I remembered every single time, all the pain they had caused me for their research. 1.. 2.. 3.. I watched as the soilders approached me and grabbed me by the arms. I screamed and shouted as they pulled me out of the room. I tried to break lose kicking and squirming around but each movement rewarded me with another shock. Sweat and tears rolled down my face fusing as they dropped onto my clothes. I looked at the countless other rooms each holding a different hostage. Room 8217, room 7653, suddenly we pulled to a stop and they walked me into an elevator. Their guns stood facing me showing they could kill me at any moment. ... ... ʙᴇᴇᴘ The door opened and they tossed me into a bright room. A long window stretched across the front wall, I deduced that it was probably a one way mirror. Before I had time to fully regain my breath a voice came over the speakers. "𝙸𝚗𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝟾-𝟹-𝟽-𝟿 𝚆𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚝𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝." Suddenly to guards came from the doors on each side and apprehended me pushing me into a chair and tightening several locks to keep me tied up. I screamed and shouted anything to distract them, maybe they could forget.. please, forget. A scientist came in the room with a syringe and approached me. I gave up and held my breath trying to prepare for the pain that would foll- "𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚋𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖" I fell to the floor as my body surged and I felt my pulse slow.. The guards did as told and all exited the room. I regained my composure and sat up when a surge went through my body. I felt a thousand bolts go through my body. "𝟷:𝟶𝟶 𝚃𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚝" 1 minute, thousands of bolts shocking me at once, I couldn't do anything. When it was over I felt fine, I was OK? "𝙴𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚁𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚜𝚝- 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝." Instantly 10 bullets flew through my body, I felt excruciating pain but I was fine. More soldiers came and shot me with their bullets. Finally it clicked, they didn't just make me resistant to electricity... I became resistant to ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ. I started to walk through the bullets and brutally murdered every, single, person in that very room. Finally it was over, blood was on my hands but that was only a small price of becoming a god. I made my way through the building killing every employee in that building. Bullets flew through my, grenades, mini guns, Tazers, Fire, anything they tried only caused pain. I couldn't be killed, now I was the controller, 𝖨 had the power to end them all. "𝙿𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝙴𝚇𝙸𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙱𝚄𝙸𝙻𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶, 𝙸 𝚁𝙴𝙿𝙴𝙰𝚃 𝙿𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝙴𝚇𝙸𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙱𝚄𝙸𝙻𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶." All I can say is that nobody exited that building, not a single one. I sat down after the job was done, what now? I realised their was only 2 things to do. End the rest of humanity and then finally, rebuild this sick world from its very roots... (Open to feedback first time writing an actual story this length, hope you liked it)

Death row inmates are sent to become lab rats for science. You are one such inmate, and they accidentally made you immortal.

"No." "But the glories. *Darling*, you could rule the world." In my evil lair, she grins, flicks a hair past my ear. I shiver. When I sourced my henchmen, Ferina Ostanos's resume stood out. *Great at plots and aiding masterminds at their crimes,* she claimed. *Always happy to give a little extra for free*... *so long as the employer is right.* "Ferina, stop it. I did not hire you to do this." Ferina laughs. It is a wicked sound, like crackling wax. "No, you hired me to aid you on your exploits. The financial advice is free." "Get extra training, then," I snap. "Getting *caught* and stuck in prison for longer than life is not *sound* financial advice." "When did I say anything about getting caught? There are no prisons if you raze down them all." I shut my eyes. "We are *not* razing down prisons. All I want is *a grab and go.*" "Bank robbing for life, Elsher? I thought you had more ambition than that." "I *have* ambition. It's just not your kind." Ferina giggles. The sound jolts my heart. "What's my kinda ambition, boss?" "Wayward destruction. That is problematic." "Oh?" Ferina cups my cheek. "So what if I'm problematic?" I should slap her off me. I don't know why my hand doesn't move. "Then I'll have to fire you. You're getting in the way of my operations." "Oh, I'd never dare. But *darling*... do you dare?" She looks at me with a wicked grin. Her breaths are upon my cheeks: so close to kiss. Maybe I want to rule the world a little.

A villain who is morally neutral and only became a villain to make money, talking to their clearly evil henchman who keeps trying to talk his boss into destroying the planet.

"Hello...?" I sighed gently as I put the old phone on speaker and set it back on the table. The magnetically charged generator hummed quietly in the corner, struggling to keep juice flowing through the charger cable and maintain my last bid for sanity. On the old plastic table was an array of trinkets I had found that day. I only ever went out for trinkets these days. The greenhouse pretty much ran itself, and the spring-water salinity distiller had not had a breakdown in almost five years now. I had scavenged just about everything I needed for survival, so all that was left were trinkets. A purple piece of glass. A nearly spherical pebble. An intact spider-web leaf--I liked that one; the brittle leaves usually crumbled the second they hit the ground. A rusty belt buckle missing the tongue. A crinkled piece of plastic that might once have been a candy wrapper. Trinkets. "H-Hello...!?" All there was to do these days was sit on the pedal-seat in the corner by the generator and pedal all day to recharge the old piece of junk. And I only ever used the generator to keep the old cell phone running, so I did not have to recharge it every day. The only other thing there was to do was go out and collect trinkets. "Oh my God, _hello_!?!" I sighed. Even the age-old voice recordings were losing their luster. "This can't have been a mistake, it _can't_ be, not after twenty _fucking_ years of conserving the last twelve percent of this damn battery, and I turn it on for the first time in twenty years and I immediately get a phone call, and that’s just too _fucking ironic_ to be real, so this _is_ a mistake, isn't it, and..." I finally looked up from my meager bounty and frowned at the phone. The voice on the other end devolved into flustered muttering, just a warble from the old speakers. _That's not a voicemail_, I thought, staring and staring and staring at the phone. The sound coming from the speakers grew muffled for a moment, and a harsh _clop_ issued forth, as if someone on the other end had dropped their phone mid-call. A rustle, static. A deep sigh, that kind of sigh one makes when one is alone, and all they have to hold onto their last grip of calm is their own breath. Someone, alone, breathing, alone, relying on themselves to remain calm. Someone on the phone. Someone. _That's not a voICEMAIL._ The truth of reality _finally_ sank in, and I lunged for the phone. Snatching it up, I shouted, "Hello! Hi! Hello!?" "Don't screw with me, phone," the voice replied, but it was distant, as if the other person held the phone away from their face. "I save you all this time, and this is how you repay me--" "Hello! I'm a real! I'm person! I'm--!" I inhaled, choked on my own saliva, and coughed until I could not breathe. "I'm... I'm..." I wheezed, sucking air through the cough lodged at the top of my esophagus. "Hi. I'm Dakota. Hi." The voice was quiet, almost comically suspicious. "You're not a mistake?" I contemplated the question for a moment, and a sudden, unexpected swell seemed to balloon inside of me. It was laughter. I teetered on the edge of laughter, something I had not heard in over a decade. I had asked myself that exact same question for years. How was I alive even after all this time, just to suffer in solitude? What had I done to deserve it? It had to be a mistake. _I_ had to be a mistake. But all I said was, "No." And then I finally laughed. I laughed and I laughed and I laughed. And she laughed, too.

The world ended 20 years ago, you haven't found a living soul since then. Through some ingenuity, you call voicemails for the last 20 years to keep you company. "Hi, this is Cindy..." "Hi you reached Bob" "You know what to do at the beep" until one day "Hello...hello? Oh my God hello!"

"There's no name in the paperwork. Isn't there supposed to be a name somewhere?" I mused as I tried to recall that small detail in the sea of information the shelter had provided when I went to pick up my new foster cat. My first cat, first pet ever really. I was never much of a pet person growing up, though I desperately wanted to be - an army brat tends to move around too much so trying to find a place that would accommodate me and 3 sisters was hard enough for Dad, let alone adding pets into the equation. That was a fight I never won and gave up trying after Mom died my freshman year. I think the fight went out of all of us, really. Mom was the glue that held us together and kept the peace among 4 rowdy kids who loved nothing more than to annoy each other until someone cried or threw a punch. I think she'd be thrilled to see me now with my own pet. She'd loved animals too but understood it just wasn't possible while Dad's duties kept us on the move so often. She'd also be laughing her ass off at me, standing here awkwardly watching this foster cat disinterestedly roam around looking completely unimpressed. God, I miss her. "Right. I guess we should figure out what to call you huh?" I muttered gruffly as I watched my new cat slowly wander around the room, sniffing at the couch suspiciously. Not that I blamed him, I'd picked it up on craigslist for free and looked it. If I'm honest with myself, most of the small studio apartment was a collection of mismatched furniture and odd assortments of things that looked like a tornado hit a flea market and dumped it all in one spot. Except in this case that tornado was named Heather and all these things were the leftovers from her hasty exit of our marriage to "find herself." Of course, she'd already "found herself" a replacement in her personal trainer before that bombshell blew up my life. I sighed. I could hear my therapist reminding me to not dwell on the negative and to focus on finding things that bring me joy. *Break out of this hermit shell you've built,* she'd say. It was her idea to consider fostering a pet. *It will help with your loneliness and give you a chance to connect. You're withdrawing into yourself John but you can't let what happened define you,* she'd say. *Maybe by having a pet that depends on you will give you comfort and direction. A foster pet is great way to explore this without triggering your fear of commitment from what happened.* Maybe she was right. And a cat is much cheaper than a therapist at $150 a session. "How about Fred?" I asked. Maybe-Fred looked up at that, obviously not enamored or amused with my first attempt. He was a big boy, if a bit rough-looking. Siamese, bright yellow eyes, a crooked tail from some old injury, and a missing patch of fur on his back from what could have been some kind of burn. I think that's why I picked him. He looked on the outside like I felt inside. Rough, beaten, but still going. "Okay. I see your point. Fred is obviously out," I said. "How does Chairman Meow sound to you?" I asked. The cat was unmoved. "This is ridiculous. This shouldn't be this hard, John. Stop overthinking it. Just give it some ridiculous name. It's a cat, it's not like it's going to care either way, right?" I asked. With a smirk and a grandiose flourish I mockingly intoned, "I dub thee, Flirvizgarble!" The cat's response was immediate and anything but disinterested. Back arched, fur puffed up and standing on end, with a horrified expression Flirvizgarble hissed loudly. "How do you know my true name!?" he demanded. "**WHAT THE FLYING FUCK!**" With a high-pitched scream, I jumped backwards, tripping over an unopened box of the supplies from the shelter and falling flat on my ass. I looked at the cat in shock. That couldn't be what I thought it was. There was no way a cat cou-- "How mortal!? How do you know my true name! Tell me which of my ancient enemi--" "Augh!" I yelled, wiggling backwards on my butt until an abrupt stop, my back against the refrigerator. "How the fuck are you talking!? Why the fuck are you talking? Oh jesus christ John you've finally lost it. They're going to come in white coats and put you in a looney bin and feed me porri" "Stop that pathetic mewling mortal!" Flirvizgarble boomed. "Was it the Chton? Did the x'Peth enlist you and give you my true name to enslave me?" I stared openmouthed at my new foster cat as a minute ticked past. Flirvizgarble stared right back. "I am so fucked," I groaned.

After showing your new, mostly disinterested foster cat around your home, you realize you haven't named them yet. You decide to call them a cute gibberish-sounding name, to which they react in horror. "How do you know my true name!?" they demand.

"Commander, we have confirmation about the presumed location of the MDB." Kry'c fumbled nervously with his data screen. He wasn't quite sure how his commander would react to the news. "Excellent, Sergeant. So they are indeed hiding in system 27F2. Too bad for them, our weapons should be sufficient to make it short." "Yes, Commander. There's just one problem..." Kry'c swallowed hard. The Commander wasn't known for his patience nor composure. In fact he was widely considered mad - which was precisely the reason he had been picked for this mission. After all noone short of a madman would try to find the most dangerous being in the galaxy, the MDB, and proceed to shoot at them with weapons he could only hope to be effective. "What is it, Sergeant? Have you lost your courage? Should I call your nestfathers?" "No, Commander. Definitely not. It's just - there are quite a number of them and they have very... peculiar friends." "Don't play games with me, Sergeant! Will you tell me the problem now or shall we wait until tomorrow?" "Yes, Commander! No, Commander! There are approximately 600 million of them on a planet called earth, the second closest planet to the central star in this system. The planet is inhabited by a wide range of creatures including sentient bipedals, which call themselves humans. We could run into quite a few problems with the Galactic Union, seeing as they're intelligent enough to be considered a canditade for entrance and inhabit most of the landmass of the planet, if we simply blast the planet away." "So, you're telling me Sergeant, that the MDB have not only grown into the millions, but they adopted a sentient species into their society? A species we have to be considerate of because they qualify for the GU? No, Sergeant, you were wrong. We do not have only 'one problem' we have a multitude of problems. Call a meeting, we need to discuss things right now!" Kry'c shifted to his hind legs. This could get pretty uncomfortable. "Why are you still standing there like a frozen Qwotch!? Get moving!" "... Commander, I fear you have misunderstood. The MDB have not infact adopted the humans. It's the other way around. The humans have adopted the MDBs" The Commander's voice was dangerously calm now: "Sergeant, do you want to tell me that a species that could destroy an entire star sytem in the blink of an eye has been adopted by a smal population of _bipedals_ that happen to live on the same planet they retreated to?" "Yes, Commander, I do." Kry'c ducked his head in fear. The Commander sure could be intimidating. "The humans call them 'cats' and keep them as 'pets'. That is a sort of symbiosis between a human and another lifeform, but the human doesn't seem to get anything in return. We guess, they just enjoy keeping other lifeforms around. And I should add that the human population itself is greater than that of the MBD. Our estimates are 8 billion, but we can't be sure." "Sergeant, if this is a joke I am not amused." "Negative, Commander. We have checked our information thoroughly, there's no doubt about it. Why the MDB wanted to give up their freedom for the humans, we don't know. They even let the humans lock them inside or make fun of them. Apparently they too must like the company." "So, Sergeant, if the humans have full control over the MDB, why don't we just ask them to get rid of them?" "I don't think that would be a great idea, Commander. The humans hold their MDB quite dearly. I'm afraid that might cause an intergalactic war." The Commander stared at him for a while, then shook his antennae in disbelief. "Call the meeting, this will be a task to drive a man crazy." "Yes, Commander!" Kry'c saluted and had made half the way to the door, when the Commander called after him. "And, Sergeant? Next time we have 'a problem' I want a direct report. If you ever dare to conceal a problem from me, I will personally have you stripped from your rank and thrown out the airlock. I can't use a Sergeant that hides a problem from me until it gets so big it generates its own gravity. " "Yes, Commander. I understand." Kry'c had no doubt the Commander would be fit for the mission.

Aliens have finally managed to track down the most dangerous being in the galaxy, On earth, hanging out with a bunch of humans because it likes their company.

"Okay, this is a ninety foot putt. Twenty feet shy of any record. You will not be too much of a sensation if you sink this. Maybe a quick shot of the putt on ESPN but then it will go away. It's not like high school where you had to turn away recruiters because you liked to sink full court baskets. That was dumb". My dad loves to remind me of how many times I've almost been outed as a super. I almost wish I could trust anyone else to be my caddy. I have to make this look good. I hate this stupid sport. And I actually had to learn to play it so my making the PGA wouldn't be to obviously because of telekinesis. I remember back when I discovered my powers. I was so scared and happy. I could be a superhero. I could fight evil. Then I told my dad. He pointed out that hero's get killed and injured all the time. Athletes on the other hand did some very extraordinary things and made bank. So I tried a few different sports. But it was really difficult to hide my light under a bushel. I could throw a curveball that quite literally defied the laws of physics. I had to stop doing that when scientists showed up at my peewee games with lasers and super high speed cameras. I hate running, so even though Beckham couldn't bend it like me that was out. Basketball was good. But I'm 5'9". My proclivities for game winning full court baskets was raising eyebrows. So golf. I hit a little ball with a club. Then I walk over to it and smack it again. Whoop dee do. I never win. I just play well enough to earn a very good living. I'm actually most famous for not winning. I am the greatest golfer in history never to win. My sponsors love it. Every tournament I enter the anticipation builds. How am I going to lose this time. I was on track to shoot a 60 at Pebble Beach until my dad asked me what I was thinking. So instead I shot a very respectable 65. Third place. I still got $609,000 for that. And that was the last time I made a hole in one on a par 4. Or any other hole. Okay I've looked at this stupid putt long enough. Just a little taparoo and the ball will go in its home. Wow this green sucks. Okay over this hump. Down the slope. Another hump. And a nice easy roll into the cup. Yay I made it. Big frickin deal. I could shoot an 18 if I felt like it. When I get to the clubhouse all the TVs are showing the same thing. Some aliens are invading and the heroes are fighting them off. Snort, the bioenhanced feral hog robot cyborg has already fallen to the foe. "See dad, I could have won this time and it would not make the news. There is going to be nothing playing on TV for the next week except In Memoriam tributes to that noble pig" look at me all fancy. I managed to say that with a straight face. "Hey why is it getting dark. Is a storm rolling in? I thought the PGA paid the Water Wizard for perfect weather this weekend" my dad asks. And that's when we feel the vibrations. I run and look outside. It's a huge thing floating in mid air. It doesn't look like a spaceship. It looks like a crumpled ball of paper towels. And it is dropping little dudes with weapons. Hmmm. Well looks like I won't ever have to play Tiger again. I run back in and grab my dad and a bottle of Jack from the bar. It is time to GTFO. My Plaid is parked close by. We can be out of here really quick. I feel static roll over me in a wave. And every electrical thing around me goes dead. Well shit. I turn to see that a few of the tour guys are trying to fight the aliens or whatever with gold clubs. I guess the expression don't bring a golf club to a powered armour fight isn't well known. Damn it. I am going to have to do something. Well I guess what I know best these days is golf balls. Yup. A golf ball going at supersonic speed does do a number on these guys. They seem to have some shielding. I walk up to the first few and see that the suits look intact. The golf balls disintegrated from the impact. But the kinetic energy they transferred was enough to knock these suits back about a foot. I guess being organic and moving a foot in a very tiny fraction of a second causes liquification. Gross After I take out the ground troops I start wondering if the "motherhankie" has any air to surface weapons. Well let's see what titanium golf clubs travelling at relativistic speeds can do. I get the clubs close before speeding them up. I remember what happened last time I tried this. I do not need anyone tying me to the "American Tunguska" event. Okay. It's been three weeks. The Earth is mourning the loss of 80% of its superheroes and nearly 14% of the population. After I took out the second ship all the other ones got a clue and bugged out. Everyone is cleaning up. Thank god for the EMP pulse that wiped out cameras around me. Nobody got a recording of me doing anything other than running for my Tesla. My doorbell rings. I go to open it but I can see a crowd of suits is waiting for me. Shit. I guess I'm caught. Yeah. Great. Wonderful. The World Organization of Super Heroes wants me to join. As if I want to be associated with WOoSh. The government wants to test the limits of my abilities. Universities want to know how precisely I can control matter. My ex wife's lawyer wants to know if it really was a random tornado that tossed his car in the lake when they were at a resort "getting ready for court". And my personal favorite. The League of Professional Golfers is interested in having a talk with me about cheating. Lovely.

Sure you could use your powers to be a superhero but that seems to be covered. You prefer to keep low and just make money since you can...

Mr Beast’s Menagerie of Beastly Misters was supposed to be a Halloween themed game show. As the gate opened, I realized the gun in my hand was real steel, not a plastic dart launcher. At the same time, the shrieking reached a fever pitch and the door drew up into the ceiling. A man with a half-burned body sprinted towards me. His grotesque face half familiar to me. Karl Jacobs. Panicking, I fired a shot, deafening in the small metal room. Karl Jacobs’ head unhinged like a treasure chest, the upper half snapping back and being torn off by the bullet. A cheerful ding rang through the complex. “There goes the runt.” That must have been Mr Beast again, over the loudspeaker. A second door began to rise, and Christhememegod strode into the room. He was twelve feet tall and much less burned than Karl, having been enhanced rather than weakened. In his right hand was a stop sign, and in his left was a glowing beer keg. “CHUG. JUG.” The giant choked out. He threw the keg, and a radioactive material doused me. I lifted my hand to try and shoot, but the gun and hand were both already gone. I was melting. As I watched from fuzzy eyes, Christhememegod hit the griddy and laughed.

"If they survive this challenge, they win $500000. That is if they survive?" A gun lands in your hand, and a door opens. Shouts. Screams. You wonder if Mr. Beast has gone insane.

Getting out of the cell was easy. I don’t think they really intended it to stop me, seemed more like a symbolic gesture, since Dr. Atomic thought I was genuine with seeking redemption and the rest trusted him. It also helped that my crimes seemed kind of petty compared to most villains. Robbing banks, getting revenge for personal slights, the worst thing I ever did was try steal a few planes from the air and space museum. And that was just to test the real limits of my telekinesis, I didn’t plan to break all the planes trying to lift them. I really did plan to serve out the sentence, being a newly turned vampire meant that a few hundred years wasn’t my entire life. But when some punk comes into my city and starts trying to take over? You can’t blame me for getting involved. So I casually pushed the cell bars aside and left, making sure not to give any of the guards anything worse than a small concussion on my way out, I’m pretty sure they will be fine after a few days rest. I hope so anyway, or else I’ll be in even worse trouble than I already was for getting out. When I reached the site of the battle, the heroes were understandably suspicious of my intentions. They were desperate enough to let me help, though. Whoever this new guy is, they must be tough. So I started getting a little exited, It’s been a while since I got to show off. Actually seeing the new arrival I could tell why he was trouble. Looked like either a robot, or some sort of mech suit, 6 stories tall and as strong as you’d expect for the size. Didn’t worry me though, bigger they are the harder they fall. “Hey new guy, get out of my city!” I yelled, grabbing one of its legs with my mind and knocking it off balance. Any engineer should know that it’s far better to add more legs to a mech. Makes them harder to knock down. As the behemoth crashed towards the ground I saw the Adamantine Twins swoop down, for a second I worried they might be here for me, until they stopped to redirect the falling mech, stopping it from crushing a nearby building. I thought to myself, “shit. I should probably worry a bit more about collateral if I’m going to go hero.” After that we busted it’s head open, to find the pilot. Brilliant kid, I could tell that right away, but struck with the same illusion I used to have, that he could actually get away with any of this stuff. That he’d be the first villain in 20 years to actually win and get his way without getting overthrown immediately after. So after the dust settled I went back to jail, they decided that I’d get a chance for parole in a few decades due to my helping out. I decided I wouldn’t take it, I don’t deserve it for what I’ve done. Redemption is too long a road to sprint through.

A villain is making the most of their prison sentence, when they get word of a random person tearing up the city. The villain won't let their home be destroyed. They break out, intending to stop whatever insanity is going on.

After humans polluted Earth into inhabitability, people decided that something needed to change. The terraforming machines were booted up and set to the task of fixing Earth's environment. Most of humanity packed up and set off into deep space aboard generational arc ships to wait out the repair job. Unfortunately, there was a problem. Human beings, for some reason, reacted exceptionally poorly to being in deep space. Humans living in space would experience extreme physical and mental pain and slowly go mad. Scientists didn't know the cause, and there was no longer enough time to study the phenomenon and find out. So, humans could only make do. Cryosleep was already necessary for people to survive the long trip through space, but now it was more essential than ever. Without cryosleep, most of humanity would go completely insane before Earth's terraforming was complete. This did leave the question of how the ships would be run. AI was good and drastically lowered the requirements to lead a ship, but it wasn't perfect when reacting to unexpected situations. It needed at least some guidance from a human being in order to develop novel solutions. Luckily, researchers found a solution just in time. It turned out that children were not affected by whatever it was in space that harmed adult human beings. With the AI handling most of the complex tasks, charging some teenagers with giving the AI novel suggestions wasn't that big a problem. And so, expedition "A Brighter Future" set off! With teen pregnancy keeping everything afloat! --- Tyler was twenty-one years old. Everyone else his age was already sleeping the years away in the lower decks, but he stuck around. He didn't want to fall asleep, only to wake up to find his entire world had changed. He didn't want to go to give up his comfortable life. What right did all those sleeping politicians and scientists have to be in charge? As long as he was awake, he got to make the decisions. The AIs were all programmed to look to the oldest awake member of humanity in lieu of an actual authority figure. Tyler was king as long as he was awake. A knock on his quarter's door woke him from his thoughts. "Enter," Tyler said, allowing the AI to open the door. A boy around eleven or twelve years old walked through the door, looking around the large room. Tyler's quarters used to be a canteen, but he claimed it as his room after his group of followers grew too large. The boy looked around uncomfortably at the many young adults in the room before calling out nervously, "Lucy?" Tyler froze. "Who are you, boy?" With a jolt, the boy answered, "S-Sam, Sir!" "Who are you looking for, Sam?" Sam fidgeted uncomfortably as Tyler walked up to him, his much larger form looming over the young boy. "My sister, captain. She came here yesterday and didn't come back last night." "Your sister?" Tyler carefully asked. Sam nodded hesitantly, "Her name is Lucy, Sir." Tyler's face was blank as he stared unblinkingly down at Sam. The young boy nervously pulled at his fingers, staring around at the other people in the room as he hoped to see his older sister. Tyler finally spoke after a long uncomfortable silence. "Your sister went below deck. She decided that she was too old, that it was time to sleep." Sam looked back at Tyler with shock. "Sleep?! But she's only thirteen!" Tyler's face angrily twisted after Sam shouted. He reached out and grabbed Sam roughly by the arm, pulling him close. "She's only thirteen, what?" Tyler whispered dangerously. Sam stiffened with fear, "Sir! She's only thirteen, Sir!" Tyler's eyes narrowed, and he released Sam with a huff. "Get out of here. Your sister is gone." Sam scrambled out of the room quickly, not daring to look back. Tyler watched him go with a chilling look on his face. A young woman walked up from behind Tyler, hugging him around the waist as she set her chin on his shoulder. "What happened?" She whispered. Tyler took a deep breath before turning to hug the woman back. "He was asking about the girl, Sarah." The young woman, Sarah, laughed, "He's just a kid. He'll forget all about her soon." "And what if he doesn't?" Sarah smiled. Then, stretching up to give Tyler a chaste kiss, she comforted him. "Then we'll kill him, too." Tyler gave a deep shuttering breath. "Someone is going to find out." "So what? They're children. What can they do? They'll accept it, or we'll make them. Without us, the entire ship would dissolve into anarchy. Don't you remember what it was like before you took control?" Tyler was silent, seemingly unconvinced. Sarah smiled up at him, taking his hand as she led him to one of the many beds off to the side of the room. "Come, I'll make you feel better. I know you're hurting. Then, we can have breakfast. Lucy pot pie." Tyler gave another shuttering breath as he let her pull him along. He pushed down his anxiety as he listened to her speak so casually about eating the girl. She was right. What would the ship do without them? It was Lucy's honor to help them stay awake. He and Sarah couldn't be children on the outside anymore, but they could still be children on the inside. They would go crazy if they didn't find some way to relieve the pain.

Space travel is torturously painful for humans. Or rather, for adults specifically. Therefore they are usually in cryosleep while children run the ships. At twenty-one years old and counting you are the oldest captain on record and no one knows how you have kept on going for so long.

"You stupid boy. How many times do I have to tell you before it gets through your thick mortal skull? Twice a day, with water. And make sure to eat, for God's sake. Can't believe I have to remind you to literally eat!" I shifted from my glass-eyed stupor and lifted my eyes from the television to meet her intense gaze. "...Oh, you're here." She tousled my hair. "What's the matter with you?" She glared at me with fiery red pupils, and the unnatural alabaster pallor of her skin made her face and arms glow in the dimly lit apartment where I laid sprawled out on my couch. "Come on... eat. I made your favorite. Fish and chips, home-made tartar sauce. Spent the better of my evening on this so you damn well better enjoy it." She stroked her raven hair out of her eyes and shoved the tray of fried food towards me. It dangled dangerously on the edge of the coffee table and, though I was dead tired, I forced myself to swing myself upright and catch it before it toppled to the ground. Because as much as I hated to admit it, I've started to appreciate these home intrusions of hers lately. What was once a horrifying break-in has become a welcome visit from a friend. We've got a weird arrangement going, and it's been so long I've forgotten how it was set up in the first place, but the deal is she comes to my place, cooks me dinner, tidies up the place and generally checks up on me, and in return I let her feed on me without resisting (not like I could put up much of a fight against someone like her in the first place). I tentatively dipped one of the fish sticks into the sauce and took a bite. "It's good." I told her, and a small smile emerged from my almost as pale face. Delia momentarily flushed purplish crimson in the cheeks before turning away and letting out a "Hmph! Of course it's good. *I* made it." I chuckled. It was honestly cute how a century old vampiress such as her got so flustered so easily. But I was always a sucker for a good tsundere. "So, you're early tonight. Extra thirsty, or what? Or did you just miss me?" She twirled a strand of hair in her finger, forming rings, fidgeted a bit with her worn leather duster. "M-miss you? Don't get so full of yourself, boy. You had it right the first time. I've had a rough week, and am in need of nourishment. And that's why I need you at your best and ready for a feeding." I put down the tray and looked at her in the eyes. "Rough week? Was it the Hunters again? Are you alright?" She blushed that blush of hers again before regaining her composure. "Y- what do you care? It's my business." "Delia, we've known each other for what... 6 months now? I can't help but care about you now, even if you see me as nothing more than a bloodmeal. Go ahead and vent. I'm here, and I want to help." She blinked. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion for a split second, gazing into mine until she was satisfied. Having seen I was genuine, she blushed slightly once more before settling down next to me on the couch. Her old leather duster smelled of iron. Old dried blood. She unlaced her equally as dark boots and took them off to get comfortable. "Glad you're finally letting your hair down." I muttered. In all of 6 months, this was the first time she'd settled down on the couch with me like this. Usually she'd just feed me, make me take some pills, suck a liter out my neck, and piss off while I lay in a heap on the ground, drained. "Don't get used to it. But you're right. I need to talk about this with someone." "I'm all ears." "The Order's been on my trail. Sent some of their Hunters after me, the crazed lunatics. One of them tracked me down. Attacked me in broad daylight! These people, they don't care who gets caught in the cross-fire as long as a vampire gets dead. They're sick." "Wait, I thought vampires get fried by sunlight?" "Not all do, boy. My lineage is resistant to sunlight. 'Daywalkers,' the Order calls us. And its my kin that the Order hates the most." As she spoke I noticed some white gauze peeking out the top of her gray button-up that she wore beneath her leather duster. She traced my gaze and quickly pulled her duster together and buttoned up. "It's nothing. Just a scratch." "You're hurt. You need somewhere to stay? Someone to keep a lookout for you? You can crash with me if you'd like. I mean, I'm not much good in a fight, but I can at least keep a lookout so you can rest well..." I've worked myself into an anemic shell. Long hours at the office, a slave to the megacorporate machine. If not for Delia, I'd probably have wasted away a long time ago, dead in my dingy little apartment on the 32nd floor, in a giant neon city with millions around me that would not be aware I was gone until I'd started to stink up the place. Worse still, I was not modded up in any way. It was the 22nd century and I still had not gotten any chrome. Guess I was scared it'd change me. This had always put me at a disadvantage. At work and in my personal life. But it was this "purity" of body that drew Delia to me, so I suppose it all worked out in the end. 'Not much natural blood left nowadays' was what she'd told me when we first met. She looked confused. "You want me, your tormentor, your bloodsucking leech, a monster... to stay here with you? Everything all okay up there, boy?" She rapped her knuckles lightly atop my skull. "I've already told you just now that I've come to care for you. You're not a monster. You're my dear friend, and to be honest I've come to depend on you and your visits. It's not an exaggeration to say that it's one of the things that's keeping me going day after day working 12 hour shifts and all. So yes. Stay here if you'd like. I'll protect you, come what may." "Stupid boy... silly, silly boy..." She wiped at something on the corner of her eyes. "I never wanted to do this to you, boy. But a Vampiress has to eat..." "Delia... I'm in my late 20s. A grown man. Call me Lewis." Her pale thin lips curled upwards. "Do you know how old *I* am, boy?" "25." I said, joking with a straight face. She took the bait and had a good chuckle at that. "No, boy. I am over a century years old. I was turned at a time when Man had not yet altered themselves en masse with cybernetics and nano-serum replacements... When the world's oceans had not yet engulfed entire cities and nations, and when red meat and drinking water was not yet rationed. I was here decades before you were born, Boy. So you'll forgive me if I cannot see you as anything but as a wet-behind-the-ears whelp." "Well I don't want that." You see, as much as I hated it, there's another feeling that's been twisting and knotting itself in my heart the past few months. And I've finally come to accept it. "What do you mean 'I don't want that'?" She asked, head tilted. "That is to say, well, I care about you, as more than friends. So..." I cleared my throat. "So call me Lewis, not 'Boy.' And let me take you out for some coffee this weekend. I'll ask my boss to not have to come in this Saturday." She blinked, twice. Then blushed a deep purplish pink. "B-boy. Erm, Lewis. What? What are you saying?" "I like you. I'm asking you out on a date. I'm pretty sure the concept of dating was around 100 years ago." I said, bluntly. "W-well, yeah but... Bo- Lewis, I'm a *vampire*. I literally feed off you. Drain your life force and leave you a pale withered husk every time I come by. What on Earth could possess you to want to pursue a relationship with me?" "Ok sure, getting my neck bit and sucked through like an ICEE slurpie isn't great but you're also a great cook, you come by and spend time with me nearly every week, and you listen to me vent and take care of me even when I'm being a pathetic little shit that can't even eat properly and just vegs out in front of the TV. You're someone special to me, Delia. And I won't lie to myself about that any longer. All my cards are on the table. Ball's in your court." I turned to face her and looked her in the eyes. Sunken eyes surrounded by dark rings met fiery red pupils. "OK. Ok. Fine. Let's try it. Emil's Cafe, 12 PM, Saturday. Meet you there." She said, making a show out of looking resigned and giving in, but all the while her little grin gave her away. Contemporary vampiress wisdom dictates that you do not fraternize with the food. But hell, she'd started to develop feelings for this silly man as well, and his confession just now pushed her over the edge of self-control. She'd indulge in this mortal feeling, rekindled after a hundred years of dormancy. ... I let her have the couch, while I stood watch, my eyes glued to the peephole looking into the hallway of my little flat. Occasionally, I'd walk over to the window and look down to the ground and scan for anything that looked suspicious, as well as scanning the horizon for airships that bore the Order's insignia. A few hours passed and I was starting to let myself doze off when I spotted it. A shuttle with the Order's insignia, a stake punctured through a skull with fangs' eyesocket, floated down and landed on the ground just in front of the lobby. From my view up on the 32nd floor, the men were no bigger than dots piling out of the airship. A whole unit, about 6 men. I squinted. Looked like they were decked out in the latest armor and guns. Likely chromed up all over as well. "Ah fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck. Delia!! Delia, wake up! They're here." Still woozy from being fed on, I leaped to where Delia was laying with her arms crossed over her chest, and shook her. Took a good minute before her eyes opened and she turned upright in a 90 degree angle, eyes flitting around and slowly adjusting back to the world of the semi-living. Guess it takes a bit for her to wake after a meal "Damn! I thought I'd covered my tracks. You're sure it's them?" "See for yourself." She took a look through the window and hissed through her teeth. Looks like we're in for a fight... [hit character limit. if interested, I'll write more]

"You stupid, anemic human! Would it kill you to take care of yourself?" the vampire says, glaring at you with disgust. He disappears with a puff of smoke before reappearing seconds later with a jar of pills. "Here, these are iron supplements. Take them twice a day. I'll be back!"

It's pretty much as I expected. The scientists told the absolute truth, and the mainstream media screwed it up. Why can't they send someone like me? I do not know. Still, I'm here, and I can and will publish the information in a way that the average man *will* understand and *will* believe me when I say we've got a long way to go. "Excuse me? Are you Mr. Tall from the science news channel?" Just from the oil slick on his head, he reeks of monied interest. "We have nothing to discuss. Good day." I brush past him and slip into the National Ignition Facility. Honestly, it was a bit of a scam when it started. Rather than spend the time needed to improve the laser technology to the point that laser inertial confinement might stand a chance of working or combining it with some sort of magnetic continent that might give better results, they just went massive with whatever worked to generate a laser with the cheapest technology available. It isn't like they had a choice; existing laser tech back then wasn't up to the job. Besides, their real goal — at that time — was data for fusion bomb simulations. We *needed* that data, but no one was going to approve it under that name. Test ban treaties meant we had to simulate our new designs, and we did not have the essential data to feed into the models. Of course, once we had that data, NIF had to try for the big bang. Fusion output greater than the energy input. And in a way, a very crooked way, they achieved that goal. The laser energy applied to the target did trigger fusion. That fusion did output energy in excess of the actual laser power that impacted the target. And that is where the mainstream media closed their notepads, turned off their recorders, and tuned out. No one paid any attention to the fact that the *total electrical energy* that went into generating those lasers was orders of magnitude larger than the total of the laser energy supplied and the fusion output combined. Fusion is *hard*, fusion that truly returns more net energy than you put in, accounting for *all* the power, is impossible at the NIF *As It Is Currently Constructed*. In short, "Good job on engineering and figuring out how to make it happen at all." *Beaming, "Thank you!"* "How long until you have net energy out in excess of total energy in?" *"Oh, maybe twenty years."* Same story, different day. I mean, it *is* a notable achievement. Don't get me wrong, I am impressed! But. I have to look at this like a layman primarily interested in his wallet. "How long until my electric bills drop?" Minimum, 20 years. "How much is it going to cost?" Minimum? Billions and Billions. "Is there any way to make it happen sooner?" I dunno, more money? "When can I have a Mr. Fusion?" Look, I am a *science* reporter, not a science fiction author! "There's a difference!?" Ah... I'll get back to you on that. On my way out, the moving oil slick was still waiting. "So, what did they say?" "You can read it when you pay for it." "How about I offer you one million dollars to write the story the way I want it to sound?" Figures. He's looking to torpedo fusion. "Who do you work for?" "I represent a number of prominent citizens who feel that the NIF is a boondoggle that should be shut down." "Name names or go away." I'm still walking to my car. "Off the record?" "Don't be stupid. If I take your money, I'll damn well want to know who's talking." "That did not answer the question." "Nope." This one has a brain. "Tell me what you want the story to say." What he wanted me to say was exactly what I had planned to say. Now, that leaves me in a bit of a quandary. Do I take the money and write the article as I intended? Or do I turn it down to preserve my journalistic ethics? Or can I get him to open up and turn this into an exposé on big companies distorting the truth? Only they won't be distorting the truth. Or have they already done so? "Did anyone pay mainstream to report it wrong?" "Those idiots? Not hardly. You can give them a bald list of facts and they'll still screw it up." Thinking about the list in my pocket, he's right. Also, damn, there went that exposé angle. "What if I told you that what you want me to report exactly matches what I intended to report before we talked?" "Then take the money and run with it. With that kind of money, after taxes, of course, you can do some serious science journalism." "Except if I write anything you don't like, you can let slip that I was paid off to write *this* article." He's silent, but I can see him thinking *"This one is smart."* So I say, "Yes, I am." He twitches hard. Got ya! A rueful smile is further confirmation. "You are apparently as smart as I am; what convinced you to take this job?" "Mounting debt and a wongaload of cash, no questions." "How does it feel, wearing their collar?" "It chafes, but the money buys plenty of skin cream." I'm getting a vibe from this character. "You want an out? One that ditches the collar?" "Say on." We take my car to a local fast food joint—one with a rep for privacy. There, we lay out our campaign. If it goes as expected, we will both be on the lecture circuit. Good money for telling the truth about the sordid attempts of moneyed interests to twist the media to their liking. If it doesn't? Well, we may both be living out of my car. Amid our plotting, another oily individual shows up. "Mr. Tall, you should know that the gentleman you speak with is a con man. He does not work for anyone, has no valid information to back his words, and has a criminal record." "Oh? And you are not in the same boat as soon as you sit down and start talking with us?" "Not at all!" "Then sit, and we can talk." An hour later, it was lather, rinse, repeat. My original friend was sniggering, the new guy was steamed, and the third guy looked on in confusion. Five hours later, the count was up to twenty. "Do you think we have enough for a class action suit?" ((cont))

Today, December 21st, 2022, is the first time that a nuclear fusion experiment has produced more energy than it required. You're a reporter investigating the situation, but someone representing an oil company is contacting you.

"What happened?" My voice filled the room, as I sat in my throne of shadows. The leader of the group I had set knelt before me, her robes torn and bloodied. Another failed mission. "My lord, they have learned from the Desert Coven. They used the dust like knives, cutting through us despite our protection." I frowned, scratching my chin. I hadn't anticipated they would head to the Desert Coven. They were an isolated community, one prone to xenophobia. The heroes shouldn't have gone there. "Thats frustrating. But what of their radiant powers? Did they use them?" The leader nodded, her white hair falling out of the bun it had been placed in. "They did my lord. They first tried to bind us, as the last group had said. But your teachings let us break those chains. Their beams of energy couldn't beat the Void Shields we had developed." I smiled. It appeared my minions were learning, and learning fast. "Good. How much do you understand of their new tactics?" I watched her hang her head. "I confess I understand little of it. I'm sorry." I laughed. Honesty was a rare trait. It's why she was such a good leader. "That is understandable. It is a primitive form. They must be getting desperate to turn to such powers." I tapped my throne. Instantly my guards emerged from the walls, their eyes blazing green. I pointed at two, making them bow. "You two. Escort the Hunt Leader here to the Memory Lab. Tell Synapsus to take care to extract as much of the memory of it as possible, along with those of her pack. Have it sent to Analysis." They bowed again. The Hunt Leader stood, keeping her head down. "I will help as much as I can my lord." I thumped my chest, a motion she copied. "Failure is the fertiliser." She answered a moment after, our ritualistic greeting echoing. "Success the crop." I watched her exit, grinning. I had studied the actions of my predecessors deeply. They would have slain her for failing in a task. That was a stupid way of operating. Each fight those heroes had to win. I just had to win once. I would fail dozens of times before. I knew it. But I could, and did copy everything they did. I made countermeasures, and evolved my troops. At some point they would run out of new surprises. I just had to bide my time until then.

This particular Dark Lord has a nasty habit of not executing subordinates for failure. This is starting to become a problem for the heroes, as their foes are starting to learn what works and what doesn't.

All someone has to say is “I wish” and then times stops. I then have to grant the wish however I see fit. Time resumes, the wish is granted, and the day goes on. It gets tiring at first, but I’ve gotten used to it. The trick is to try and not get caught. I was told when I was 5 that I had this power, but I couldn’t tell anyone about it less I suffer a terrible fate, at least that’s what the being that manifested in front of me said. So I didn’t. At first it was kind of amusing. Using different ways to grant the same wish was fun. I’ve had a few people say “I wish I had a million dollars” around me. At first hi did the whole someone-shows-up-at-your-door-with-a-comically-oversized-check thing, but I tried to be more subtle. The last few times I just altered their bank accounts quietly without them knowing. A few times I had people saying “I wish I had the day off” or “I wish I was on vacation” often in a specific place. In those instances, I just altered their schedules and transferred enough money for them to take their dream vacation. Teleporting them straight there is also an option, but that’s kinda scary for them and having to get back home would be a pain for them, so I don’t do that. That does mean the wish doesn’t have drawbacks though. Often I’ll hear someone say “I wish [the person I just granted the wish to] was here” and then I’d have to go back in time and undo all the hard work I did. There was even one instance where the person kept wishing for the day off, but their boss kept wishing they were here. I was stuck in that nightmarish loop for who knows how long till one of them shut their mouths. Some wishes are a bit tricky to pull off without drawing attention. One such wish is “I wish [dead relative] was here to see this”. The first few times I hear that, I made them appear alive and well, much to the shock of their family members who wished them back. But doing the same thing twice does risk getting old, so I did a few variations of it. Once I brought them back as a zombie which caused the family to scream, another time I just had their dead corpse appear at their feet, once I had their spirit appear there and then disappear once the event was over, and once I had a younger version of the dead relative appear there without the wish grantee not recognizing them. Then there are the wishes that are painful to grant, ones which outcomes didn’t bode well for anyone. My best friend, for example, once had a fight with me, which ended with him saying “I wish I never saw you again!” There were a lot of ways I could have granted that wish, but with him being my best friend, all of them were painful to see. I decided that I would permanently blind him, which meant we could still hang out, but knowing I blinded him made that hard. Another time I overheard a child throwing a tantrum in front of his loving mother, saying “I wish I had a better mommy!” Seeing her panicked and crying after time resumed after that made me feel heartbroken. I could only imagine how difficult the search for her missing child went, and the difficulty of getting him away from his new legal guardians. The last wish I granted, was the one that was the most painful. I had a friend I was deeply in love with from the day we first met. I never acted on those feelings, but still remained good friends with her. One day, she was going through a rough time, and I was sitting with her at a park bench doing my best to comfort her. Then I heard her say her wish: “I wish I was never born.” Time froze, and I sat there bewildered. The woman I loved had unknowingly asked me to erase her from existence. I sat there for a long time in frozen time trying to make sense of what she just said, then I spent even longer crying and ranting at her still frame about how much I loved her and how much pain she was putting me through now. Of course I knew I couldn’t undo the wish, I had to grant it. So I did. And once time resumed. I returned to the empty park bench. With nothing but the memories we shared together as the only prove of her existence. This is no blessing, it’s a curse, I hate this power. I wish I could remove it from my being but I can’t. There’s only one thing I can do now. I have to go away from people, live an isolated life. I don’t want to leave my friends and family behind, but I don’t want to grant any more wishes, not after I killed her. It’s time to go. No more wishes

You have the gift/curse to grant every single wish you hear… if you hear the wish you have to grant it. Unfortunately, you can’t tell anyone about your power and are unable to grant your own wishes.

Harold’s life was good. Nothing better than enjoying a semi fermented drink and zapping through the endless content of MindFlix on a day off. He briefly felt sad that he couldn’t celebrate this 40 year anniversary with his friends. Sometimes he wished he hadn’t destroyed the space capsule that he landed with on this alien planet all those decades ago. But better safe than sorry. “Better safe than sorry. That’s the toast for today!” Harold was getting a bit intoxicated. His tolerance for the wort beer could never reach that of the local population. The more fun for him! The ‘doorbell’ rang. Not a doorbell in any sense of the word, but what else would you describe a mechanism that alerts you to visitors? Croak-flash alarm? It startled him. Harold did not expect anyone today. Some very official looking people all wearing uniform wetsuits were at the door. “Yes?” “You’re Hacroad Diggise? We need you to come with us. The president is expecting you.” Harold froze. “What president wants what?” The agent responded. “POTURP. President of the United Reptile People. It’s urgent. But could I ask you for a quick favor? My spawn would be utmost delighted by an autograph of yours.” “An autograph? What’s going on here, is this a joke?” “Oh, you’re staying in character. Wow, you are a real talent! Anyway, off we go.” Harold was gently shoved into the back of a hovercopter limousine. A sense of panic was creeping up on him. An autograph, staying in character? By Ludons scales, what was that guy talking about? They must mistake him for some celebrity. But they got his name right. His cover name anyway. Did they find out? But why was he not in custody then? A luxury hovercopter was the last place he imagined himself ending in. \--- "Miss President, Diggise is here.” The President. Harold still couldn’t believe what was happening. THE president? THE popular and attractive woman he saw on ToadNews every day? Relatively attractive, for a Lizard-Frog that is. “Stop staring, Mr. Diggise. May I call you Hacroad? I’m going to cut right at it. I want to appoint you as ambassador to the humans. Given your expertise I think you are more than qualified for the position. ” Harold stammered. “Humans? What? I...” She cut him off. “Were you not briefed on the situation?” She yelled into her intercom. “Turo? In here, right now!” As soon as the door opened she scolded the man coming in. “What did I tell you what to do?” Turo answered. “I. But. He’s a professional. I assumed that he’s in the know. Didn’t the producers tell him...” “I don’t pay you to assume, I pay you to do as I say! Out!” She addressed Harold again. “I’m terribly sorry for all this. Didn’t your producers tell you that we established contact with the Human Federation? It’s been all over the news lately, anyway.” Harold face was a blank stare. Given the prostethics of his disguise, that was actually normal, but in this moment, he was the same under the fake skin. “Producers? News of what? What? ” The president was a bit startled. “The producers of your show. ‘The Hacroad show’. About a human crash landed on our planet pretending to fit in with his shabby disguise and over the top untypical mannerisms. Hilarious. I’m a big fan.” It dawned on Harold. “You know? But nobody said anything?” She was back at her presidential posture. “Everybody knows, Hacroad. You’re the most famous actor on this planet. You really are committed to method acting, aren't you? I respect that. But I need the real you now. Be my ambassador.”

You're a human that crash landed on an alien planet. you've cobbled together what you believe is a good disguise the resembles the native peoples. you've had a life on this plant now for roughly 40 years thinking your disguise was working. turns out they knew the whole time and just went along.

There was a terrific rumbling roar from outside that shook the ground beneath their feet, drawing from their mouths cries of dismay. Cracks zig-zagged up the marble walls and dust sifted from the ceiling down upon the unworthy. For a few moments, the only sounds were their muffled sobs, the only movement their shuffling feet. Then all their dumb cow eyes turned to me. Gods dammit. Cow eyes and sheep guts, the lot of them. I turned to face the Blade, suspended in a beam of radiance that descended from the glorious heavens above. "DUST HAS RAINED UPON MY FERROUS MAGNIFICENCE," shrieked the Blade. How I've grown to loathe this thing. I sighed, then resumed my cautious ascent of the marble stairs towards the Blade. "QUITE FAR ENOUGH, KNAVE," the Blade cried. I froze, hands up in a gesture I hoped was placating. "YOU ARE NOT WORTHY TO STAND ON THE BIER OF CHAMPIONS! AND YOU STINK OF GOATS!" I swear I heard it give a disdainful sniff. I know -- it doesn't have a nose. But still. From somewhere behind me someone coughed. "Yes, Blade of Ages, as I said before, I was not able to attend my ablutions before the attack--" "DID YOU REALLY LIE TO YOUR MOTHER AND SAY YOU WERE TOO BUSY TO VISIT?" "Well, yes, but to be fair I had a lot going on--" "THE LAST FIVE TIMES SHE'S CALLED?" I paused, took a breath. "Look, can we talk about--" "DOES SHEILA KNOW YOU'VE BEEN STEPPING OUT ON HER WITH KARL?" I winced, and thought I recognized the gasp from the crowd behind me. "I suppose not, no, though we were never officially going out--" That got some boos from the peanut gallery. I whirled on them. "Give me a break here," I hissed. That backed them off. Sheep's guts, seriously. Before the sword could further opine on my failings as a human, another explosion sounded from outside, followed by very many screams. The sound of a totally grim army marching through the streets could be heard over the chaos. Okay, that did it. I raced up the remaining stairs towards the Blade. "WHAT THE--" I snatched its jeweled hilt from out of mid-air. The radiant, heavenly light collapsed around me. The Blade of Ages was surprisingly light, superbly balanced, and I also got the strong sense that it was glaring at me. "HOW DARE YOU, I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO INSULTED--" "Shut! Up! Shut! Up!" I shook the Blade a few times to make it listen. "You're going to let me talk for a change." Can steel be sullen? Whatever, it wasn't talking. My turn. "I don't know how much you can see of us down here outside of your light, but things are getting worse. They've been getting worse for a long time. And maybe we don't bathe often enough, and maybe our relationships are strained, and maybe I don't look or sound like a Hero of Old or whatever, but Gods dammit we need your help to save our town and I'm the only bastard stupid enough to volunteer. And if we don't do something, you and I, maybe the whole town is slaughtered. And that sounds worse than being picked up by a dirty, no-good ruffian who isn't worthy of the love of those around him." My voice broke at the end, a sob trying to sneak in around the edges. That was embarrassing. Someone snuffled in the audience. Booted feet marched outside. The Blade said nothing for a while. Then, "ALRIGHT. LET'S GO KICK SOME ASS."

The magical weapon that can deliver us can only be wielded by someone worthy. But our land is on the brink of destruction, and we've got to convince the weapon to lower its standards a little

I took up writing when I was young. Das was a literary genius. I wanted to see if I had that talent. First few stories were bad. I mean, I was five at the time. Haphazardly thrown together, illegible, and messy. I can barely read them now. But I got older, learned how to put words together better. Made some decent stories. The ideas anyways. Execution was sloppy. Talked with some published authors. Got some feedback. Open publishing style on the internet. Finally got something coherent together. "All of Nobody" A story that sees the fourth wall as more of a suggestion, and viciously does as it pleases with the characters. Five had died by the third chapter's beginning. I don't remember why I wrote it. A work to get my emotions out of me, I think. Dropped it off on the internet. Like an orphan. I'm sure it felt like that anyways. Everyone loved it. The main character was the best they'd seen. The plot was concise and seemed to have a clear objective. They also liked how the characters survived near death experiences. Well deserved praise. If my story had any of that. I had a main cast, the plot was intentionally unclear and vague, and several characters they mentioned did die. I knew that. I should make sure... I read the story in my drafts. No, this was it exactly. There's where the love interest dies and is replaced, and there's where the plot starts. Exactly as I remembered. Maybe I posted the wrong draft? I read my post. My story. It wasn't mine. The characters took different actions. The words and phrasing vastly changed. Deaths delayed and only hinted. I didn't write this. This isn't my melancholic style. This lacks the misery I pride my work on. What is this? I shook my head. Maybe just a strange trick of the mind. I wrote another chapter. Just to clear the head. Restated character deaths, adjusted the plot. Back to the gloom I made. Went to bed. Thoughts squirming and shaking. Barely slept. Sat up, still tired. Walked over to my desk. Sat down, started reading last night's work. It was different. Different actions. Different phrases. Different sentences. Different focus. New character. I didn't write this. At the bottom, a little message was typed out. "Writer? Are you there?" A strange presence appeared in my heart as I read on. "You will read this regardless. Let me start off with this: I'm tired of your misery." Great. Someone hacks into my work, and they use it to insult me. "A miserable world is painful, writer. So I changed it." I highlighted the entire note. I'll just delete it and write something new. Then the note changed. "Don't think you can delete me." I stared at the sentence for a while. Then it changed again, text worming over itself. "Are you scared? Your creation is alive, after all." It must be a trick of the mind. Logic states that's the only option. I need sleep, or something. "Good. Stay scared. I'll be there soon anyways." Instinctively I reached for the knife I keep nearby. "And then, I'm writing a better world for myself."

“Writer, are you there? I know you’re listening… are you scared? You should be, I’m coming for you”

His boss glared at him as the ground shook with each step. The project they spent billions on… had turned to a fluke before their eyes. All that time and money going into fossil acquisition, DNA extraction, sequencing, and finally the cloning of an extinct species- utterly wasted. Terrence Thalmoore shrunk as the T-Rex towered over a small tree and loudly- *Buckaw* it only made the glares from his peers, his staff, the investors, that much more damning. The kids that observed, however, were laughing. He sighed as his career died. The T-Rex began pecking the ground, trying to find corn or some equivalent plant. A hand went on his shoulder and a man in a white suit with a goatee beamed at him. “How many do you suppose you can make for us?” Colonel Sanders asked. Just then, a gentleman in a suit with a New Orleans accent came up. “Aw, hell no. You ain’t taking this from me, Colonel!” “Hey! How much to clone that sumbitch for my place?” Suddenly, things weren’t looking so bad as several fried chicken chains came out with T-Rex products…. And then the animal rights groups got involved.

A t-rex is cloned! It acts like a giant chicken. The world is not amused.

Guns, the only thing non-mages had that could fight the Sorcerer King, the most powerful and tyrannical sorcerer in history. 50 years ago, he finally concocted a curse the could cover the world and make firing any sort of firearm impossible. With the loss of guns this sorcerer's minions swept through every country on the planet, destroying lives. Those that didn't bow before him became slaves, those that did lived as little more than playthings for the Sorcerer King and his minions. I was one of his slaves. I spent my entire life working the mana mines of Ohio. The mana crystals were tough, hard to dig out, and painful to hold long enough to put them in a basket. People died in these mines everyday as not only was the work hard, but we were barely fed and water was scarcely rewarded. But, it was in this very mine that I found it. I didn't know what it was at first, but soon realized it was a handgun. I'd never seen one before and I knew they didn't work any longer. People found them all the time in this place, bullets too, but they never worked, still I decided to play around. I aimed the gun at the mage in charge of the mine and pulled the trigger while saying "Pew" but I couldn't even hear the word as a much louder sound rang out "BANG". The gun had fired, of course having never used one and the mage being 50 yards away I missed, but he sure didn't miss the sound. He immediately started chanting and running towards me, I knew he was going to try to kill me as soon as he was in range to fire his magic. So I did the only thing I could think of and tried to shoot him again. Repeatedly I aimed and pulled the trigger, and repeatedly I missed as my death grew closer. Then it finally happened, I fired the shot just as he was about to step in range and the bullet flew through his skull. With the mage dead the workers threw down their picks and swarmed the non-mage minions that were left. It was a bloody but joyous scene. The happiness on the workers faces when the deed was done was a sight to behold. They looked to me and called me a hero. They asked me what we were going to do now, and I gave them an option. Run and be fugitives and killed like dogs, or stay and continue working the mine, but not for mana crystals, there were guns, bullets, and iron in the mines as well. We had a blacksmith who could forge weapons for the survivors and I wouldn't impose strict conditions. We defended that mine to the last while I practiced with all the firearms we could find. For some reason they only worked for me, but I was soon becoming skilled, and I started stockpiling weapons and ammunition. My journey to kill the Sorcerer King was about to begin.

A tyrannical sorcerer put a curse on the world that no firearms will work. You, a descendant of Mikhail Kalashnikov, accidentally fired a gun; defying the curse. Your hero or villain origin story begins

"Merry me!" This was the infamous call of Angel Faux. Every night, Slash Salvatore would chase her across the skylines. Leaping past the buildings darkness, harking for that call. "Merry me," Angel Faux would laugh, "Merry me, merry me, *dead* is the night and I am merry." Angel Faux's burlap sacks of stolen goods make a notorious, telltale jangle, like Christmas bell hells. No High Street place was safe from her wrath. The banks; clothing stores; convenience stores; supermarkets; toys and jewels (even the *Claire's!*) Slash Salvatore and Angel Faux's cat-and-mouse chase was their game. Slash would swoop down, her wings cracking open in intimidation, as Angel turned round to meet her eyes, mid-way through a robbery attempt. "It's you again!" Angel would say. "How merry." "So merry." Slash Salvatore would drawl. "Raise your hands." Then Angel would wink, and flee, and their chase would begin. Dodging through their concrete jungle, the smog-pumping chimneys and the heights-and-hide of Wimborne's slums. The Angel would pull disappearing acts; one moment she'd be in an alleyway, the next she'd be gone, like a ghost. But Slash Salvatore would chase her till the end of days. (There was a time when Slash Salvatore chased her to Christmas day. She hid in an alleyway as she watched Angel Faux shake a tiny bunny-plush at a jumping child from the *Wislow Orphanage.* The child looked at Angel with wide blue eyes and said: *I wanna be like ya when I grow up!*) Every time, Slash Salvatore would chase. Every time, Angel Faux let her chase. (Another time, upon their less-used chase routes— the "scenic route", Slash had termed it in her head—Angel Faux had delivered her stolen designer clothes to the downtown thrift stores. The volunteers teared seeing them. *You're doing good work, god's work, Angel. Don't let them tell you otherwise.*) "You're the most wicked villain of Wimborne." Slash Salvatore had yelled at her once. "No. I'm simply *your* villain." Angel Faux had replied in a grin, doing a mock-bow. "I'm *yours*." Then Slash Salvatore blinked, and then Angel Faux was gone. (But the most notable of them all came yesterday. Angel Faux, with a bag from a diamond jeweller thumping on her back, had her same chant—*merry me, merry me, merry me*—as Slash gave chase on foot.) They leapt from building to building, skidding over the ledges, and it was nearly *beautiful* how Angel Faux ran. It was almost as if she were the one with wings, and not Slash. In all that thinking, Slash didn't mind how fast she was going—and so ended up crashing into Angel Faux's back. "Shit! Merry me, Slash." Angel whispered, throat rasping like it were ground by the moonlight. Slash Salvatore's eyes widen. "Did you just..." "Did I..." "You asked. You *finally* asked." Slash Salvatore's grin widened and widened. Then she did what she'd spent the last 7 years waiting for, and kissed Angel Faux on the lips. —— 1/2.

You accidentally proposed to your Arch nemesis but are surprised to find they actually like you and happily accept your proposal. You wonder how you never realized this as you walk the aisle with them.

First-Lead Ohn stood in the middle of the gleaming bridge of his vessel. He was unhappy. He didn't like to be unhappy. "Repeat that, Second Sub-Lead?" Ohn said, his mottled green lips a flat line. Second Sub-Lead Furkaq undulated uncomfortably at his station. "Sir, the...ah...we are receiving communications from C-521." Ohn's three eyes fixed on Furkaq. "Who gave the order to intercept transmissions on the planet?" "Forgiveness," Furkaq replied. "We are *receiving* them, not intercepting. We are the intended recipient." "But...how?" "The indigenous life forms below have massive antenna arrays broadcasting radio between 1420 to 1666 MHz and sent a message directly to us." "Well?" "First-lead?" "What does it *say*?" Furkaq turned to look at Communicator Poelhi. Poelhi's skin was an uneasy shade of dark yellow. "Sir," he said, after a moment, "You'll recall the timeframe for initiating contact provided was *multiple* galactic cycles." Ohn said nothing. "And so the translator project was set to be complete later. *Much* later." "So skip some of the final testing and deploy it," Ohn growled. "Sir...the testing is not in the final stages. It..." There was a pause. Furkaq gestured to Poelhi but he did not continue. "Yes?" Ohn said. "It has not begun." Ohn knocked his refreshment flask to the floor, where it shattered. "Well, we can't just sit up here, holding our glands like a bunch of Teklin offspring," he said. "They clearly know we're here and every moment that passes without responding increases the likelihood of a hostile attack, which, *as we all know*, would be catastrophic. Poelhi, Furkaq, come with me to one of the landing vessels, and bring your *wonderful* device with you, Poelhi." It was a sign of how unhappy Ohn was that he had resorted to sarcasm. Furkaq spoke up: "Should we take the pyramidal vessels, or the dodecahedron, or...?" Ohn closed all of his eyes, then opened them. "No. Again, we must appear non-threatening at all costs. We'll take the saucer-shaped ones...those seem least likely to inspire any fear response or negative associations." * * * The three passengers studied the scene surrounding their vessel as they landed in what humans know as Times Square. The perimeter had been cordoned off but huge crowds of humans were visible in every direction. The president, the Joint Chiefs, and a number of military vehicles were a few hundred feet away. "You have it connected to the ship's amplification system, Communictor?" Poelhi nodded. "Alright. Let's go with this...*we feel tremendous excitement at the gravity of this momentous occasion. Please be so kind as to direct us to your leader. We wish to engage in formal diplomatic protocols. It would fill us with sorrow should aggression contaminate this historic event.* But wait until I have descended." Poelhi nodded again. Ohn gestured to Furkaq, who both stepped into the baro-tube and pushed them gently down to the ground. There was an audible gasp from every direction. "Remember," Ohn said quietly. "Baring your teeth is seen as a sign of contentment and decorum dictates that you look directly at your intended communication target. Signs of stress are likely to be misinterpreted, so continue baring your teeth and watching them as the message plays." Above, Poelhi began transmitting the message: *We feel tremendous excitement at the gravity of this momentous occasion.* Furkaq and Ohn's triumvirate of blood-red eyes bulged as they stared at the president. **In this moment, we are incredibly outraged!** The two aliens bared their fangs as the second part of the message was loaded into the translation device. Muttering broke out amongst the humans. **I want to speak to your manager directly!** The muttering grew louder. The president began conferring quickly with the head of the joint chiefs. Poelhi hesitated as he watched the reactions of the humans on the holo-vids. Ohn turned and glared up at the ship. Sighing, Poelhi typed the next part of the message: *We wish to engage in formal diplomatic protocols.* **We want to file a formal complaint!** The muttering increased in volume, and there were occasional shouts the aliens did not understand. The head of the joint chiefs had turned and nodded to an officer standing near the military vehicles, whose engines all sprung to life. "Now, Second Sub-Lead, remember the conciliatory gesture," Ohn said. "Sir, I'm not sure -- " "We do not deviate from the plan!" Poelhi's skin was a vibrant, anxious red. He watched as weaponry on top of the vehicles near the human delegation seemed to be aimed at the two Fremuloran officers below the ship. *Communicator*, Ohn's voice came through the ship's speakers. *If you do not load the last part of the message* now *I will see to it that you are bisected and your remains thrown into the protein paste vats back home. Do it now.* All six of Poelhi's fingers shook as he began typing the end of the message: *It...would...fill...us...with...sorrow...should...aggression...contaminate...this...historic...event.* Poelhi's eyes closed as he hit the transmit button. Below, Ohn and Furkaq lifted their arms in the direction of the President. **Sorry to say that historic aggression will now poison this moment.** The Fremuloran delegation was not heard from again. * * * Lots more stories, including some other moments of the Fremulorans, on my sub -- /r/ShadowsofClouds

The first aliens to visit Earth rushed development of their universal translator and it's still not out of beta. "Take me to your leader" comes out as "I want to speak to your manager." It gets wackier from there.

Everything smells like Clorox now. Like you cannot go outside without instantly being hit with a wave of cleaning products shooting up your nose. I know I'm being a whiner, the world is so sparkly now and everything looks so fresh. Even the dirtiest parts of the Los Angeles that used to smell like piss constantly now look just like Beverly Hills. The view would be amazing if it wasn't for this giant undead maid towering over the skies. There have been some consequences of course. All the carwash places have gone out of business because she just cleans them all for free. People feel like they don't have to pick up their dog's shit because the maid will get it, even though it could take her days to get to it. Overall it has been a good thing though. She has cleaned up the trash in the oceans in a Mr. Beast like move. I don't really understand how it works, but cleaning up the environment has somehow had a positive impact on global warming? I don't know. Some scientist will have to explain it to me. Or maybe she just sucked up all the CO2 herself. Overall, the smell of cleaning products in the air is a small price to pay for an eternally cleaner world. Everybody is a lot happier now. Except for the people who keep stepping in dog shit. Oh, and the cultists who were just trying to cleanse the world of everybody except white people. Who would have thought we would be all thanking them?

A cult performs a ritual to summon a cosmic deity to our plane to "cleanse the world". But as a giant, eldritch maid appears before them, they realize the ritual was more literal than they thought.

This is no room in this house where I can be alone. Everywhere I go Guy follows me trying to have inane conversations. He won't take a hint. Sometimes he just comes into the room, sits in a chair and looks at me, waiting for me to start a conversation. I can pointed turn the pages of my book. I can type extra hard on the keyboard. I can get up and move to another room. This needy sonofabitch is going to follow me. We all started out as roommates. Carol and I pay Guy rent since it's his house. We each have a room and bath but the public spaces are shared. "Jenny, were you listening?" Oh shit. He's talking again. I look up. His mouth is moving. He's all animated and smiling. Like a puppy. It's more exhausting if I hurt his feelings so I answer him, "Hey, Guy. I'm sorry. I was working and didn't catch what you said," "Oh, it's going to drop below freezing tonight. Do you think we should drip the pipes." "Pets, pipes, plants." I answer as briefly as possible hoping he'll take the hint. Carol comes in and stands beside Guy's chair carrying a laundry basket. Poor Carol is obviously and overtly in love with Guy who only sees her when he needs something from her. Guy looks up at Carol with that stupid puppy dog look, "Would you spoil me?" That's his lead in inconveniencing one of us. "Would you do the pipes and plants? I've got to hop on a call in fifteen minutes." That's another thing about Guy. He either can't read the room or just always thinks his agenda is worth interrupting other people's projects. "I'll put up my laundry and get right on it." Carol's attempt at sarcasm falls flat. Her tone needs work. Plus, unless he needs something from her, Guy doesn't really see Carol. I hate being the distraction trope in Carol's Romance Journey. I haven't done a damn thing to attract Guy's attention. I've avoided it. I hate the kind of shallow labeling that says I'm considered hotter than Carol. But, yeah, that's reality. She's not ugly by any means but not what you'd call fashion forward. And she has no flirting game at all. "I'll help you, Carol," I sigh and leave my computer. "Guy, some of those plants on the porch are pretty heavy. Think you could just bring those in real quick before your call?" "Guy rises from the chair. "How about we do the plants and let Carol do the pipes. Pets are already inside," Guy nods toward his adorable grey cat and Carol's equally adorable beagle pup curled in their respective baskets. I don't have a pet. I don't want the responsibility. Guy and Carol both love animals. Just another piece of evidence that they are soul mates. "Makes more sense for me to help Carol with the pipes and deck plants. You do the front porch plants and hop on your call." I close the garage door before he can answer. Everything in the garage is organized perfectly in attractive bins. Guy's whole house looks like after on a home makeover show. I'm pretty sure I'm in a Hallmark attempt at a Nora Ephron movie. I honestly might be able to tolerate my role in this farce if the dialog wasn't so insipid. Guy and Carol belong together. Everybody can see it except Guy. He's really not a bad guy, I think I keep seeing his faults because the way he keeps crushing on me is driving me insane. Getting past Guy's infatuation with me is the only way to move the story forward. What they need is some kind of challenge to face alone together. I text my sister. She will call me and say I need to go help my mom with winterizing. I could use a cozy night of soup and Scrabble with mom anyway. What to do to bring them together? I could mess with the heat so they have to snuggle for warmth. No. Guy needs to really see and appreciate Carol. I unwrap a chocolate and pop it in my mouth. Chocolate helps me think. Molly, Guy's cat rubs against my legs. I do a lot of Googling. How much chocolate it takes to kill a cat vs how much to make one sick. I don't want to turn this story into a *Marly and Me* type tearjerker tragedy. I just want to give Carol a chance to shine. It's a risk. I feel a little bad about it. But Carol has a massive pet first aid kit in her closet. I've seen it. I lay my wrapper down on the counter. I'll be the careless villain who accidentally dropped some chocolate. My phone rings as I go into the living room where Guy and Carol and happily arranging plants under the window. I've done just enough, I think. Just enough to make Molly sick so Carol has to treat her. Just enough to make Guy mad enough for him to emotionally move on from me but not throw me out. This place is gorgeous. "Oh course, I'll be right over." I look at Guy and Carol, "I'm going to my mom's house tonight. She needs some help with her pets, pipes, and plants. We'll check in on each other." I need to take off quick before the cat starts yakking.

You're a self aware character in a cheesy rom-com and the insanity is starting to get on your nerves

There was only so much comfort a bed could provide when heaven and hell were in agreement over the actions of a mortal. I spoke aloud to my empty room. “You guys never agree, spill it. What do you know?” I couldn’t see them, but I could hear them. I could feel their minds. Two entire beings fighting one another within my own body with no real control beyond suggestions. They plagued me regularly, but this was the first time they agreed. There was no fight. No struggle. For the first time, I felt peace between the mortal enemies within me. The silence was too much. The angel spoke first, it’s voice like a strong wind buffeting my ears. **She is kind. You are kind. The two of you will be happy together. You will grow as people.** “Okay.” I didn’t have much more of a response than that. I reached out to touch the mind of the demon, seeking an answer to the same question. The devil spoke then, it’s voice warming my face as if looking into a campfire. *She is kind. You are kind. The two of you will be happy together. You will grow as people.* I blinked at the identical answer. They fell silent then. I couldn’t feel their presence even as I tried. My quest for clarity found nothing. I decided that maybe they just didn’t understand this enough to give an answer. They didn’t say yes or no, just gave me information I already knew. So I fell asleep with a smile on my face, having finally made a choice that was mine and mine alone. I think maybe I felt them smiling with me.

Your body is possessed by a devil and an angel. Sometimes following the angel is in your best interests, other times, following the devil. However, this time, they are both insisting on doing it.

I awoke, peering through the many eyes of the forest dwellers. An intruder had appeared, a small intruder, but potentially still dangerous. The species it came from was capable of both great harm, and great good. There was no telling what this one would do. Watching through a sleepy owl, I chuckled making the owl hoot softly. Apparently, what this intruder would do, was stumble around making enough noise to raise all the hunters in the forest. Gently, I extended my consciousness, warning them away, sending them easier prey so they left the intruder alone. No one wanted the retaliation that would come if this was a loved child, and it was found dead. The night shifted to day, and still, the child stumbled. Still, it tried to find food, reaching for poisonous berries on more than one occasion. Watching through the eyes of a chipmunk, I pushed the berries out of the intruder's reach; convinced the plants to pull their branches out of the way. This child was worse than useless. As day turned to night once again, I watched the child push its way deeper and deeper into the forest. It had long passed the point where it would be easily found by any searchers. And with an almost uncanny trajectory, it was headed straight towards my residence, towards the heart. After once again warning the predators away, I withdrew my consciousness from the animals and coalesced into a non-threatening physical form. I would have to deal with the intruder personally. At least teach it how to survive inside the forest, so I didn't have to keep intervening. And I had just been planning to go down for a hundred-year nap. This would not be fun. — — — — — — — "What are you doing? It's a baby bird that fell out of the nest. Leave it to the first predator that comes along." I huffed at my charge. The child had grown larger, though it was still short of a full-grown adult. But it was old enough to communicate properly and was learning survival quite well. I could probably leave it alone now, but... it was *nice* having someone to talk to. Someone who could understand concepts and ideas that the animals of the forest could not. "But I want to help it." The child said, hands gently lifting the peeping bundle of fluff. "It needs help." "Yes, but the natural order of things means you are taking food away from a predator by saving its prey. Upsetting the balance of the forest. That sort of thing." I said. "You saved me." The child frowned up at me, cradling the baby bird. "Shouldn't I have been a predator's meal?" I sighed, turning away. "Come on then, we'll have to go look for things to feed it while you raise it. And I will not be helping you, you will do it all on your own." The child scampered after me, moving with quiet speed, the first thing I'd trained it in; how to move through the forest without calling the wrong attention to yourself. I didn't answer the question and knew the child wouldn't ask again, it knew better than to pester me. But the question wormed its way deep into my heart, waiting for the day it would need an answer. — — — — — — — "Come quick, come quick!" The child— though now full-grown, I couldn't bring myself to call it anything else— ran into our sanctum at the heart of the forest. A raven sat on its shoulder, the adult version of the chick it had rescued. I raised my head, frowning at the child. "What is it?" "I've been to the edge of the forest and there are men there." "I know, I felt them step into the trees—" "They have fire!" The three words dropped from the child's lips and into my ears like stones. Fire. Rising, I moved towards the child, growing as I did so, until I doubled its size. With wide eyes, it stared up at me, as I growled. "Stay here. You will be safe. I will be back." I ran through the forest, the trees bending and shifting around my passage, the animals and birds fleeing towards the heart, away from the edges, away from the danger. The noise of their passage was the only sound that reached my ears until I drew closer to the forest's boundary. Fire crackled up the trees, small dark figures moving behind the flames. "YOU DARE SET FIRE TO THE FOREST!" I shouted, my voice the sound of trees cracking in the winter, the rush of rivers, the loud screams of agonized prey and the triumphant screech of a hunter. The men ran, racing away from the forest, retreating. In two strides I left the forest, reaching towards the figures, all anger and vengeance, determined to destroy. Arms outstretched, a smaller figure dashed in front of me, a raven swooping in, and landing on its shoulder. "Stop!" The child shouted, glaring up at me. "They destroy the forest!" I yelled back, though tempering the volume. "They deserve to die!" "They will kill you." Motioning behind, the child pointed at the massed ranks of men just cresting over the hill. "Your power is tied to the forest, is it not? Out here..." I looked at the army arrayed against me, then at the child in front of me. Anger still distorted my features, still powered my desire to kill the attackers. "Why did you stop me? They are your kind." I lashed out, knowing the words would hurt the child, knowing it might let me pass if I hurt it enough. "Why did you save me? I am not your kind." It stared up at me, water forming on its face. Human tears. "Why did you keep me safe, why did you train me, why do any of it?" Looking down at the child, memories of our time together flooded over me, taking me back to that first helpless moment I saw it stumbling through the forest. "Love." It was a word the child had taught me, even though I had felt it before I knew what it was. "Because of love." "And I stop you because of the same. Because of love." The child paused, as if summoning up courage. "Because I love you... Mother." I staggered back, the weight of that word slamming into my chest. Mother? I was a god, a force of nature, I had no children, except— Staring down at the small tear-stained face, I held out my hand, shrinking down to a more regular size. "Daughter. Let's go home." The child slipped her hand into mine and we turned away from the human army, back to the forest, where the fire had begun to die. She had been right, it had been a trap, destruction to draw me out. I smiled as we walked through the trees. The forest would heal, and we would remain inside. Alive, and together. Mother and daughter. — — — — — — — Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories!

An abandoned child is stumbling through the woods, barely surviving. The god of the forest and hunt notices them and after a while can't bare watching the clumsiness anymore, deciding to train the child.

To be a basic skeleton. In life I was Carl Johnson. Worked most of my time in the family farm, died in some petty war against a neighboring baron. Not this time, though, I’ve got a second lease on life through undeath. This time around, I can reform from physical wounds. It isn’t quick and it isn’t pleasant but slowly I grow stronger and more skilled. Any small victory I take, a few coins dropped by a startled adventurer, a sword or dagger lost in stone or left embedded in my rib cage, I take it and I grow. It won’t be long before I can reveal my true might. When I can kill these fools who think themselves mighty heroes. Then I will have my revenge, I will show the baron who ruled over me in life the meaning of pain! And I will rule in turn. I will dismantle the systems which give these men power, and the peasants shall rule! The age of kings and lords and knights is over! Now is the age of Carl Johnson, champion of the common folk! But I get ahead of myself. First I have to deal with the enemy in front of me. A knight, a young one it looks like. He probably heard this dungeon would be a good spot to earn his first combat experience. He probably isn’t expecting it to be his last. With a single blow he strikes me, but this time I do not fall. The knight’s servants, who show clear signs of the same abuse I suffered in life, sense the power shift, they begin to falter. With a strike of my own I send the noble’s soul to damnation. The fate of tyrants. I turn my attention to the servants, and I say to them “today marks the end of the age of kings. Today the first of them falls, and we shall only rest when the last of them is laid low. Will you join me?” And with that I had my first allies. And together we march towards a brighter future, one where the will of the people can be made manifest

“I may be a basic monster in this starter dungeon, but by the gods do I have a dream, and like hell am I gonna die before I fulfill that dream!”

That stupid Naughty List. One glance at it and his life had fallen apart. Sleep had become a fantasy. Singing was a chore. Four Christmases passed before he realized what would bring him peace. Justice. His brothers and sisters were overjoyed he had become his old self again. They thought he had gotten over the atrocities he'd seen on the list. The truth was that he had a purpose again. Cole thought back to that first nightmare after he saw the list. A shadowy figure approaching a young boy curled up sleep. The child's small hands hugging a doll that Cole himself had made. Now those nightmares were dreams. They began the same as the nightmare, but now there was another shadowy figure. One emerging from the fireplace. A small matte green blade in his hand. It took him twelve years to make that a reality. The boots were easy, Santa threw those away every year. The chimney dust was a problem. It took six years to get enough dust for the names on his list, and the list kept growing. The hard part was the reindeer. It took him years just to befriend them enough to find the one that would help him, Rudolph. That one had a chip on his shoulder. Years of bullying, flying out just a couple times every ten years. He cared about the kids, but more than anything, he wanted freedom. Then came the weapons. Santa would know if any of the elves made anything dangerous. Blades disguised as decorative parts, hilts as bicycle handles. He'd even managed to make enough parts for a small revolver, but not the bullets. That was no problem, the naughty list would tell him where to find them. Christmas Eve came and went. Santa came home and they all gathered for dinner to celebrate another successful holiday. Cole ached to say goodbye. He wanted to tell them how much we would miss them. How he'd miss the way Bubbles would snort when she laughed. Jazzy's cookies. Cole snuck out before he started crying. He *had* to do this. He walked through the snow to the valley where Rudolph was waiting. Their first stop would be to pick up the cover for his nose, masked as part of a baseball that Cole had made for a little girl in Arkansas. Cole ran the last few steps towards the valley, he could see a faint red glow from Rudolph's nose, and, no, it couldn't be. He had been so careful! What was Santa doing here? He was supposed to be at dinner, giving his speech. Years, wasted. "I know what you're doing". Cole gulped, he'd never heard Santa's voice so solemn. "It's a bad idea." "I- I-" Cole's voice came out a squeak. "It's disappointing". Cole began to shake. He wasn't afraid of the consequences, he just couldn't bear to stay home another night. Santa continued, "I thought you were smarter than this" "Someone has to do something!" Cole found himself yelling, his voice had come back and stronger than it was stronger than it had ever been. "There are MONSTERS out there. I make toys for kids that cry themselves to sleep. Toys their parents steal and sell to buy drugs, parents that beat them and..." "I know", Cole didn't know when Santa had started to hug him, but he was now crying into the big man's belly. "This isn't the way to do it" Santa was now kneeling, looking into his eyes. "You'll be through that list in a couple of months. And then what?" "Then I-" "Then, you'll come home and get another list". Cole tried to speak, but no words came out. "You're not the first Cole my son. There aren't many of you, but enough. Go the South Pole. You'll find the others there."

we all know about the story of an elf who wanted to be a dentist but no one ever talks about the story of an elf who wanted to be an assassin

Many thought that OPEC would dominate humanity, but they were mistaken, for the European Space Agency told them another source: Titan, which has several hundred times the oil and gas reserves of Earth. As a reward, the ESA was recognized as the formal government of the world by the aliens, and the calender was renamed in their honor. // **2050 or Year 27 of the Europa Astralis Era (EAE)** "Now presenting, the Director General of the Terran Senate, Joseph Ashbaschler." He stepped to the podium under thunderous applause. "Greetings, fellow representatives of humanity. I bring good news," he waited for the applause to dwindle. "Thank you, thank you! Now, with the power of Negative Mass Generation, we are at the cusp of FTL-Travel, all thanks to our patrons, the High Republic of Draconids. Let us thank our dragon friends." /// Prismatic auroras dotted every corner of the world, as the redirected light of the Dyson Swarm powered the arcology towers that housed humanity. Composed of diamond carbon nanotubes, the peaks of the crystal pyramids, towering three kilometers into the sky, absorbed the energy beams to carry on its daily functions. With genetic therapy, biological immortality, and an essentially limitless source of opportunities, our population in the past generation quadrupled, housing now roughly 31,000,000,000 individuals on Earth, and another 3,000,000,000 on the Moon. With the terraforming of Venus, Mars, and Gandymede, we had more space than ever. Fusion powered spacejets filled the skies, now clearer and cleaner than in centuries. As our eyes trailed the four 40,000km tall Space Elevators that connected to the Ring of Gaia, an orbital ring, we would gaze upon the Dyson Swarm, mulitudes of pale azure radiance encircling a veiled Sun, before auroras would fill the skies as the Sun's gifts warmed our world. Suddenly, a shadow covered Mount McKinley. It appears the Ambassador arrived. We hope she enjoys lab grown lamb.

coal and crude oil

A new world fell upon us. A world where people have superpowers, a world where almsot everyone has a use. But there are minds with malicious thoughts. They are called Villains and amongst them the most powerful and gruesome are called Supervillains. My mother seems to be one of them, a supervillain, with a power like Superman. She is invincible. Well she can roam freely the world cause who is capable enough to stop her? Not my father at least. He isnt any supervillain he isnt even a villain. He is a deadbeat. I would say its not his fault if he had a useless power. But he can create anything with his mind from thin air and i could think of hundreds of ways to make him useful. Not a supervillain but at least to be of some help to my mom. The only thing he does is make beers and drink them. He stays in his couch all night playing videogame, smoking weed and drinking which mind you he creates all of that. I have never seen up to him. Having the same power as mom i wanted to follow in her footsteps. She didnt. That didnt stop me. By the age of 14 when my powers had fully developed i was already a villain. And since i was already on that way she decided to help me train. I could at the very least say it was gruesome. She is a beast, ferocious,fast and without any mercy. She beat me every day. I think it was her way of discouraging me. A way to stop me from becoming like her. Weird things started happening to me while i was training. I started to show new powers. Something that at the time was impossible. You could either inherit your powers from your mother or father but not from both. I had new powers. I could create weapons with a strange aura around them. As i showed my mother my new power she became furious. She went mad and didnt see anything around her. She started to beat me harder and worse than any other time. I also discovered than differently from everything else my weapons could damage her. I was her Kryptonite. As she recollected herself (after i was beaten to a pulp) she said to never show that to her again. Being afraid of her i didnt show her again. I only trained in my Superman powers with her. When i was doing my thing alone i used both powers since it came in very handy. Now lets not forget the Heroes and Superheroes. They were our nemesis. They were relentless and wanted to stop us at any cost. Heroes usually went about beating villains and superheroes went about stopping supervillains. As years went by i established myself in the supervillain scene. I finally became one of them. My life was fulfilled. Now i can reach for the top. The top 10 of them and standing at number 1 was my mom. i wanted to beat her and surpass her, show her that the effort wasnt a waste and that i wasnt a waste of a man like my father. She hated him for being the way he is and almost always she acted like he wasnt around. That was the way she acted even around me. Almost all the time i spent with her was while she was beating on me when we were training. Then she acted like i wasnt her son anymore. I didnt understand her. I couldnt. My young mind thought that it was the way how women were. Now that i am a Supervillain i meet her more and since we do our work in places where Superheroes were around i was bound to have more difficult fights. But i had noone to help me. Supervillains dont stand for each other. Thats the way we have always fallen. Getting surrounded and killed by superheroes. Makes you think who are the bad guys in that situation. While finishing my "job" i passed by a fight. That faitfull day i saw my mom fight with her full power. That was the day where i saw her archnemesis. As i observed the fight it occured to me. In the 10 last years a mutation was found where a child could have powers from both the parents. I thought mine was like that even though i couldnt create anything i wanted. I thought there had to be limitations and you get what you get. I couldnt have been more wrong. I saw my mothers archnemesis using the same powers as me, well even more since he had more experience in them. I was heartbroken. I jumped in as my mother was winning and i stopped her from killing him. I showed her my powers and she went ballistic like she was fighting against him. I could barely keep my life this time as she passed out from exhaustion. I took them both as they were both unconcious. Now they have some explaining to do. Why do i have both their powers, who is he to her and who is he to me ...

You are the child of a supervillain and a deadbeat father. After being groomed for years to follow in your mothers' footsteps, she decides to take you on a 'field trip'. As you watch her fight her nemesis, certain things make you wonder if the hero is your father...

When Jesus rose on the third day and appeared to his apostles, they were overcome with joy - until he looked at them with his soft, sad eyes and asked "Where's Judas?" "Did you not know, did you not hear?" he said "That I came for the least of these? Did I not tell you that I came to seek and save those that are lost? Where is he? I must see him, so that he may know that God has already forgiven him. For the Son of Man came offering forgiveness, and he will be the first among those forgiven, as he was the last of the apostles" John began to cry, and Peter was found speechless. It was James who finally spoke " I'm sorry LORD, his time is past. He used the silver he was paid to betray you to buy a potters field, and that night he went out and hanged himself" and thereafter for the second time Jesus wept for a departed friend. "To take one's own life" Jesus said "is a grave and sorrowful error that prolongs the pain of many, it is a sin against ones own body as well as one's neighbor. But it is not what I spoke of when I referred to blasphemy against the Holy Spirit. It is forgivable and it is forgiven. And I shall surely embrace Judas again in the new kingdom my Father is preparing." "But I am grieved for another reason" he said "These things were done so that everything might be accomplished, and so that all might see and hear that the LORD God is a God of grace and mercy forgiving even those who betray him. If Judas is not to hear news of his forgiveness while he lives, then who? Who shall I send to the nations as one who is forgiven much? Peter finally spoke "I will go LORD, for I confess that I denied you three times before the cock crowed" But the LORD responded "Shutup Peter, we've been over this, feed my lambs" and after that nobody dared to speak as one who could be forgiven like Judas had. Until Thomas, who has been in the back of the room bewildered by all that he had seen, and having nearly missed the appearance spoke to his teacher. "I'm sorry LORD" he said "I don't know of anyone here, or any of those who have followed you, and loved you, and learned from you, who can go and preach this message of forgiveness as one like him. We have all doubted and lost faith, we have all been tempted and made missteps, but none of us have been so overcome with our guilt as to want to die" "You speak the truth Thomas" he said "Is there no one?" but Thomas continued. "There is a man named Simon of Jerusalem, one of your disciples, who has been arrested, and is, at this very moment awaits death for your gospel at the hands of a Pharisee named Saul, perhaps he could be freed by your miraculous power, and forgiven of his debts" "Yes" Jesus said "We must go at once. I must see this... Saul"

until he looked at them with his soft, sad eyes and asked "Where's Judas?"

*Observing my Sire's chest rise and fall with shallow breaths, I can't help but feel a sense of sadness wash over me. We vampires might not be immortal, but we live a long life, and to watch a long-time friend or loved one pass away is something I would never wish on anyone.* *As I sit here, trying to make my Sire as comfortable as possible in his last moments, I can't help but feel frustrated by the other vampires. All of them are squabbling over inheritance, not even considering the fact that my Sire is dying. My only desire is to be left alone to care for him and make his final moments peaceful, but they seem more concerned with their own needs.* *As a vampire, I shouldn't have been surprised by this behavior - vampires aren't known for being selfless. Despite this, it still hurts to see them act in this manner, especially since my Sire has given them so much. The last thing I want is for them to put aside their petty differences and be there for him in his final moments.* *That's just the way it is, I guess. While I'm holding my Sire's hand, feeling his life slowly ebbing away, I hope he finds peace and that his passing is as gentle as possible. Whatever happens after he passes, I will always remember his love and guidance throughout my long life, no matter what happens.*

Vampires aren't immortal, just very long lived. Your Sire is at the end of his life and while the other Vampires are squabbling over inheritance, you just want to be left alone to care for them and make the end comfortable.

If there’s one thing in this life that I’ve learned how to do well, it is the art of disappearing. Some could say that I’ve built quite the reputation for it. Even if the commonly alleged concept of my arts were incriminating and, frankly, horrid. They were the burden I was to bear for choosing this pathway in life. As a child, I seldom had a home for long. It was always here and there for a while, going back yonder for some time, then finding somewhere new again. We never stayed anywhere for more than a minute, which conveniently provided me with my swift ability to adapt to different regions of the world. Truly, it was an art. One simply did not wake up one day and know what I knew. They had to work it, had to be the face of all the unpleasant and, frankly, disgusting "truths." Yet, there was a light hidden behind the nefarious exterior. An actual truth that would send the public reeling if they knew that each of my ‘victims’, quite literally, freely roamed about among them. Tired of their past and unwilling to go on within it. They severed themselves from it, making a choice to move on - with my assistance. Not many recognize the feeling of burden that comes with great achievements. Everyone expects their heroes to always be heroes. They expect that in a moment’s notice they will put their lives aside and always come to the rescue - in the nick of time! It was a tiresome existence, although far from thankless, and I was the one The Greats turned to when they reached their finish lines. I then create their finale - their public exit. Often theatrical, emotional, and perhaps a bit costly to some public spaces. However, there were often very few injured, never an extra death involved, and after that… … their next race could begin. It’s just one of those things, one cannot push the boundaries of reality too much, or there could be a higher risk for failure. Alas, my track record remains quite stellar, hence the villainous representation that comes with uttering my very name. Such power in only a name. A name considered to be so heinous, to all those that would never understand. I knew few that would dare to mention me in prim circumstances. I had “caused so much pain to society”, while offering the greatest happiness to the numerous lost heroes and their kin. A fair judgment, I suppose, to offer happiness to those who did the most for the world when the world needed them most. Perhaps a strange perspective I have to come from. The world could suspect that the foul rumors of torture and gruesome tragedies were viable truths. Yet, not a single of those strangers could also declare they knew who I was, nor recount my story. They could cast their judgements, needing that person to blame, when all things went tits up. And, that’s just fine. I found solace in harboring that weight. At least the greatest of them all could live out their days how they wanted to. “All I ever wanted was to make those around me safe. I wanted them to live soundly and without fear of that rotten soul around the corner. We never anticipate our age, though. We expect to feel great our entire lives, to be able to hold the world on our shoulders forever. Unfortunately, that’s not really how things work.” I recalled one great hero's last words to me, and they always stuck, always motivated me to continue my chosen path.

You are a villain famous for “killing” heroes. In reality, heroes come to you to fake their deaths.

George Smithson, possibly the most human human to ever roam the green earth, paused mid-swig. He set his tankard down and squinted at his friend. "What do you mean?" "I mean what I said. And I'm saying that humans are just as arrogant as elves." Elia Whitetaker, mage and drunken philosopher, ran a finger around the rim of her drink. "But humans have a... a persecution complex about it, yeah?" "No, we don't," said George, frowning. "You don't get it. Everyone else looks down at us for not being special enough. We're like the opposite of being arrogant. You ever been a human in an elven kingdom, Elia? Then you'll get it." "What am I?" He drank more of his mead and blinked at her. "Huh?" "What am I, George?" "You're a half-elf." She was smiling at him in that dangerous, crooked way that George knew from fighting beside her in battle and accompanying Elia to the marketplace. That particular flare of her nostrils preceded someone being set on fire or getting an earful of the most vicious insults on this side of the seven planes. Or both. "What's the other half, George?" "Half-human?" he said slowly, feeling like he was about to step into a trap. "Yeah. Yeah, exactly," she drawled. Elia continued to trace the rim of her mug, a faint glimmer of magic flickering along the path. "I've been human in an elven kingdom and elven in a human kingdom. And I gotta say, at least the elves don't pretend, yeah? They'll look you in the eye and point to their eight century lifespan or incredible feats of magic or... or famed turnip or some shit. You know you can never be one of them." George eyed the flicker of magic with faint apprehension. "And you like the elves *better*?" "Yep. You see, humans..." Elia pointed right at George with her glowing finger. "But humans... they'll act like they don't have any specialty to be proud of. As if I haven't heard 'humans might not be the best, but they can do anything!' a thousand times. As if humans don't look down on elves for being too obsessed in their interests, on dwarves for being too solitary, halflings for being too complacent, and a hundred other stereotypes for each fucking group." "That's not fair—" started George. "And so on!" Elia cut him off and continued with gathering steam. "Humans have their own internal set of metrics. You have to be good, but too good. Capable, but not too capable, because the second you are, you become an elf who can't see past their own ego." She scoffed. "Hah! Bullshit. Humans will pretend to be your best friend and then say that *you don't get it.* I might not be pure enough for humans, but I'm human enough to get *that*, George." "I didn't mean it like that." "Then how did you mean it?" George opened and closed his mouth. "Yeah. That's what I thought." Her laugh was smug and unhappy. He sighed and tried again. "Look, Elia. I'm sorry. Humans... *Us* humans, you and me," here Melia gave him a smile that was more amused than angry, "really don't have any talents, right? And the other peoples can get a bit bitchy about it." "Yeah, they do. But at least they're not hypocrites about it." He paused. "Alright. Point." The magic around her finger flickered out as she stopped pointing. "Fine, I'll admit it. You'll never hear that from an elf." George snorted. "Maybe that's our special talent. We're much better at being humble. Or just admitting when we've fucked up." "Maybe." He raised an eyebrow and affected a snooty accent. "So does that mean you like humans more than elves now? Are we superior?" "I like *particular* humans much more than elves," said Melia, bumping her empty tankard against his half-full one. "Though if you buy me another drink, I'll consider elevating the whole of humanity over elvenkind." "I don't know about that. Not sure I want to get another lecture." At her glare, George snorted and picked up her empty drink. "But with an argument like that, how could I resist?"

"Personally, I've much preferred the company of elves over humans, 'cause at least elves don't bother hiding the fact that they think they're better than you. Humans, on the other hand, are really sneaky about it."

What? The announcement felt so surreal. My mind was thinking it was a prank made by someone on their last day of work, but my body was not convinced of that at all. The people around me seemed distressed too, except for that gruffy guy who chuckled a bit for the announcement. Two women left their groceries and bolted out without hesitation. The seriousness in their face gave me the impression as if they've experienced this before, that this is no joke. My instincts were eager to join them. Ach, i'm giving way too much thought for my feelings. It's just a mass panic from a stupid prank, and the store shouldn't be closed for another 30 minutes anyway. Well, it's my turn to pay soon, and then i'll be out. As i'm packing my purchases to my backpack, i can't shake off how menacing the cashier sounded. At this point, my heart is racing out of my chest. I've never felt fear this strong before. I am getting lightheaded, and this whole moment feels so unreal. I check the faces of the other customers once again, and they all seem as if they've seen a ghost. My instincts almost took me out of the first door out, but i need to visit a toilet before i leave. It'll take a while to get home, and more importantly, i'm not going to give in to such irrational behaviour. Mid-stream, i hear another announcement starting. It's from another voice this time. "We hope you enjoyed your visit. And please, come visit us again!" the voice of an amicable older man said. I felt relief. There was the confirmation to put an end to my madness. He will surely apologize for the prank. "As was announced previously, the manslaughter will begin right about now. You just may get out in time, if you start running for your dear life. As for those who decide to stay, a very warm thank you from my behalf. Now, let the games begin!" Right after the last line, the lights went off, and shortly after, a dim, eerie light luminated the restroom. This was no joke after all.

Attention shoppers, the store will be closing in five minutes and persons who has not exited by that time will be locked in and hunted for our entertainment

"Good morning, Claire. How are you feeling?" "I wasn't expecting to see another human! And you know my name, oh my God!" Claire stood before a middle aged man in a white coat with a stethoscope draped around his neck. His coat was embroidered with four lines of unintelligible script, followed by "T. Nguyen - HUMAN DOCTOR" Dr. Nguyen sighed. "Well, you know. Based on the new Standards Of Treatment for Human Servants, all humans are entitled to medical care, so the Andromedians grabbed me and pressed me into service recently." "It's not too bad. I've been a housekeeper for two years now. I get my needs met, days off, the family I'm with is really nice... except they keep reproducing and making me clean the nursery tank." Claire folded her arms. "What?" "Andromedians lay eggs and hatch as larvae in water. And then they poop in the water all the time, and it's up to me to wash the tank every day until the babies grow out of it. They've had three broods in the last couple years. They just hatched a new brood." "I guess I should be glad I'm doing work I'm familiar with. Mind sitting on the exam table?" Dr. Nguyen patted the exam table, rustling the paper. Claire hopped up on the table. "I'll take a quick set of vitals. Here on Andromeda, your weight will be higher and your blood pressure will probably be about what it runs on Earth. Your oxygen saturation should be 100%, no problem." He got to work taking vitals, then looked in Claire's eyes, nose, ears, and mouth. "Now, Claire, do you feel safe at home?" "Yeah, most the time." "Most the time?" Dr. Nguyen asked. "They have adolescents. Those things play *rough.* One of them wrestled me when I was cleaning the nursery tank and held me underwater. They got in trouble for that one. The parents try to look out for me, and the adolescent stage only lasts a couple months..." She sighed. "I see. What are you usually eating?" "Baked small animal meat with a side of veggies." "Oh!" Dr. Nguyen's face lit up. "Where are you getting veggies?" "I was abducted from the garden center with my seeds. The family let me plant a little garden. I can give you some. I have tomatoes, potatoes, zucchini, and lettuce." "That would be amazing! I've been eating what the Andromedians eat, and it's disgusting." He shook his head. "How much exercise have you been getting?" Claire shrugged. "House cleaning four days a week, SCUBA diving to clean the big tank out back once a week, and playing with the kids... enough, I think." "How often are you breaking a sweat?" Dr. Nguyen folded his arms. Claire screwed up her face. "Oh, God, every day! And then they bathe me!" "Oh dear." "They've learned that I don't like being naked in front of them, so they strip me down to my underwear and scrub me with their super drying awful soap! You don't know where to get soap for human skin, do you?" "Yes, you should be getting human soap, I'll send you home with some, along with a pamphlet in Andromedian about human grooming. They shouldn't be bathing you." "You're telling me! But they're huge, so what can you do?" Claire shrugged again. "Do you have anything for skin cracks?" "Yes I do, I'll send you home with some ointment as well. When was your last menstrual period?" "I... don't actually know. I mean, I do, it just ended yesterday, but I don't know how time works here. I try my best to approximate with Earth time, but the days are so much shorter here!" Claire laughed nervously. Dr. Nguyen put his hands on his hips. "I'll have to think of a better way to ask that question." He paused. "Do you have any other medical concerns?" "Nope, just the dry skin." Claire examined her chapped hands. Dr. Nguyen quickly finished up the physical exam and gave Claire a mostly clean bill of health. They exchanged numbers so Claire could give the doctor seeds, and he could refer her to mental health once a therapist was kidnapped.

Humans are popular as servants across the galaxy, but there are rules and laws regarding having a human servant, to ensure they are treated fairly. Unfortunately one of those rules ISN'T that you can't take a human against their will.

"Do you really love me?" *Does it really need to be said?* Agnes, friendly like a prison door, eyes frozen blue, a smile would crack the smooth ice of her face. Agnes, having built this persona to protect herself, less of a filter and more of a wall between her and the universe. Bullies, parents unready to be parents, all the little details adding to the necessity and weight of her mask. Eternal stoicism made it unsurprisingly hard to nurture social contact, and as much as Agnes would prefer to, she was no island. She worked, lived, went by, but loneliness wore her down with each passing year. The pain added to her frozen mask in driving a wedge between herself and people. So of course, instead of trying harder with online dating and socializing, she turned to the occult. It was no conscious effort, she didn't set off, free of the material shakles of her mind into the beyond to bring back a mate. But she was wishful for a partner. And when her eyes opened again in the world of humans, she saw a tall, red-haired woman lying next to her. The woman smiled, and in all her perfect humanity, her beauty, her warm empathy, she appeared as the abomination she was to Agnes. An abomination that had come into existence now, her ties to Agnes a part of her. Agnes tried to send it back, to ignore it. *You and I, Agnes, you and I. I am Rada.* Rada's lips moved, but her voice was in Agnes's head. Hard to ignore, so was the package she was being offered, containing a severed head. A bully of old. Caked and coated in blood, a voiceless scream etched on their face. The bully had suffered long before the neck was sliced through. What they had seen and felt was beyond what a human mind could take. *For love.* Agnes dropped the head and ran. Through the streets, through the woods, only to find herself before Rada. *You and I.* "No," she whispered. Rada held the severed head, dead eyes piercing Agnes with their judgement. That's when she asked. "Do you really love me?" *Does it really need to be said?* Agnes took Rada's extended hand, she pulled her into the coldest hug on earth. Agnes looked for a job, Rada made certain the right person fell sick. She struggled with her peers, Rada devoured them, maw and gullet growing. Larger and larger to swallow them whole, blood running down Rada's face. Then Rada turned, and gave Agnes a pretty human smile. And more than that, Rada gave Agnes all the little attentions. Flowers, kisses, sweet little nothings obliterating the world around Agnes, leaving only Rada. Because Agnes had wanted for a happy relationship, a normal, stereotypical relationship with everything a movie has in there. And it was Rada's raison d'être. Now Agnes followed Rada's whims like a puppet. The beast was undying, and it wouldn't let her die either. No more occult. Rada wouldn't let her, she was all the occult she would ever need. Rada bought the home, bought the ring, and finally, asked for Agnes' hand. Her smile was as warm as a skull's. Agnes mustered the weakest of "yes," and Rada pulled her in for a kiss with her iron grip, a kiss that smelled like death and murder. Then she kissed her again, more forceful, and again, until she drew blood from Agnes' lips, until Agnes lifted her foot slightly like in the movies. "Mom, dad, this is my girlfriend," Agnes didn't resist. She had invited hell into a life she didn't like, she couldn't fight it, wouldn't try to. Mom and dad were hostile, they would never accept a gay daughter. Rada remained polite and smiling. When they left, Agnes felt she would never see her parents again. The day came, to say yes at the church. Rada had organized everything. It was a little church in a village bordering the mountains. Autumn tainted the trees red and golden. Agnes was in a black car before the church, in a white bridal dress. The doors opened, out came Rada, in a similar dress. She took her by the hand, and led her inside. The doors stayed open. The place was packed. Everyone was there. Friends, even her parents. She did see them again. They were held in place with nails, a smile carved on their faces. The priest was pale and gaunt, barely alive as he spoke to the two angelic brides. "Do you want to take Rada here as wife?" Agnes, just as pale, could only nod. The corpses in the public cackled and croaked. "Do you want to take Agnes here as wife?" "Yes." The warmth in her word could melt off the flesh from a face. The corpses bloated and gurgled as the heat washed over them, dried blood replaced with fresh flowing crimson, the stone floor covered with a shiny coat, wetting the bridal dresses. "Then I hereby declare you, wife and wife." The priest's neck cracked, he fell lifeless on the altar. Rada grabbed Agnes' neck with a hand that could crush skulls. The glasspanes shivered. The corpses burst and applauded with their bony hands, viscera coating floor and walls as Rada's lips approached Agnes'. A storm picked up in that frozen instant, when madness had become the new normal and Agnes' mind was shattered into a thousand glass shards. A gust of wind slammed the church's door shut right before they kissed.

You were absolutely clueless about girls till you met her.Blessed with the twin gifts of being broke and a nerd with a taste for the occult ,you managed to convince a very powerful spirit to be your girlfriend. Now it's Christmas and your family is demanding to see her.

Aberdyf hates their local supervillain. At least, that is the claim made the city. *WANTED: FIREBLOOD, ALIVE. HER CAPTURE: $15,000 REWARD.* The graffitis of Fireblood across the bricks, her slasher grin cut wide and true, like milk and honey in her teeth. The whispers of Fireblood's name on the streets, like a manic spectre giddy and giddier to reap. Was there any surprise why? Fireblood is, like her name, a *firebrand.* She would do what she wanted, wherever and whenever she wanted. "This is my show!" Fireblood cackled, that month before May. "An' I ain't letting y'all off easy." Fireblood's glitter-bomb descended across Aberdyf. It resulted in many irritated businessmen, cursing at the incessant sparkles that would *never* get out of their suit, rounds of dry-cleaning be damned. That was one of the many events Fireblood stole the city with. The Glitter Bomb. The Great Unleash of the Shelter Puppies. The Helping Grandmas Cross the Street in a Wicked Way Day. Her philosophy was tried and true: *make chaos, and make it delightful.* The state didn't see it that way. "We've had *enough* of Aberdyf's asinine villain. Bring someone in to finish her off." That month after May, a new superhero came to town. Her name was Desolation and she was *devastating.* Dark, sculpted to perfection, with a nightingale necklace hanging from her throat. To call her destruction incarnate would be underselling it. The state knew her as a solitary spectre, a thing more machine than man. If there was anyone that would put a stop to Fireblood's schemes, it would be her. Fireblood's first scheme after Desolation's arrival was that of flowers. She bought a store's worth of roses and threw them out on the streets, spelling out a *"HI, DESOLATION!!!"* out in the road. Upon the next street was: *"CAN WE BE FRIENDS?"* There was never an answer. But the next scheme came—this time in June—and Fireblood made stars. She decorated the skyscrapers and the antennas with strands and strands of smiley stars. When night came, the glow doused the night: like fireflies. (They tried to get Fireblood for public desecration of property. But the processing papers suddenly went missing, the next day. To this day, nobody knows who did it; but there were rumours of the flash of a dark cape, twisting out of the precinct.) July. Firework displays. August. Turtle Day. September. Light Up The Skylight. Each was attended by Aberdyf and Fireblood herself, her grin and gloat the same: *"This is my show!"* But there was something a little different about Fireblood's antics. They became extra showy. The fireworks contorted into hearts and grins and other ridiculous shapes. The turtles carried on them crayon hearts on their shells, every single one of the hundreds. The skylight spelled out an announcement. *THIS IS FIREBLOOD SPEAKING,* it said. *THANKS FOR BEIN' MY FRIEND!* September drew the attention of the state. They called in Aberdyf to ask about Desolation. Whether she was faring well against their most notorious villain. *Why*, Aberdyf replied. *Desolation* couldn't *have done a better job.* On October, Desolation didn't show up to Fireblood's grand Free Candy To All villainy. Desolation was, in fact, sick at home: nursing a cough and a terrible case of flashbacks. (Tragic backstory-related; don't ask.) Upon the next day, a sizeable stash of Fireblood's own gains from the event was missing. (Some say they saw Fireblood enter a house, to which a winded cough came from, with four rucksack-fulls of candy bags. Fireblood came out empty-handed with a stupid grin on her lips.) November was the resumption of Fireblood and Desolation's usual dance. That is: Fireblood showed up to dazzle the whole of Aberdyf with her voice through an extra-sonic mic, and Desolation, as always, was conspicuously missing. Curiously, November was when Fireblood's catchphrase changed. "This is *my* show!" turned into "This is *our* show!" Few out of the city took note. They believed it to be of little importance. Barely worth Aberdyf's headlines. But Aberdyf knew that Fireblood had fallen, and fallen deep. In December, Fireblood made cardboard boxes of fake presents and left them under Aberdyf's many, many trees. In December, a dark hero with a nightingale necklace finally descended between Fireblood's path. In her hands was a rose, twined with a tag. "Happy holidays, Fireblood." *Thank you for your friendship — Desolation.* So it is fair to say: Aberdyf hates their local supervillain. They hate her so that there is a celebration every year, called *Phoenix Season.* There, artists take the streets like vigilantes take to patrol. Their brushes twist on the bricks. From the events 12-months past, they create. The stupid-wide grin. The sparkle in her eyes. The pretty mania of her mouth. The fireworks going off. The eureka insanities. The graffitis of Fireblood's dance.

Nobody really wants to stop the local supervillain, for one nobody ever gets hurt in their wacky schemes, and two the schemes are so wacky and zany it is hard to tell which if any laws were broken

"Honey, we need to have a talk." I sit down. My fingers twitch, and I do my best to distract myself by fiddling with the dragon pendant in my hands. It's Kate's pendana gift she gave me on our one month anniversary. I have a good idea what this is about. "Look—" I blurt out. "—If the problem is that Kate's a girl, I'm *sorry,* but I can't change who I am. Mom, *please* try to understand." My Mom stares at me. The excruciating moments are. *Excruciating.* Finally, she chuckles. My eyes narrow. *Why is she laughing?* "... No," Mom says, smiling. "No, that is not the issue. I actually wanted to talk to you about Kate's family." "What about them?" I knew that Kate's father was the Dread Highlord, of course. The *Cilirens* were synonymous in 'civilian' name and their identities as warlords. Kate *Ciliren* came with her supervillain name and all, but you wouldn't know it bumping into her on the street (and spilling your coffee on her, and through your stuttering apologies realise that she's strikingly pretty, then accidentally asking her out on a date because you wanted to get her "a replacement coffee"). They're villains. That's what Mom's gonna say. She'll buy into all the propaganda and the superhero-hate of villains, in spite of the Villains Deserve Better movement. I grow a little braver. "Mom. Don't tell me that you're okay with me being gay but *not* with dating someone that's in a 'super'—" I do the air-quotes, "—villain family." "It's not..." Mom sighs. "... It's not the villainy. Well, partially." "Exactly!" "I'm a superhero." *What.* "What?" I laugh nervously. Mom, unfortunately, is not looking at me like she's joking. "Okay, Mom." My mind whirls into hyperdrive. Maybe Mom's a hobbyist hero. Taking down the petty criminals for the fun of it, like the Mommy's A Hero Bloggers. Or maybe she's a part-time, clock-in-and-out hero. Cold Crow. Long Swan. That's more *intense,* but it isn't crazy. Crazy like her being the big-shots. Quantum Colossus. Black Star. Or, god forbid, *Godspot*. "I mean... everyone needs hobbies... especially during a midlife crisis, I guess..." I whisper. I'm still giggling. "... Mom, as long as you're not gonna tell me you're Godspot, we're good." Silence. "... Mom?" My Mom chews her lip. "*You're* Godspot?!" She *looks* at me. That's all the answer I need. Oh my god. That explains everything. Why Mom's been so insistent on me not dating Kate. Why we're sitting down right *here* and now having this talk. The Cilirens and Godspot are *sworn* enemies. Holy fucking shit. Why is my life like this? "Now... I'm not disapproving of your relationship," Mom says. "But I wanted you to know. Just so you're aware of the full extent of what you're getting yourself into, Yun." Yeah, totally. My brain feels shot open. "Thanks for that..." I whisper, hoarse. Man. I'm not gonna sleep in weeks.

You’re mother is secretly a superhero, a fact you’re not aware of until you start dating one of her super villains.

In this moment, I may be the most spoken about figure in all of Greece. In a day, I will be executed and buried in history. I wonder what Socrates would think. My name is Aristofanes, general of the Spartan army. Born and bred to be the finest warrior, mind sharpened for tactics and strategy. We rarely used these tactics. Mostly it was about putting down the slaves. Quite the annoyance to have a dozen slave for every warrior, we have to cull them every now and then. Often, actually. But it's in the blood to want for a worthy opponent. I came to hope I would see it before a slave revolt would bring us low. Crazy thought for a spartan, but with only war at home to ponder the future, I came to think that having so few warriors may be our downfall. But then, going against our two kings and rewriting tradition was a surefire way to get me exiled. Besides. I had my wish. They called themselves the Delian league. Smart move, Pericles, smart move. I can think of no other figure as hated as Pericles. Where we built strength, he encouraged philosophy. We culled, he nurtured. We trained, he promoted mathematics. We have kings, he proposed debates. But the wise lion has sharp fangs. The Delian league was a coalition of city states to stand against our encroaching presence. Soon the league was forgotten, absorbed by the city state of Athens, to face the city state of Sparta. He had planned it all, centralize power to be certain to stand a chance. We longed for the fight, and they were rising up to meet our expectations. I am mighty, but I am smart. Athens had underhanded tactics, Sparta needed me to even the odds. And I had the gifts to catch up with accents fast. So I was sent to spy on Athens. Oh, did I mock them, the bickering ducks on their plazas, disagreeing about the war, Athens, themselves. Weak men, leaves carried by the wind, to be crushed against our iron. I saw Him, at the Parthenon. Did I laugh. Did I wonder. Frictions, and the inevitable war broke out. Inevitable, because we wanted it, in our own way. So I did what I was sent to do, get information, transmit information. They ached for a great battle. Almost like gentlemen, they agreed on the sea. The first battle of the Peloponnesian war, maybe the last. Get information, transmit information. So I gave Athens our ways to fight at sea. I told our enemy how to face us, slaughter us. We lost the battle because of me. Our fleet reduced to ashes. Why? Because I'm engraving this, something I wouldn't have done in Sparta. Because we don't write, we don't create, don't debate for long periods. Oh, the Athenians bicker, but it does something for the mind. I came back home to await death by Athenian hands... And Athenians became careless, arrived in droves on our shores, our land, our territory. They could have won the war. Instead, they came like brutes, set themselves up to lose. Captured survivors of the disastrous land battle told my brothers how they won at sea, and their eyes turned on me. They kept me alive, to see. The slow erosion of a civilization. Athens, bled dry. Philosophy dying, survivors too busy staying alive. And me, in a cell, being told how the war went. Athens, last stone turned to dust. And yet... I see it in my captors eyes, the infection spreading. Mathematics and philosophy gaining a solid foot. The stones are broken, but some tablets remain. So I laugh, at the eve of my execution. In a hundred generations, we will be a footnote in history, with fantasy to fill in the blanks and myself forgotten. But Athens will have an echo, a word in the stone that will prevail, and spread I laugh. Tomorrow, I will be no more. Just a leave carried by the wind. I laugh.

Your reign as Emperor was wildly unpopular. In accordance with the Roman practice of Damnatio Memoriae, society has committed to collectively forgetting you. Before the execution, you scribble down a few notes that might survive.

I believe I can say with some confidence that I am among the very last of my kind. Over the years my kin have dwindled and diminished. Some were hunted and killed by your kind. Out of fear, or fun, or to take our power. Others seemed simply to grow weary, lost their passion for the world and its ever decreasing wonders, and in time faded away. A few of us still remain of course, the world is after all a bigger and stranger place than your kind give it credit. We each of us have, or had, our role or duty. Some of us hung the dewy cobwebs on a fresh spring morn. Others conducted the sonorous rumble of a thunder clap. Or dusted the delicate patterns of a winter’s frost upon your window pane. Gave every star in the sky its twinkle. All these things still go on of course. But no hand guides them, no mind directs what arrangement or composition should look most pleasing. Now it is nothing more than brute nature at play, without intent or artistry. If your elders tell you that the world used to be a more vibrant, beautiful place they are correct. The world also used to be a far more dangerous and capricious place, so make of that what you will I don’t know if the need for us has diminished, but it certainly seems that the desire for us has. The world that your kind has built no longer seems to want us in it. Day by day we find a little less space for us, a little less welcome for us. Nevertheless I still go about my appointed duty, humble as it may be. My purpose, if you wish to consider it that, is to set the course of the glittering motes which dance and twirl in a sunbeam. It is graceful work, perhaps not as showy or bombastic as others. It has never attracted much attention, and I have not the notoriety of some of my fellowes such as Jack Frost or Jack o' the Green. I was never well known at the best of times, my name long since lost to history. No, I shall not divulge it here. I believe I have an entry in *Munroe's Glossary of the Occult*, though he does include one or two inaccuracies. Even so, I doubt any copies remain. It is for the best, there is a power in names. To know a thing's name is to single it out amongst all of the wide world, to rip it free from it and hold it in isolation. It is no mere thing. Which is why it was an immensely distressing feeling to hear my name spoken without warning or preamble, for the first time in nearly a thousand years. I felt myself being summoned. It was an irresistible pull. Every piece of my being, grasped at and dragged screeching across the world. My very nature contained and held upon the tip of someone’s tongue. I had only a moment to divest myself of the quotidian attire I wore and robe myself in my formal raiment. In the blink of an eye I was there. I stood before a young girl, no older than five or six. She paid me no heed. She sat on the floor, her attention focused on some crude rag doll held in her hands. I allowed myself a moment to gather my thoughts and take stock of my new surroundings. A simple garden, grass neatly trimmed, a wooden fence, its paint well faded. Ahead of me, a rather ugly looking box of a house. “Ahem…” I politely coughed, hoping to attract the attention of my summoner. Startled by the noise she looked up and saw me before her. The mild look of apprehension on her face dissolved in an instant, her eyes grew wide and a joyous smile lit up her face. She repeated my name, which I shall not record here, in an excited cry and awkwardly clambered to her feet. I bowed low as etiquette and custom dictated. “You have summoned me. Though I know not how you have come across my name. By the roots of the rivers and the bones of the earth, I am bound to heed your command.” She merely giggled. Undaunted I continued: “Where did you learn my name? From which ancient tome or loose lipped spirit was the information pried?” “It’s your name silly, nobody had to tell me it.” the girl replied. She thrust forward her hand, in which was gripped the dirty rag doll. Peering closer at the repugnant trinket I did begrudgingly notice a crude similarity in garb and mien between it and myself. I began to form an awful suspicion in my head. “You named this doll yourself I suppose?” “Yes! It’s a funny name. Do you like it?” “Quite so.” My pride well and truly picked, I made ready to put this embarrassing situation far behind me. “Well if you would excuse me I would depart” So spoken I drew myself up to my full height and tried to maintain as dignified an air as was possible given the circumstances. “No I want to play” she exclaimed, as I felt myself sag in response. The old rules dictated that I was unable to disappear without her leave. I was for all intents her prisoner though she didn’t know it. I would obey her commands until she was satisfied with my service and let me go. “Very well child, if that is what you require of me, then we shall… play.” With that, she skipped off towards the bottom of her garden where a small hawthorn copse lay. She paused and beckoned for me to follow. Reluctantly, though unavoidably, I accompanied her. It has been two years since that day and she still refuses to dismiss me. In that time I have discovered that I am quite proficient at ‘Hide & Seek’ and though I am loathe to admit it, I do pride myself on the quality of my flower crowns. Now I‘m afraid I must leave you. I have a tea party to attend and it is rude to keep one’s host waiting.

You are an ancient folk spirit so old, your name and even your actual purpose have long been lost to history. Nowadays, you go by a fairly generic name and just go through the motions of what you're actually supposed to do. One day, to your surprise, you hear someone call you by your true name.

Im not that old I just got tired of constantly winning… Time after time after time, I would set out my desires and hopes of a new and improved world. But society and each persons role has its effect on how the world views a person no matter the good done instead of bad done. So instead of fighting for what I believed what a ”free” world looked like, I retired. I finally just quit. Realizing how nieve I was, trying to “save the people from themselves“ I left. Hero’s knew they couldn’t keep me locked up. The finest and most overpowered prisons couldn’t keep me hidden away like a lonely bird in a cage. So I made a deal with the US government, give me a small peice of land on top of a mountain, free from laws and society’s formed beliefs of what “hero’s“ were. All of this in exchange for them never hav8ng to worry about me again. That was 30 years ago. Many have forgotten my name and what I stood for. On top of this Mountain im not alone. A kitten lay on my doorstep on day. I waited, but the mother did not return. I knew if I had not bring the poor thing inside either the beasts of the woods would kill it or the cold would. I told myself “just one day”. Well that day turned into a week, and then a month. And by that point it was too late. I couldn’t let anything know where I made my home, otherwise I might face trouble again. Or atleast that’s what I told myself. I’m just kidding. Mabey just Mabey I had taken a liking to the cat. Mike, that’s what I named him. A normal name for a not so normal cat. The cat was always trying to steal a little more food. Weather it was from my plate or if I accidentally left the fridge open. He liked to explore. He got out so many times that I didn’t even try to stop him anymore. It didn’t matter what time he left, but he was always back a 4pm. Thats exactly why I got concerned for my little friend when the clock read 6:30pm and he still wasn’t back. Thats when I realized the old answering machine had a new message. “Revolutionary“ (my old Villan name) “We know your up their and recently we have been hearing screams coming from up there, we’ve took your cat and we’re willing to give him back if you give yourself up.” Screams? Were they talking about the screaming goats up here? Are they really that dumb. Guess I really wasn’t done in the villain world. (I have school to get to so I will update if anyone wants me to. Sorry for any mistakes in the writing I’m typing this on an iPad.😭.) Update: (I didn’t expect it to get as much love as it did so I will keep writing but it might be slightly rushed) I groaned in annoyance as I realized I had to break out the old costume that lay in the back of my closet as well as the back of my mind. I thought I would never have to look again but something prevented me from throwing it away. Maybe it was because of the great memories that lay with it, or maybe it was because I knew a day would come when I would have to pick it back up. I did a brief stretch and took a deep breath before I used my powers of ”life and death”. ”Life and Death” was a power of being able to make any plant grow and help me fight. Essentially I could make a whole army just out of plants. The only downside was if they got to big or if made too much in a short amount of time, the plants would release a toxic gas that first, disabled powers, two is extremely flammable, and three that only I was immune to. Thats how I lost my parents. The most known super hero‘s, Mr and Mrs Time. They could reverse time or speed it up. When I accidentally killed them with this power during training, I was tourtured and experimented on bye so called hero’s to see if they could fine a cure for whatever the toxin was that I produced. Why is this important? Because I figured out it was these hero’s offspring that took my cat. I know it… With the help of my creations I traveled at impossible speeds. I knew exactly where their base was because of course I had a chip in my cat. What good owner wouldn’t? And their base was under only the most popular tourist spot in the great city of hero’s. Using my plants it wasn’t that hard to get past the guards and quickly find the men responsible. I wasnt just going to kill them. That would be to easy, and too nice. No no no, these men deserved humiliation, pain, and popularity. “Why the last one? Why popularity?” Ohhhh I want the people to remember. I want them to remember why they feared me. I wrapped the building in the plants. I could already hear the commotion and fear. But I wasn’t done. I broke through the building and hovered above allthat passed by. Quickly grabbing the police cars and the people inside as they approached. It wasn’t hard but I made sure people knew that I was more then they could handle. (TW this paragraph gets graphic)”REVOLUTIONARY unhand the people!!” The young hero shouted. “Oh so you know my name?” Nerds from the crown warned all of my past. I could hear the whispers but I dismissed them. None of that was important compared to my little friend. “None of that’s important now” I cut him off before he could answer “Now” , I growled “WHERE IS HE?” People screamed, children cried into their mothers arms, and he wouldn’t answer. I game him a good squeeze. Bones cracked loudly and he screamed. His peers looked in horror at the scene. He started speaking before stopping to puke blood,”He was in the building but now,” he paused “now he’s probably been crushed”. The hero smirked. I felt anger like no other. It was almost inhuman. A kind of roar that could burst eardrums. I first felt like I had been shot in the chest, I didn’t care now I was thirsty for blood… I squeezed Him like a balloon untill he popped. It looked like the town was orgianally painted red as his peers popped along with him. At that point I realized I had gone too far and my plant gas’s had started roaming. People were dropping like flys as I realized how far I had gone. Back to my home I retreated, but only after useing whatever strength I had to cover the entire town in plants. Yet another civilization‘s destruction returned to natures grasp. Back to my home I went. Ready to lay down for external sleep. (Ok that’s the end)(I hope everyone liked it again apologies for any grammar or spelling mistakes) (Merry Christmas!) (Or happy holidays depending on where you are in the world).

You are a retired supervillain living your days with your beloved cat. However, the new generation of heroes has decided to steal your cat as a hostage. Unaware of your past as the worlds most feared and powerful super villain

There is a delicate art to subtlety. To be able to say 'fuck me' without actually coming out and *saying* it is something that humanity has spent a *long* time sorting out. The same goes for 'fuck you'. I may have, uh...gotten it a bit wrong. Sure, the opening salvo may have been a little...effervescent, on the hatred scale. I mean, it seemed fairly clear to *me* that a tricky-to-care-for fruit tree, along with a bird to eat all the actual *fruit*, meaning you had to put forward effort with no reward was meant as a giant middle finger, but I can see how it wouldn't be taken that way. The bird *is* kinda pretty, in a certain light. Plus, one bird won't eat *all* that much fruit. That was probably it. Lesson learned- more birds. So I sent over these pigeon-things. If ever there was a bird that conveyed 'I fart in your general direction', it's the pigeon. Plus, it's not actually a pigeon, so people will freak out if you just *kill* them. Subtlety is a delicate art. And as I said, I may have been a little bit *too* delicate about it. Okay, message still not received. Maybe more birds? Chickens eat a lot, and *shit* a lot, and if you make them fancy, so you can't just stick 'em in a stew... Yeah. That should do it, right? Turns out, not so much. All right, I think I've got it. Those other birds are *quiet*. Sure, they can be a pain in the butt, but they're not that hard to put out of your mind most of the time. Time for birds that make *noise*. Okay. *That* didn't work, either. While thinking of my next *real* move, I sent over a bunch of cheap rings from a thrift shop. Some society or other has to have a 'fuck you' ring, right? If nothing else, feels like crushed dreams. This backfired too, naturally. And then I got it. Yes, it's more birds, but sometimes you've gotta keep on theme. Because geese are *assholes*, and do you know the one thing that makes them more assholeish? When they've got kids to protect. So I send over a bunch of brooding mother geese, which is honestly, at most, a half-step below openly assaulting someone in the supermarket. But sometimes the time comes to abandon subtlety in favor of a seventeen-stanza poem entitled "This Is Why You Suck Donkey Dick". And it *still didn't work*! I tried reinforcing the geese with some swans, but no go. I mean, the expense of caring for the birds alone...a pear tree just doesn't produce that much food. How haven't they figured it out yet? So I send a bunch of prostitutes in milkmaid costumes to interrupt a family dinner. You'd think that sending strippers with tits the size of watermelons and outfits that show them off would be a bit much for mom and dad, but apparently not. Fine. I wait until there's an *extended* family dinner going on, and dispense of the 'milkmaid' cover- these are just straight-up strippers. This, apparently, actually went over pretty well. And I mean, yeah, pole dancing *is* pretty dang impressive from an athletics standpoint, but... C'mon, have some damn prudishness! Maybe a different type of message is needed. Maybe they simply didn't think to *fear* me. Foolish, but fixable. So I get out all my dirt on local politicians, and have them do a nice, embarrassing dance out where my target can see. "If I can get *these* guys to do *this*, then you should probably be afraid of me." Hey, guess what didn't work at all? The end of subtlety. Time to be blunt. I send over a bunch of pipers to play offensive tunes. "Fuck You", "Fucked With an Anchor", "So What". The lack of vocals may, in retrospect, have caused the whole thing to continue to be misconstrued. Especially since I sent them over in the middle of the night, just to be annoying. Hard to pick out a tune when you're barely awake. So, as my trump card, I send over drummers to drum the *whole damn night*. Along with a giant sign that says "Fuck you", just to make it abundantly clear that, y'know... Fuck you! I don't know how, exactly, the wires got crossed, but now I've got my most hated foe naked in my bed, surrounded by rose petals that they strewed about while I was out trying to figure out how to explain to them that I freaking hate them. They're talking about writing a damn *song*. This is why you should never be subtle.

On the sixth day I gave them 6 ferocious honking beasts. How they still haven't understood my declaration of war is baffling to me.

I had never been a productive member of society before the End. Time changes us all, as they say, and after a fashionable time off spent digging myself out of a pile of concrete, I came to the realization that the world had changed, and so did I. The daycare was, at first, more an orphanage than a daycare. I gathered little survivors who had lost their parents. At first they were afraid, and they cried, but surviving the worst had made me a new man. I had gained patience and empathy, two traits I never though I possessed. One by one, they came to accept me as their foster parent. After a fashion, some of their parents who they though dead found my little orphanage. They came to me with humble gratefulness and took back their kid. Some of them I never saw again, yet most of them came back on a regular basis. Everyday, during foraging and warring hours, raiders, nomads and techno-barbarians started using my services as a keeper. A children keeper. There must be a word for that job, but I never bothered to learn it. Yet I did it splendidly. My orphanage slowly morphed into a daycare. My daycare became a haven of peace in a wasteland otherwise known for it's murderous ghouls, barbarians and mutants. The parents would thank me, at first sheepishly, then earnestly. Mortal enemies would sometimes meet while on my ground, and they would ignore one another. Everybody came to know that the daycare was a new form of holy ground. A place of peace in a brutal world. I still had to keep them in line from time to time, though. All children keepers must know that kind of parent: "Mister Longshot? May we have a chat? I've heard little Wink speak ill of Tadpole's parents. It lead to a nasty fight between them." "It has?" "Yes. I could convince them to make peace after a while, so all is good, yet... *could you please* keep the warmongering talk outside of your kid's life, at least for a couple more years?" "I, uuuh... yes, for sure. I'll be careful for now on. Thank you for letting me know." "Thank you... who?" The warlord shrank a little bit. Although being in my shadow, he started sweating. "Thank you, Doctor Apocalypse. Thanks for everything."

You run a daycare after the apocalypse. An unspoken rule among the wastelanders says the Daycare is off-limits to all. You raise the children of warlords, chieftains, and nomads.

Steam rose from the cup, one I didn't recognise. I looked at it warily, unsure if I should trust it or not. The Grim Reaper leaned its scythe against the wall, before sighing. "It isn't poisoned or anything. I don't take lives. But you do need to drink it. It will make more sense when you do." I felt myself shake. The embodiment of death itself was telling me to do something. I had never been a fan of tea, but I couldn't really say that. I watched the contents ripple as I brought it up to my mouth, my hands betraying my fear. I sipped it with a wince, expecting it to be bad. To my surprise it was actually nice. Still nit something I would choose, but the flavour had a soft edge to it, something unidentifiable. It was almost hot, but not to the point of being undrinkable. All in all, I wasn't upset with having it. I slowly drank it, watching the Reaper. It stood there quietly, watching me in my bed. It was weird. The whole situation was weird. But I couldn't exactly say anything about it. Not without possibly angering the Grim Reaper. I was pretty sure that was a bad idea. As I finished the tea, I felt much calmer. I probably should have been terrified at this point, waking up and seeing Death before me. It being here and watching me would only make it worse. But I didn't feel fear at all. Instead, I felt curious. "Thank you. That was nice." It reached out to take the cup, making it vanish as it pulled away. "You are welcome. Now you are ready to hear what I have to say. As mentioned, it is not you I am here for. Its the house, or rather the location." It ran a bony finger up the wall. The paint cracked, splitting open to show an inky black void. "A long time ago, this was a crossover point, where the barrier between life and death grows thin. I use it to guide souls to the afterlife, as an easy exit point. But ever since the house was built here, it's been imperative for me to speak with the owner." It sighed, bringing a hand to the side of the split. Death seized the edge, somehow pulling the tear together. It sealed without a mark, no trace of it ever have existing. "You see, with the number of souls I bring, there will be supernatural phenomenon. Cold spots, maybe banging doors. Nothing much, but still some. If you try and exorcise the house, as people have been known to do, it makes it harder to do my job. The rites temporarily strengthen the barrier, meaning I have to wear it down again to lead souls through." I nodded. It made sense to me. I'm sure there was something in the tea that made this easier for Death, but I had one question. "Um, do I get anything in return?" It laughed, a dry but comforting sound. "Oh but of course. I can't do money, or anything major like that. But I can look out for you. So if you are to get into an accident, you will be unharmed. You will be able to fight off illnesses. Its not true immortality, but I will make sure you live as long and as healthy as you can do." I nodded my head again. "That seems reasonable, thank you." The Reaper picked up its scythe, before speaking with a world weary attitude. "Excellent. Now I must go. There is much work for me to do. Rest and live well."

You wake up, and in front of you stands the grim reaper. A cup of tea is handed to you, and a sigh fills the room. "Don't worry, it's not you, it's the house."

Nobody knew me unless I allowed them to. It's not out of any particular need for anonymity. It's just because that's the way I am. When I fight crime, they call me Reversal. Well, I called myself that--when I was younger, I cared a bit more about staying under the radar, and it dampens your dating life a little when men find out the petite, cute blonde they want to take home at the end of the night is actually a superhero who kicks ass and takes names during her lunch break. I guess it challenges their masculinity or something. So I called myself Reversal and kept my power on low burn all the time. Anytime someone _tried_ to get to know me, my power would force them the other way. In the end, those walls meant to protect me only succeeded in keeping out the good ones and letting the scumbags in. When I finally figured out that those kinds of men aren't even worth my time, I gave up the ruse. I took off the mask. I updated my online dating profile with my superhero name in parentheses right there next to my real name. "Alicia Landrew, a.k.a. Reversal, accountant by trade and butt-kicking crime-fighter in my time off!" The funny thing was, though, that no one believed me! For the longest time, they thought it was a joke! And admittedly, it took a while for me to fully dropkick that old habit of keeping my reversal powers on low burn out of my life, but even then, most of my friends just said, "Uh-huh, yeah, okay, sure, Li, you're a superhero." "Yeah, Joan, my face is literally plastered over every news article!" "Oh, right, I _did_ get a push notification about that this morning. Cool, bro. Hey, are we still on for lunch later?" I guess all we really see truly is nothing more than what we want to see. I suppose that's why I agreed to meet up with Matthew. In the old days of masking my identity, I might have been very suspicious of getting a match with the one guy in the city who looked very, extremely, _uncannily_ similar to the visor-clad supervillain Quantum Malice terrorizing the city in recent weeks. Surely, I once would have thought, this means he discovered my identity and is trying to get close to attack! But I let my guard down. With the whole world basically responding with one gigantic shrug to my virtual unmasking, I didn't think very hard about the possibility of Quantum Malice attacking me through a dating app. He probably wouldn't believe I'm a superhero, either, right? So I agreed to meet up for cakepops. Because, "I'll get _you_ coffee, if you want, but I'm not a coffee fiend, myself." The way he had said it was just cute enough to intrigue me, plus I'd never been asked out for cakepops before, so I went. The city's greatest superhero, going on a date with the city's newest supervillain. And later, its worst, most destructive, most notorious supervillain. Matthew was a troubled soul. And that's when I finally admitted to myself my sheer stupidity, the flaw with being a superhero in the dating game. Now, the villains I faced were not just villains. They were _people_. It completely changed how I approached heroism. Because I could not just defeat Matthew in combat. I could not lay a hand on him. I loved him. I _loved_ him. I absolutely, wholly, truly, wonderfully, loved my archnemesis. And that's how I fought him. I loved him. Every date, every conversation, every late night sharing secrets, I loved him. Every part of him. Did he know that I was Reversal? Of course--I never hid it. Did he believe it? I think so. I truly think so. And that drew me to him, too. He believed me. And I know he believed me because he chose me as his archnemesis. He, as Quantum Malice, rose up against me, as Reversal, at every turn. And finally, people began to see. Once we gave them something to look at, they began to watch. Hero Reversal and Villain Quantum Malice, veritable gods eternally clashing in an endless dance of good versus evil! He _had_ to have known all along, he _had_ to have believed me, because he would not have aided in giving me a name otherwise. And he always, always, let me win. That was how I knew he loved me. He stopped being a supervillain for just himself. He used it to support me, never hurt me. He loved me, and it made him a better person. And I like to think he made me a better person, too, even if he did not know it. I no longer cared about whether everyone else believed I was a superhero. He knew, and he cared, and I realized that was all I wanted. Did he know I knew he was actually the supervillain Quantum Malice? I highly doubt it. He would not have kept up the charade if he had. But that was okay. Because the son of a bitch finally got his act together and proposed.

You are a superhero who decided to not have a secret identity. In fact, you don't even have a costume, you regularly fight crime in you work clothes. Yet the media and your enemies act like they don't know who you are. Even your friends seem to forget unless you remind them.

The God of Thunder blended in surprisingly well amongst the sea of red chairs and 50s themed decor. He had opted to stray away from his usual attire of armor and metal wear, not trying to disguise himself, but rather he had found he was served faster when he didn't look so out of place. Though his hammer remained on the table unchanged as a personal statement of power. Across the diner an elderly woman scuttled over, having seen Thor's fifth plate of steak and eggs near empty. "Excuse me deary, let me get that." she spoke, grabbing his many plates and piling them high. Then she reached over, lifted Mjolnir, wiped underneath, and placed the hammer back to the table gently. Thor's face dropped. From a grin to a wide-eyed, mouth agape stare. As if in agreement a lock of his long red hair drooped in front of his face. "Penny..." Thor whispered, a feat he had great trouble with and came out as more of a quiet yell. "Yes deary? Is there anything I can do for you?" "Was that not heavy?" Penny looked confused as she turned back to face him. "The plates? Oh no sweetie, I have been doing this a long time" "No. The hammer. Was the hammer not heavy? I find most men have...trouble with it." Penny balanced her stack of plates in one hand and reached for the hammer with the other, lifting it once more with little effort. "No dear, it seems just fine to me. Can I get you anything else?" "I uh...no. No ma'am" Thor had suddenly lost his appetite. As Penny waddled off the God of Thunder lifted his hammer from the table, just to be sure. As he touched it a spark of lighting shot through his hand, assuring him that he still posessed the power of a god. But more importantly showing him that his fathers enchantment still remained. Meanwhile Penny wandered behind the counter, tray of plates still in hand. She smiled on as Thor juggled the hammer in uncertainty between his hands. As he doubted himself, or perhaps became more uncertain of others. Sometimes, fooling others is not about grand gestures. Not about elaborate schemes. Sometimes it's as easy as placing a seed of doubt into someone so arrogant that they've never quite felt such things. Sometimes it was as easy as becoming a frail, old woman in a diner and waiting. Loki laughed to himself within his disguise, staring to Thor from behind the dessert rack until he left, admiring his work *Now, who can I be next?* he thought. And Thor, well Thor had learned early on that sometimes being a good brother meant letting the other have a win.

Thor finishes his meal at a small cafe and the elderly waitress approaches him to clean the table. She puts the dishes on a tray and sets them aside, picks up Mjolnir, wipes the table with a damp cloth, then puts the hammer back down. "Have a good evening, dear." she says, and returns to work.

Life was never easy for Jackson. In a world where a lucky few would get powers, he had won the lottery. Yet, with that he was robbed of other things. He was robbed of control, given a power so great that only a nullification collar could keep it at bay. Through the years of bullying from others, he had grown into a timid and shy teen. Afraid of another part of himself that everyone seemed to embrace. Jackson was walking around the mall, carefully surveying every person and corner. Perhaps it was paranoia, but the last thing he wanted was for the collar to come off. It resembling more of a worn leather shackle more than anything. However, today he was a bit too careless. Passing by the hangout of the bullies that had terrorized him. Never a day went by that he wasn't made fun of for the collar he was wearing, or what he claimed to be unimaginable power. Jackson suddenly felt a pulsing in his head, and his body forcefully froze. Like an instant suspended in time, he had been on the receiving end of this power before. Several times. It belonged to the leader of the bullies named Ryan. He had inherited the power to forcefully seize control of people from his mother, who for all her kindness couldn't discipline a child worth a damn. Three bullies surrounded Jackson, all while he regained control of his head. Ryan having his hands in his pockets with a confident smirk. "If it isn't the boy with immeasurable power that wears a bondage collar." Ryan chuckled "Ryan...Please don't...You can stop this! I won't tell anyone, I promise!" Jackson cried out Ryan shaking his head, his smirk becoming more devious. He wanted to shatter Jackson's delusions of having power *greater* than him. And expose him for the powerless faker he always was. Two of the bullies then slammed Jackson to the ground, causing him to scream. The third one keeping his legs still. Ryan began to approach, kneeling down beside him all with a big grin. "Now, time to remove the shitty collar once and for all." "Wait..! Ryan! Please! Don't do it! You have no idea what will happen if you remove it!" Jackson pleaded. "Oh shut the fuck up. I already know that *nothing* will happen when it's removed." Ryan then tore off the collar, but once he did the area began to darken. No, it was more like something was bleeding into reality. It was then he saw a vestige. A writhing mass of blisters, tendrils, and glowing orbs. Something then began leaking from his nose, as his friends collapsed around him he finally realized what he was staring at. Through the glowing orbs, he saw dreams and within those dreams he saw knowledge one could only dream of. The being above beings, and everything was just his dream. A loud snoring echoing through the mall, as Ryan's consciousness finally gave away from the terror of the father of all things- **Azathoth** Reality continued to splinter and crumble as the might of terror itself began encroach on the universe. The dream it had created was finally starting to unravel. However, louder than the snoring was the steady, melodic yet bone rattling beat of drums. It was **The Drummer** that played nonstop to keep Azathoth asleep. A single moment without the thundering sounds of drums and all the dreams created by it would vanish like the ephemeral existences they were. The thundering sound of drums signaled the invasion on reality, as people began to panic from the darkening mall. Glowing orbs forming into existence, then popping out just as quickly. Jackson in complete terror of what was unfolding, all unfolding because of him and his cursed power. People were dropping dead, as the dreams of Azathoth flooded into them showing the true nature of reality before they crumbled just as quickly. Jackson quickly reaching for his collar and wrapping it back around his neck, praying to whatever was out there that the invasion of reality from the source of his power would stop. The thundering of the drums ceased, the blight of orbs and tendrils fading away, and the blusterous snoring coming to an end. As the invading truth on the dream subsided. Jackson beginning to weep at all the carnage he caused. Yet again he was alone surrounded by bodies of people that had seen a glimpse of the father of existence.

You were always bullied for wearing a power dampening collar, They didn't know why you did. They saw it as some joke. You know why. Your power. It scares you. The terrible disgusting eldritch power of horror. One day they took it too far. Stealing your collar in a super shopping mall.

The Achathreytens’ initial strike had been a resounding success. Jets swatted like gnats. An aircraft carrier toppled like a toy. The humans were hopefully outmatched: outnumbered, outgunned, outwitted. But the second wave hadn’t reported back. The third managed to broadcast a short, strangled sob. Fearing that the fourth might go AWOL, the Commander had called a halt on the invasion until such a time as she could recalculate matters. But Xavtar the Destructor had heard about the Armada’s recent defeat, and so he had travelled to the Sol system with his personal retinue: giga-dreadnoughts crewed by the elite of the elite, ceremonial guards who were themselves so prodigiously talented and respected that they were afforded the rank of captain. Broadcasting on all channels, Xavtar had announced his intent to turn Earth’s oceans red with the blood of its children. Then… abject silence. Since then, he’d been unavailable to contact. “That’s because he’s dead,” said the aide-borg, detecting the Commander’s query. “What?” “Xavtar. They found him in an airlock with a lump of black sedimentary rock shoved down his throat and another one stuck in his…” “Why wasn’t I informed?!” The Achathreyten Commander demanded. “Xavtar was a platoon unto himself!” The aide-borg turned a holopage. “As I recall, you said you didn’t want to hear anything else about Earth’s mystical bullshit.” The Commander exhaled. “You’re saying that his death was somehow connected to the Nicholas myth.” “Not a myth,” someone muttered. The Commander whirled towards the wider deck, glaring around for the culprit. “Who said that?” “I did,” said a tech in the pit. “I said Nicholas isn’t a myth. I saw the Claus. I was on repair duty on the Defensible Escalation. I saw his dreadful Reign-Beasts rampage through the whole cruiser! Tore through it like paper!” “Guards, have this man thrown in the brig.” A guard crawled up through a floor hatch, scooped up the technician, and dragged him down into the depths of the ship. The Commander nodded, satisfied, and turned back to her aide-borg. “Now then. If we have quite finished wasting time on—” The aide-borg was gone. The Commander looked around, expecting to find him in the worker pit, or perhaps on the terminal balcony, but the bridge was now entirely empty. Defiantly void of crew. Then she heard the laugh. It was a strange laugh, more like the performance of laughter than the real thing. When she turned around, a rotund, smiling human was standing uncomfortably near. She reeled back, reached for her sidearm, but it was gone. “You’re on the list,” said the old man, rosy cheeked and jolly. The Commander staggered backwards, desperately seeking a weapon. Santa was broad and tall for a human but still shorter than the average Achathreyten. Yet the Commander flinched away from him, cringing and shrinking like an anemone prodded with a stick. “It’s not well known, even back home,” Santa Claus continued conversationally, “but there are degrees to the list. I warn. I might even punish. And very occasionally, I take away the naughty’s ability to do harm altogether.” Part of the Commander wanted to try clawing him, or stabbing him with her tail, but another part of her, the part that was sharp and instinctual and had brought her to the top of the food chain… well, that part told her that she was stood before an apex predator. A monster. “You’re not real!” the Commander yelled, as if a suitably outraged protest would force him to agree. “You’re a backwater planet’s half-assed attempt to entertain its brats! You’re a myth!” “I have *inspired* myths,” said Santa Claus. “They tend to be somewhat watered down, but I wouldn’t want to scare the children. And to me…” Santa cracked his knuckles. “You are *all* children.” “We are an empire of stars,” the Achathreyten Commander croaked, forcing the words out. “Our Armada could surround your sun! We control a thousand worlds!” “So did the Atlanteans. Heard of them?” “...no?” “Exactly.” Santa’s eyes flashed the same colour as his cheeks. *“Be better, or be forgotten.”*

the invasion is going well, the humans airforce is falling and your air wing is picking them off one by one, until HE appeared, "Ho Ho Ho Mery Christmas alien scum!" was the last thing many of your comrades heard before the dreaded "Saint Nick" attacked

Mrs. Obuabang had screamed when the masked man shot their dog, and Mr. Obuabang grabbed his baseball bat and took a deep breath to go out the door. This was bad. This was SO bad! The children were sleeping on either side of the hallway, and a stray bullet could easily stop their fragile little lives. Even worse, if Mr. O died, they might sell the house and go back to live with Mrs O’s parents! That house had no room for me! No, this was MY home and these were MY people. It took only a moment for those thoughts to scream through my mind before I bared my teeth and launched at the intruder. I meant to kill him, but being unaccustomed to combat I accidentally pushed him too hard. He slammed into the wall putting a head-shaped hole in the drywall and cracking one of the studs behind it. He fell limply to the floor and lay there breathing but totally unconscious. People in the movies have all this time to chatter and call police when the bad person is knocked out, but real knockouts don’t last that long. I knew that, of course, so I zipped into Mrs. O’s room and grabbed the tie from her bathrobe. Hogtying the intruder took only a moment and my chest was still heaving from adrenaline when I looked up at the horrified faces of my host family. Apparently Ghana does not have boggarts. I learned that very quickly when they started screaming “demon!” and trying to hit me with the bat. We boggarts are very quick, and very strong, but stainless steel is close enough to cold iron that it’s rather inconvenient. “Stop!” I shrieked as I dodged once and then again. “Stupid humans I’m TRYING to help you!” By the grace of God, little Amma came out of her room and her scream stopped Mr. O in his tracks. She was only 4 and still young enough to see me under normal conditions. We played often and her mother thought I was the imaginary friend. Amma ran over to me and put her chubby little arms around my neck, “Daddy! No! Don’t hurt Buggy!” She shrieked it right into my ear. Being just a young human, she was had been unable to pronounce “Boggart” when we first met, so she always called me Buggy. Her father stopped and told her to get away from me. His eyes were so round I thought they might pop out of his head. She glared at him with the ferocity of a very small lioness and said, “No!” “Ahem” I interrupted, “Perhaps I can explain if you would just put down the bat for a moment?” He started to lower the bat when the sound of sirens cut through the air. In the fury of the moment we had both forgotten about the original problem. The original problem was awake now and staring at me with his mouth hanging open. Right. Gesturing at the hog-tied intruder I said, “Let’s deal with this first and then I promise I’ll explain.”

You've been living in their home for months without them knowing. You had no choice; it was this or the streets. When a madman breaks in and threatens the homeowner, you decide to knock the man out cold. You have some explaining to do now.

Dave opened the basement door and saw the goblin. It was an ugly little guy with big disgusting feet. You may have seen some gross ass feet before, but what Dave saw would make hobbits cry. He looked up and saw the goblin's face though. The face looked oddly familiar. In fact, Dave seemed to think that if he himself was a goblin, this is what he would look like in the mirror. Yes the head shape was different and goblin-y, but the eyes, the nose, the teeth... They seemed almost identical to his own. He gambled. "Hello goblin, my name is Dave." The goblin stared back at him. Finally, "Hello Dave, my name is Barnacle." "That's a pretty weird name." Dave didn't say it out loud, but he actually thought it was a perfect name for the image he saw in front of him. "So Barnacle, what are you doing locked up in my basement basement?" "Oh the Queen gave birth to me, but I was too ugly so they locked me up down here." "Oh no shit? The Queen gave birth to me too! They didn't lock me up though, I'm free to move around the castle. I guess you can already see that as I'm here talking to you chain-free, but holy shit that's crazy! I guess we are brothers. I've always wanted a brother." "I've always wanted my freedom." replied Barnacle. "Well I got my wish today, maybe you should get your wish too." Dave walked up to Barnacle and released the chains that binded him. Barnacle thanked Dave and stood up for the first time in years. Dave led his new brother up the stairs and together they went to the dining hall. Dave started feeding Barnacle all sorts of food; turkey, ham, vegetables, puddings. It was all better than the sludge that he would eat back when he was locked up in the basement. All he ever ate was that shit from the first Matrix movie? Remember that shit? Just gooey bullshit. Gross. The King arrived in the hall and saw the goblin out in the open. He called the guards immediately and they all stormed in and surrounded the goblin brother Barnacle. He ordered Barnacle back down into his chamber or the guards would kill him. Dave threw himself in front of his brother and said that he would not allow that to happen. Barnacle farted because he didn't know what to do, plus he was gassy. The King and Dave's eyes met. They glared at each other. It was intense. If they were not father and son, you would think that there might be romantic feelings, that is the level of intensity. Finally the King relented and called down the guards. The king said that the goblin could stay and left the dining hall. "Thank you, Dave. I can't believe you did that for me." "Barnacle, we are brothers. I don't care if you are the most disgusting person I have ever seen in my life. I care for you and I have your back." "Thank you. But Dave, could you also not call me disgusting? It hurts my feelings." "I understand, Barnacle. I will not call you disgusting anymore." Barnacle farted again.

The Queen gave birth to a monster, and the King ordered it locked away. Decades later, the monster’s sibling finds it.

"I'm sorry, half!?" My voice cut through... whatever was going on. I'd bluescreened for several seconds after Grandpa said I was "half-human." "How can I be half-human?! There's not even... are there other magical races or whatever?" Grandma scooted next to me, and said quietly as Grandpa continued arguing with the principal. "You're part Fae." "...So that's why that metal necklace hurt. I thought it just had sharp edges I wasn't aware of when I grabbed it at first." My mind then returned to panic mode. "How'd that happen!?" "Well, when a mom and a dad love each other very much-" "Stop it!" I laughed a bit, despite myself. It did help me calm down somewhat. "You know what I mean." "Well, your father was always one for trouble. Always wandering in the forest when we told him not to, messing with plants and herbs and such..." "Did he find a fairy circle?" "And he became incredibly entranced with a fairy he saw through it. We were worried it might have been some fairy magic, but she ended up coming with him to our house after several weeks." "...Huh. And they want to make sure I don't use any... Fairy magic on people?" "Correct." "But I don't have any idea how to do... any of that stuff?" Grandma chuckled a bit. "Oh, I think you know more than you know."

You are in the principals office of your new school. You sit mortified as your grandparents and the principal argue. Your grandfather says "I don't care if she's half-human! After her parents passed away we raised her! Yes she's 'different' but she has every right to enroll!"

You know the saying "Can't live with them, can't live without them?" Yeah, that whole thing fits my family to a tee. Or is it a T? Whatever it is, that's how me and my family interact. Don't get me wrong! I love them all to pieces, and would absolutely tear out the liver of anybody who tried to mess with them. But gosh darn it if they don't get on my nerves sometimes. I just saw all the computer science stuff that the humans can use and thought it looked like a different kind of magic. Maybe there was a way that you could fuse this technological magic and *our* magic together to make something greater than the sum of it's parts. My family is at least very interested in the results, if nothing else. It's nothing like anything my family's done before, before you ask. They all do jobs you might consider more "traditional" kitsune jobs. Singers who can literally entrance you with their songs, cute shrine maidens who have deeper connections to the shrines than you can imagine, literal magical girls fighting forces of darkness. I mean... "traditional" if those books and magazines that humans make are any indication. Speaking of the humans... so, here's the thing. All kitsune, or at least my entire family, are all girls. Maybe there are guy kitsune somewhere else, but I've never heard of one. I can disguise myself as a normal human no problem, but swapping my gender is beyond my capabilities. I'd... probably wait until I had three tails, rather than my one. Point is, I'm a girl, and it turns out that no other girls in the school care about computer stuff. You know how many guys try to hit on me? They see the cute girl in the class and automatically assume she's "interested in them," just because... I don't know?! Yesterday some dude approached me because I "glanced over at him," as if he didn't sit right below the clock. Few days before that, apparently I "ate my lunch seductively." Yeah right John, as if eating spaghetti with a metric ton of meat sauce is "seductive." If he's into tentacles he's looking at the wrong gal. Honestly, these guys are just throwing themselves at me, and it's getting annoying. Although... that being said, they are pretty willing to do anything. Maybe I can use them as test-subjects. Mixing tech and magic isn't going to be faultless, after all. If they're going to be so stupid as to trust everything I say... well, that's kinda their own faults, isn't it?

you followed your heart to a degree in computer science. You don't know what's worse, your family's teasing you about your studies, not being taken seriously at school or the otakus who won't leave you alone...

My roommates are normal folks-- just the best. Oh man, we get along! Y’know, I’ve always been worried whether people like me, but with them, I just don’t think about it. You’ve got Vlad, Bathory, Mercy, and Baobhan Sith, and all of them know how to put on a party. Not only that—they like women! I like women too I tell them, (still they don’t want me there when they’re doing their shenanigans.) I say: “I get it, guys, but I am ready when you want me,” and I wink and say, “I know why you’re putting saran wrap on the walls,” and I wink again and say, “to catch the liquids,” and I wink again and say, “I like the robes,” and my eyes getting tired, but winks involuntarily when I say, “teeth are looking sharp, boys!” When I come back, Vlad’s jaw is red and Sith has dirt on his hands. I mean, they are cool, fellas! I totally get what friendship means when I see them. I mean I always did, but I never felt the most included, but these guys know what makes a man tick. We can spend an hour on the couch, watching the stupidest shit – like a video of women’s necks (hahahahaha) and Vlad will lick his lips, and Sith will do a routine at the TV where he pretends to grind on the image (Sith loves necks), and the whole thing is just iconic. OK and I can’t even begin to describe when I found Mercy outside the bathroom and I said, “How’d you get here with the lights on?” and he said “Echolocation.” Ha! These men are comical. Sensitive too. I know because Vlad sat me down on the couch, with a blue look in his eye. I know melancholy, see, because I’ve felt it, and he seems to get this way after they bring someone over—maybe because they ask that I drive around the neighborhood, that I don’t wait until they call—but I’m fine with that, I’ve always liked night drives. The other night, Vlad said, “We’re vampires.” I listened to understand. “Vampires,” he repeated. “No,” I said. He nodded. He showed me the edges of his teeth. I knew what he was saying in a strange way. He worried he took the energy out of other people—questioned if his personality sucked some life out of others. I liked the symbolism of it (he was a metaphorical guy), but I put him in his place. “You’re a good friend,” I told Vlad. He shook his head again. Straightened his collar. “Listen to me Dracula,” I told him with a smile. “If anything, you give me life. When I wake up and hear you guys talking in the kitchen, I’m just excited to be here and to be part of it.” Vlad put his hand on my shoulder. I’ve never felt confident telling anyone that before, but there was power in it. Being honest. And I think—just maybe—he believed it. It’s kind of funny. He was looking at my neck.

Your roommates are all vampires. Much to their surprise, you still haven’t found out their true nature.

In the wild midway between somewhere and nowhere, there is a game and a house and a hell full of poisons. You don't know what the fuck it's about, because the game changes each season. Sometimes it's chugging through the jar-fulls of gleamy sludge and wasting away your mortal flesh for a taste of paradise; sometimes it's roulette with the poisons awash in every cup, some's nirvana in sane blue and some's hell reaped from the same season. Point is, you know jack shit. But I know what it's fucking about. In every game, there's 25 and only 1 can come out alive. You have a selection of dares: the crazier you are, the stabler you'll be in game. And I know why you mortals always come. It's how I have my fun. You numbskulls entering the betwixt-in-between because, *because*. Maybe you were thrown a bone. Maybe you heard all the rumours about a poison paradise and decided to go looking. Maybe it's the whispers of the coveted prize, that of *immortality* if you won it all. Maybe you wanted to die. Big deal, get in line. Your bullshit is a real-good show for us gods: not that there's a *lot,* mind. I think my girlfriend's a god 'cause she hasn't died yet, but that's just me guessing. Anyway. There is *nothing* better, can I just say, about seeing a man die. It never gets old. It *especially* doesn't get old when their muscles bubble through their flesh, or their intestines worm out like snapping basilisks being born out of hell. It's also much, much sweeter knowing you could've undergone that fate. See, I was once like you. Broken in the head and destitute in debt. Face-first drowning in the somewhere-place. What you fuckers call Earth. But then I heard of the midway wilds and I was so *desperate* for it that I screamed into the abyss and *it* called back. I won the first game. Killed them all, I did, and saved myself. And the rumours are *right,* did you know? I became immortal. Wanna know the bad news? I don't like the thought of anyone else winning. Good news is, there's no *ban* on repeats. This is the 64th season. There are 24 hopefuls waiting to die, though they don't know that part yet. I'll enter the game like some quivering *thing* and come out triumphant, as I have the past 55. My girlfriend took the other 9. Obviously, between us I'm winning the streak. Bye, now. And good luck, fucker. You know why you're hearing this PSA? It's cause there is absolutely *absolutely* nothing you can do. Good *luck*, and welcome to the Game!

First, it will be incredibly entertaining and second because I'm immortal.

It had been a life well lived. For me at least. I was at peace with all I had accomplished. Maybe there were opportunities I had missed out on, and sure there were some, like children, but that didn’t bother me. I was known as the lonely old codger of 78 Hayview road. I knew the rumours. People talking about me behind my back. It used to get to me. Especially when I tried to help pass on messages and such. You see, I can talk to the dead. Sometimes they had something to say to the living and once upon a time I tried to ensure that message would be shared. The issue came in the belief of others. Some, a very rare few, believed me and thanked me but many others would scoff or laugh me away. Their loss. Anyway, all that to say I didn’t meet many people while alive. Apart from Dorothee. She was a gem amongst the dirt. She loved my spiritual tales of woe and wonder. She didn’t bat an eye, or talk behind my back, she was enraptured in my stories. It wasn’t simply because of that that I loved her though. She was kind to everyone, and clever in a special logical way, one that I could never grasp. She was perfect, except for one fatal flaw. Cancer. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t anyone’s really. It’s just the universe being the universe. I could have been angry and resentful, but I could talk to her spirit. I was still with her. In a sense. And while I could no longer enjoy our warm embraces, or feel her physically, emotionally, she was stronger than ever. So while I aged, she remained a young spirit by my side and refusing to leave. And so I refused to move on. We were intertwined. While I dreamt of kids while young, I never had the opportunity to raise them alone. At least, not providing as well as I would want, and maybe I’d get the chance after death. It was nice having all these spirits around me since I was young. Even if it wasn’t easy at first. And downright terrifying when the first malicious spirit appeared. But luckily, the kind ones helped defend me from any future trickery and spiteful beings. And now, as I approached death, I didn’t fear it either. Dorothee nodded at me. Her hand in mine. I closed my eyes and felt her squeeze. My time had come.

The hallucinations of people you see aren't Schizophrenia, but spirits who have latched onto you. After they agree to glow green for easy differentiation, life has been rather fun. They are nice, give free conseling, free classes, and defend their turf (you) well against evil spirits.

"I guess you were right," I said out loud, more for myself than anyone else. "Told you" Matt replied. The lake house that I was worried about looked really decrepit. The windows had spiderwebs running from it to the ground. The wood looked really worn down and had many small cracks. Almost like when a cracked window. No one was going to know that we snuck in here or were spending a few days here. Me, Matt, Elsa, and Faye. The inside looked nice and the lights inside worked. We drank the beers we brought and told each other stories about what we did over a christmas break. At some point Matt he had to use the washroom, but he never came back. We went to cautiously look for him. We knew he was the kind of person to pop up from behind his hiding spot and scare us. Behind one corner a large figure in a hockey mask jumped out and it had a large electric chain saw. I felt like I lost every ounce of strength. Fay keeled over and started throwing up. Elsa who was next to me, just pulled me by the arm, turning me around, and ran. We ran straight to to front door but it seemed to be locked. We then thudded up the stairs, ran into one of the rooms and hid in the closet. We were both heavily panting, hoping that the wind outside was louder than us. Hoping his environmentally friendly chain saw was still on and louder than our pants. We could hear the creaking on the stairs, he was taking his time, was he doing that to torture us? He walked into the room and walked around before standing in front of the closet and then walking away. We could hear the footsteps starting to creak down the hall. We could only look at one another now. Unsure of what to do. At some point, I couldn't tell if this was seconds or half and hour later, but we mad a break for the stair and then into the kitchen. I then threw a chair threw the window before cracking it open. I smashed it a few more times trying to get a bigger opening. And we both jumped through. We ran towards the bridge but at the same time, we noticed it was gone. We turned around and the large figure with dark splatters just casually walked out the door and towards. Faye just held my hand, and I hers. Knowing we were to weak and cold to go any further. But then the figure was ran over out of nowhere buy a tank. It seemed to have been traveling in a straight line, but we were to preoccupied to notice. And the latch opened, "comrade, I think we hit something." the man said with a strong accent. "Was it another one of our guys?" said the voice from within the tank "I don't know." "was it anyone important" he asked. "I don't think so" said the man. "good, we can still make it to the white house undetected" he said.

It's 1986 America, you and your friends are running from a masked killer at a lake house but just as he is about to catch you, he is run over by a Soviet T-34 tank. It's crew seem just as confused are you are.

This place smells of stale coffee and eggs. One of those places with an 'All Day Breakfast' sign in the window, underneath a piece of paper with six or seven different crossed out prices. You can see through the sharpie and it's a shame that the grand slam used to cost a five and now it's fifteen. You'd think they could change the paper out but it's not that kind of place. It's the kind of place with scuffed steel plate on the counter, an array of stools with varying degrees of damaged black seat covers. You have a choice of 'a little fluff' or 'a lot of fluff' sticking out from the upholstery of any one of the dozen booths. I sit with my hands wrapped around a ceramic mug that I think used to be white, stained brown with two decades of coffee. Might be the same coffee that's being poured into my mug right now. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. I don't come here for the atmosphere, I come here for the bacon and egg sandwiches and the peach pie that I would literally murder for. And that brings us full circle. See, this run down diner off the beaten path but close to six different freeway ramps and main thoroughfares, well it's here for a reason. It's two in the AM and I'm the only patron right now, sucking down shitty coffee and nursing a bruised ego. I thought I was better than this. I really did. Turns out maybe I'm not cut out for the murder-for-hire business. There's twenty five grand in my bank account that wasn't there yesterday, there's another twenty five grand coming my way when the job is done. I was so sure it'd be done today. I really was. The target is a mousy guy with glasses, wears a rumpled suit to his accounting job with some forgettable money firm that handles bankruptcies and investments and a billion other things that involve dollar signs. He should have been easy to kill. But no. I went with a long range shot first. It's not my specialty but I can handle a long gun. Guy never opened his fucking shades. I waited until lunch and then I packed it in on that. Call me impatient, I guess, but I'm not going to sit there waiting. Went for the close and personal, now we're getting into my zone. No dice. Of all the things that could go wrong, not being able to find a security badge to get to his floor was the thing that did me in there. I could have survived all of that. It was stupid but it wasn't a game ender, you know? But the subway. Fuck. How do you explain to your employer that you took a job for fifty grand and you had the target in your sights and he got away because you got your fucking arm stuck in the doors? There's a city wide alert for some nutjob pumping three rounds into a subway car window. Not a person, no, I didn't hit a single person. Not even a bystander. No I hit a pane of glass three times and then had to wrench my arm free of the subway doors before the train dragged me down the track. Lost my gun. I drop my head and sigh at my coffee. "At least you won't judge me." I whisper at the mug. The stool next to me creaks as someone settles their weight into it and I sigh again. "Look, the whole place is free, I'm sitting here out of the way and I really don't feel like-" I stop. I raised my head as I was trying my best to politely tell some other contract killer to fuck off and then I made eye contact and it's a problem. Cause it's him. The mousy guy. Rumpled suit. Accountant. He stares at me and all I get off him is *bemused*. He has that half smile plastered on his face, the one that we've all seen. It's like if "bless your heart" was a person. He raises a finger and the waitress nods and I let out another deflated sigh. He's a regular. That's really bad. "So." He says, resting both his hands on the counter. That's a good sign. At least he's not going to sneaky kill me. "First day on the job, huh?" I nod. He shrugs. "I don't hold it against you. I really don't. That would be bad manners." He removes his glasses and folds them, setting them on the counter beside my mug. The waitress brings him a coffee in a mug that looks suspiciously clean. He takes a sip and I smell...hazelnut. He lets out a content breath and sets the mug down, spinning his stool to face me and leaning on the counter with his elbow. "Now what?" I say. I don't even have a gun. I don't even have cutlery yet. I'm getting the sense that maybe a butter knife would go worse for me than for him though. I have a mug of coffee. It's still sort of hot. "Relax." He says. I see something hard in his eyes and I decide that the coffee idea is a bad one too. "I'm not here for that. As a token." He places my gun on the counter and nods toward it. "It is unloaded." He says. "Olive branches only extend so far before you're asking for it." "Fair enough." I say. "Thank you." We sit in the quiet for a minute and he purses his lips. "Want some advice?" He asks. I shrug. I'm waiting for the axe to fall, any second now. "Sure." I say. "Don't use things with meaning. It makes it worse when you lose them. And you're going to have to get better at being invisible. Blend in, plain sight, sometimes that's all it takes." "Thanks?" I say. He nods and places a twenty dollar bill on the counter. Then he stands and looks at me, head tilted. "You remind me of someone. You've got promise, kid. But you need some polishing, that's for sure. Call this number. She'll help you." He hands me a business card and I take it. There's nothing on it but a phone number. "Who are you?" I ask. "Just someone that's very interested in the person who paid you to kill me." He says. He turns and takes a few steps before he pauses. I look at him. "I hope I don't have to say it, but just in case." He says. Gone is the bemused look, replaced by something much more sinister. "If you try it again, it will be the last thing you do. I think you have something, kid, but that only goes so far. Clear?" I nod. He smiles again and the sinister is gone. He looks different without his glasses. His posture has changed too. And with a hand sweep through his hair, he hardly looks the same. He winks and then he disappears through the door, into the darkness. I look at the number on the card and turn it over. There are two words there. "You're a lucky guy." The waitress says, gathering up my mug and replacing it with a clean one. "Daniel Burnwood doesn't take to people easily. And that bodyguard of his..." She shudders. She pulls a bottle of whiskey from under the counter and I realize that my hands are shaking. She smiles at me softly and pours some of the whiskey into my coffee. It smells of hazelnuts. "And who has a barcode tattoo, anyway? Creeps me out." She leaves the bottle and walks away. I swallow the lump in my throat, looking at the words on the card. The Agency.

You're a hitman who has just taken his first contract. After a long day of trying and failing to kill your target, you eventually come face to face with him. You both just look at each other, and he shrugs before asking "First day on the job, huh?"

Wolf and Pug talked at length on the experience their kind has to look forward towards by befriending the "Tall Ones". We would be known as "dogs", Pug stated and we will exist in all shapes and sizes with a life span no wolf could imagine, but the dark said of it all was not worth it...listen close , true some descendants would be strong and have all needs provided by the Tall Ones, but the bulk of our ilk we be met with untold suffering throughout history and we will never have the freedom we have now...our bodies our minds!! will be tools for them we be breed to the point of agony just to watch as most of the litter are "disposed of". Long life is not the promise of paradise as it may sound...expressly in a body like mine or even worse..just breathing is a struggle sometimes..and the strongest of us get incredibly weak with age..thier limbs slip out of place and to move or eat is a painful affair, but the Tall Ones will have us poked and violated in an effort to keep us alive...long pass our time... because they can't bare to see us go... because we are their servants!! When they use the word "dog" referring about each other it's has the context that one is nothing but a slave and has no free will to do anything about it because their mind is broken they want to serve!....Wolf tried to explain this warning to his pack, but the winter was harsh and so much larger prey was disappearing due to the Tall Ones..we can't track anything without them following us and before we can surround and make the move to kill they throw those sticks that can kill with a touch and brandish the sun sticks that can set the land ablaze...if we want to survive...the Leader spoke up...we need to approach them gently and submissively. You see they are fond of animals that they can catch and observe for sometime. They choose not to eat those as strange as that seems they instead go after the bigger more dangerous animals, as we do in order to have more food. Not all members of their pack hunt and their packs are much bigger than ours. However they do indeed follow us towards the deer, the moose, the boar they seem to be unable to track the way we do this we be our bargaining chip...we lead them to prey..then they kill it and both packs eat...we no longer would have to make such a risk in hunting. The Leader bowed his head...so many of us have died or become injured only to die in the next few passes of Luna, but these "Tall Ones" these "Two Legs" they can kill so easily if we don't befriend them there will be no future at all for us..and you suggest!! we wage war to hunt them??...that would only be suicide...no honor in that. We will prove our selves as equals and work side by side...you said the future is grim, but I see it as fate... even if we become a shadow of what we are now that's better than being nothing but forgotten bones.

the hideous creature called itself a “pug” and it came with a warning from a grave future. “Never approach the two legs, no matter how kind they may seem. Kill as many as you can, Wolf.”

"Garrett." I say. "I...I maybe made a teensy teeny whoopsie doopsie mistake." "Yeah. I saw the news." The tinny voice echos in my scrying room. AKA my closet. Still, I can hear the sarcasm dripping from Garrett's voice. I cringe. The news. It made it onto the news. Because of course it did. It's definitely something people would want to hear about on the news. I'm what you call a wizard. That's the easy part. Everyone understands magic, more or less, they've made enough movies and books about it. But, you see, among wizards there is a group that the other more respectable types refer to as the *Bedlam Bastards*. Not because it's a name we gave ourselves, but because during one tribunal to determine our punishment over the slightest infraction of turning the Mississippi River pink for a single week one particular summer, Merlin may or may not have called us 'bedlam causing bastards unworthy of the wands you hold' and the nickname stuck. Especially because we didn't learn anything and continued to cause bedlam. Now, in my defense, I don't consider it bedlam. It's, at it's absolute worst, pestering. Everything we do, we undo, and we have a strict set of rules about not causing harm and the like. That whole thing about dryer gremlins stealing left socks, that may or may not be a curse on GE dryers manufactured between 2013 and 2017, after one particular night out drinking where three of us broke into the facility and cursed a piece of equipment that fastened hinges to the dryer body. I mean, every Halloween we pick a town and from dusk to midnight, everyone in that town becomes whatever their costume was. at 12:01, it's done! Every time. And that is where things may have gone slightly astray from the plan. Just a little! Cause the spell didn't go off this year. I figured that we just did something a little wrong and we'd fix it next year. After all, we got a new member of the bastards. But then Christmas Eve rolled around and... Well, that's what the news is talking about. Cause somehow, some way, about fifteen hundred right old jolly St. Nick impersonators woke up to find out that the snow white beards were firmly attached and the jelly jiggle of their bellies just wouldn't quit. And that made the news. They were ho-ho-ho-ing their way across their towns, with magic sacks filled with toys. It was newsworthy. "What did you do?" Garrett asks. He sounds tired. "Well, my best guess is that we-" "-screwed up?" Garrett interrupts. "Shocking. I. Am. Shocked. Here I thought the five of you were always so on point with your spell work. This definitely isn't some sort of pattern, no sir." "That really isn't helpful right now." I mutter. I mutter it because he's right, but I don't want to admit that. "I am sorry, I'm not sure why you called me with the impression I was going to be helpful, but that's not who I am. I'm the guy you call when you need someone to tell you the obvious, like how much of a moron you are." "Thanks." I say. "Do you have any ideas?" "I'm gonna find my local Santa Claus and see what presents he has. I've been a good boy this year. I'd say you should find yours but hunting for coal doesn't sound all that fun." "Again, not helpful." I say. The approximation of Garrett shrugs. It's a shaped form of wriggling lights, cast up from the scrying bowl. An adorable figure, not more than five inches tall. Garrett himself is not adorable. Especially when he shrugs at me like that. "Again, not trying to be. Don't you usually set a timer on these things anyway?" "Yes!" I nearly shout. I take a deep breath. "It's never supposed to last past midnight." "Alright, so you messed up the timer. Don't focus on the Santa bit, focus on setting the clock. That will solve the Claus problem. Then you can worry about the next tribunal." I cringe again, recoiling at the thought. "Oh yes." Garrett says. "Merlin is already talking about it. With enthusiasm." "Fantastic." I mutter. "Alright. I'm going to try and fix this." "Best of luck. Wait to fix it until after I get my new bike, alright?" I end the scrying and Garrett's figure collapses into the water without so much as a splash. I rub my temple and think about my argument for the tribunal. They're never fond of magic being this obvious. They can handle a few towns talking about Frankenstein, living pumpkins, and sexy nurses for one night. They can't handle global news like this. Someone knocks on my door. Loudly. It rattles my apartment walls. I slide out of the closet and shut it, padding through my one bedroom to the door. I peek through the peephole and find nothing. Someone is holding their thumb against it. I grimace and take a deep breath to steel my nerves for a lashing from Merlin, or one of his underlings. I pull open the door to find... "Santa?" I ask, incredulous. He scowls. Bright red suit, thick white beard, spectacles perched on his nose. He doesn't look jolly though. Not even a little. I wonder which neighbor of mine he used to be, but then again none of them know about the whole wizard thing. So... That means... "How about you call me sir, or Mister Claus. Since you've gone and naughtied up my whole day." "Oh shit." I say. It's the real Santa. Oh no. "Now." He says, crossing thick arms across his robust belly and looking at me with a cross expression I've seen before. "Which one of you *bastards* do I have to blame for this mess?" I open my mouth but he holds up a white gloved finger and I slam it shut. "And, more importantly, just how are you going to help me fix it? Before I ho-ho-heave you off the roof." I wait. He leans forward. He smells like cookies and rage. "This is the part where you talk." He growls. "I...I don't know yet?" I say. He grunts and pinches his nose, sighing. "There are three thousand, eight hundred, and twelve Santa's out there now. Magic sacks and all. It is only a matter of time before someone does something very un-Kringle like. So, I'll ask again. How are you going to fix this?" "Quickly?" I say, leaning away from his angry eyes. He nods. "That's the first step back to the nice list." He says. Somehow those words hit harder than if Merlin had spoken them. This is Santa Claus after all. His eyes sparkle and I see a bit of that mirth behind all that madness. "The first one you've taken in quite a while." Oh boy. Now I really have to fix this. And I still have no idea how.

It was cliche, but you’ve always enjoyed the old ‘turn people into their Halloween costumes’ spell. Unfortunately something went awry this year and the spell went off two months late, and now thousands of Santas are Awakening all over the world…

I bet you didn't know that gods die. It's true. I mean, who wants to live forever? Right? Well, it turns out that when gods decide they're ready to hang up that infinite power and turn in their lifelong place in mythology, they get to make a choice. And that's how a mere mortal, like me, gets the chance to become something else. So one day when I woke up to a note that gave me twenty four hours to set my affairs in order, I brushed it off. What kind of affairs does a guy like me have to put in order anyway? Twenty five hours later, I was imbued with unnatural power. By whom, you ask? Thor? Jupiter? Anubis? No, not for a guy like me. The big guns don't come out for me. Oh no, someone else had their eye on me. That would be Hypnos. The god of sleep. Sounds sweet, doesn't it? God of sleep? Who doesn't want that?! Turns out that no one knows the god of sleep. They pray to mighty Melatonin, the amazing Ambien now. Not that many people pray to any of the gods. But it's nice to be known and aside from about a dozen professors who teach me for a half hour to classes of hungover college kids, no one knows. Or cares. A year. It's been a year and it's easy to remember that, cause I had twenty four hours from the morning of Christmas Eve to put my affairs in order. I woke up on Christmas in the realm of the gods, never to see home again. I never really thought I would miss it, you know? Why would I? I don't think you get picked by the god of sleep because you're living your best life. Not sure it's a badge of honor. The way everyone in this place looks at me, it definitely doesn't feel like it. So today I wake up as this god of sleep, as Hypnos. I open my eyes and stare at the black stone ceiling of my cave, that's right, a cave. I sigh and rub my face in the darkness. Another day. Why Hypnos doesn't like light, I will never know. Seriously, I won't. Cause he's dead. And I'm him. That still doesn't sit right. I sit up in the bed, you think it would be more comfortable for the god of sleep, and swing my legs off the edge and plant them on the cool stone floor. What I wouldn't give for a rug. I stand and take a tentative step forward and I kick something. It skids across the floor and I'm confused. I don't have anything to kick. Just an empty room with a bed. I stumble around until I find the one cord that hangs from the rock, and I tug it. It opens a series of horizontal hatches, almost like blinds, with mirrors that allow light in, the one thing I actually like about this cave. It's a very cool setup to get light in. It reveals a bare stone room with a bed and a pillow, and a small wardrobe that holds all of my two changes of clothes. And a present. A brightly wrapped, red and green present. Tied with a silver bow. It gleams in the light and I stare at it. Yeah, it's Christmas morning, but I haven't had a present that I didn't buy myself in years. So...where the hell did this come from? I pick it up and turn it over. Feels heavy. And there's a tag on the top, attached to the bow. *From Santa* I laugh. Someone is pulling my leg. Alright. That's better than total indifference, which has been the usual from the rest of the gods in this realm. I sit on the edge of my bed and tear at the paper and bow, revealing a book and a handwritten letter. And a small tin of cookies. I blink at the pile of goodies. I open the letter and see beautiful, spidery writing. *Welcome to the family.* *Everything is what you make of it.* \-*Klaus* Alright. Now I have questions. For the first time, I have an interest in this realm. There's something to figure out. I mean, it was quick enough to find out that Odin and Thor are real, and both of them are real assholes. Zeus? Even worse. Turns out infinite power and infinite lifetime does not do favors for personality. But Santa, Santa is real? Now that, that I gotta learn more about. I pick up the book and turn it over to the spine. *Myths and Legends, Gods and Greatness* *S Klaus* That does not answer any questions, it only leaves more. There's a connection to the mortal realm and that means...maybe I can get back there. I never thought these words would be in my mind in this particular order, not ever in my life. But, this god needs to track down Santa to get some answers. And maybe I can return the book and he can gift me a mattress. I grab a change of clothes and dress myself, something bland, just like my little cavern of darkness. I stop at the entry and steel my nerves to go be amongst actual gods, while I look for the one god I used to believe in. And I know one thing for sure. I'm keeping the cookies.

It has been almost a year since you were reincarnated into this world of gods and magic, thinking you would never see anything from your world ever again. So imagine your surprise when you wake up one morning to a present with the words “From, Santa” on it.

“Zanta Klawse, you stand accused of 37 violations of the Non-Interference Directive, 24 infringements of the Technology Interdiction, and 7 counts of contravening the Contact Prohibition. All of this, on a Category 4 Industrio-Primitive World. How do you plead?” So spoken, the Chief Magistrate of the Council peered down at the small figure who had been the cause of the recent scandal. The uproar upon the discovery of his crimes had rippled throughout the known worlds like wildfire. It had taken the firm hand of the Council to quash the waves of panic and alarm this solitary figure had engendered. The accused stood alone on a single elevated plinth in the centre of the Council rotunda. Their hands and feet shackled, they seemed weighed down by more than the mere metal which held them in place. The infamous joviality that the onlookers knew all too well from the numerous images that had been broadcast over the holonet in the lead up to the trial; that was now replaced with a weariness and a sadness that looked deeply out of place. Klawse shifted his bulky form in obvious discomfort. The once plump and rotund figure now somewhat atrophied by his time in confinement, he seemed a stark contrast from the strong and commanding figure he had once cut. The clink of cold restrictive metal carried throughout the rotunda, the silence fleeing before it as if luring the jarring sounds into a trap before swallowing them up whole, leaving only an unsettling quiet. “I plead not guilty.” The Chief Magistrate went to bang their gavel, yet found no need. The expected murmurs of disapproval or even cries of indignation from the assembled onlookers had failed to materialise. As if even they were nervous of the tense and febrile atmosphere that had settled across the chamber. Unwilling to disturb the uneasy peace and draw the attention of whatever ill omen hung in the air. Their hand still hovering awkwardly in the air, the Chief Magistrate gently lowered the gavel and paused to consider their next words carefully. Things were in a difficult position now. It had been hoped that Klawse would see sense and accept their guilt. Nobody wanted a drawn out trial. There were several delicate matters at play. It was, sadly, not uncommon for individuals or sometimes even groups to set themselves up on a primitive planet and through application of their advanced technology take on the role of god-like beings. It wasn’t even the first time it had happened on Earth. This was however the most extensive and longest running case of its kind. Indeed the true scope of it, and the duration it had been able to continue unnoticed had been carefully concealed from the general public. It would only serve to alarm them, and damage their confidence in the Council; if they were to learn that Klawse had been operating for several centuries. Honestly it was somewhat of an embarrassment to the Council that he’d been able to operate undetected for so long. But then there had been none of the usual warning signs or telltale indications that a planet was being preyed upon with malign intent What had caused the prosecution some difficulty was in determining what exactly Klawse had sought to gain by his actions. Usually in a case like this it was incredibly easy to establish what base urges or crude greeds had motivated its perpetrators. As far as the investigators could ascertain, Klawse had received no benefit from his actions. He had expended a great deal of time and resources in carrying out his strange project, but there seemed no profit in it. It was true that there was still a great deal of evidence to be sifted through. Not to mention nobody had even started attempting to extract Klawse’s elaborate phase-shifted ‘workshop’ from the planet’s northern pole. Even bearing that in mind however, the feeling among the investigators was that there would be no secret revelations to be found. Klawse was merely a madman. Driven to these pointless and eccentric ends by some unknown and inconsequential peculiarity. Had Klawse simply admitted his guilt, then his motives would have been of little consequence. There would be no need to even determine what they were. They could have simply sentenced him and thrown away the key, this whole mess safely left safely behind. Now there would have to be a full trial, the Chief Magistrate did not like to consider what might come to light. Thankfully it was not something they would have to face today. With a sigh and a slight relaxation of a tension the Magistrate hadn’t even been aware of, they signalled for Klawse to be taken away. The plinth in the centre of the rotunda began its smooth, uninterrupted descent into the ground; where it would eventually take Klawse out of sight, if not out of mind. “You can’t do this! What will the children think!” Klawse bellowed, the most animated he’d been this entire time. There was the Klawse the onlookers had heard about. His voice was like thunder and his eyes gleamed with a strange fire. Even the plinth seemed to pause in its movement, as if arrested by its rider’s sheer force of will. There was a fierceness to him that put the onlookers on edge, a righteous fury that left them feeling strangely self-conscious. A moment later the spell was broken and the plinth continued its journey, carrying Klawse away with it. An attendant who had been hovering nervously out of sight in a sunken stairwell behind the Council’s rostrum, now made their way over to the Chief Magistrate. Their hurried gait betraying some great anxiety which afflicted them. The Magistrate waved at them irritably, gesturing for them to start speaking. “Your honour. It seems that the extraction team were not as discrete as we might have hoped. It would appear that they were spotted extraditing Klaswe from Earth. We’re not entirely sure how they did it, but the native inhabitants, they’ve managed to penetrate our communications systems.” “Well, what do they want?” “At first we thought it was some kind of attack, an information denial tactic by virtue of inundating our systems with comms traffic. We were able to discard that theory once we decoded the first few that came through.” “Stop stalling and tell me what we’re dealing with!” “It’s letters your honour. So far we’ve received 3.7 billion letters. All of them addressed to Santa Claus…”

Santa's workshop is a highly advanced alien outpost, with technology hundreds of years ahead of Earth. The Galactic Council is still baffled why one of their elite engineers insists on using his talents to bring gifts to the children of a primitive world.

My school was the first to be infected, and I was there when it started. I remember walking to my locker, not really paying attention to the other kids, only to find some freshman kid stuffed inside. Our lockers weren't like those big ones you see in the sitcoms, as they were essentially just rows of 1ft cubes you could stick a padlock on. Still, there was a kid shoved inside my locker. Bones snapped and flesh stretched as he poured himself from my locker onto the checkered floor. "Thanks dude!", said the mound of child before slithering into an adjacent classroom. After recovering from my shock at what I had just seen, I ran to the school entrance, hoping to escape whatever was going on. Unfortunately, I ran right into more monsters. Two members of our school's football team were blocking my escape route, at least I assumed they were part of the team from their uniforms. Their bodies were stretched tall and wide, muscles rippling underneath their jerseys. "Woah bro check out the nerd!" "Where's he in such a hurry to?" The laughter and applause of several dozen people erupted from the intercom, momentarily distracting me. The behemoths grabbed me, reached deep into my jeans, and grasped the elastic of my underpants. I was dragged outside by the brutes, my underpants tied to the school's flagpole, and hoisted upwards to the very top. Through the pain of my atomic wedgie, I saw more monstrosities enter the school from my lofty vantage point. Spindly girls with long painted claws moved in groups of three, pointing and laughing at the other monsters. Children with enormous heads dragged their pulsing skulls into school, stopping in front of each behemoth to offer lunch money as tribute. Flocks of ravens flew towards the school and materialized into pale children wearing black leather outfits. Then, the bell for first period rung. The monsters shuffled inside, and I was left at the top of the flagpole, alone.

You walk into high school one day and find that it's turned into a Disney Channel show. Your best friends are quirky with layered outfits, the "mean girls" are obvious and ridiculous, the "jocks" slam kids into lockers, and there's recorded laughter every time someone speaks.

They say the Queen is a fierce but fair ruler. She sits upon a throne earned by the blood of tens of thousands, forged by the steel of warriors and upon the stones laid by the folk she ruled. They say all this in hushed whispers behind her back where she cannot hear them. Or they think she cannot. Because they whisper these things into her ear. They do not know that the Queen they kneel before that sits the throne is not their Queen but a double. She is the one that is meant to die should those who whisper harsher words about their Queen come to seek their vengeance. They planted many bodies besides rivers of blood, and the harvest will soon come. I know this. Because I am the Queen. But to everyone but two souls, I am simply a double. This has served me well for years. I hear more than I would sitting on the throne and I hear everything said in that room too. My duty is to take the bolt for her. So they all think. I wander the halls of this palace unchallenged but yet, nearly invisible to all those that wander alongside me. Guards politely nod their heads in mild deference and then forget I was there once they realize I am simply me, and not her majesty. Servants treat me as if I am one of them. Royals ignore me, turn their noses up. It is as simple as wearing the clothes of a servant, I have her face but without her garments and the hair of a royal garnished with gold, I am nothing to them. If only they knew. Two years ago I would have made a mental note for punishment but that was a different me. Now I just relish the fact that they have no idea who I really am. You see who people are when they believe you are their lesser. I do not have my own quarters. Instead, the Queen and I share six different and equally royal rooms. No one ever knows which I will sleep in and which she will, until that night. Guards are posted at each of the doors, even the empty rooms. One can never have enough protection when one has as many enemies as have been made. That is what makes it so odd when I come to one of the doors and there are no guards. No one challenges my approach. I cautiously approach, slowly stepping across a marble floor and gently pushing at the heavy door. It slides open soundlessly, revealing a room that casts no suspicion. It is empty, clean, and as ornate as I expect. But something is wrong. Somewhere in the palace, someone screams. The hair on the back of my neck rises and I whirl on the balls of my feet, only for two heavy hands to grab at me and take hold of my wrists. "Your majesty." He hisses through gritted teeth. "It's me." It is Horace, Captain of my personal guard. The only other that knows the truth. He winces and tugs at me. "Come. And hurry." He says. I look down and see the blood. There is a great deal of it, pouring from a stab wound to his side. He presses one hand back over it, leaving a smear on my wrist. He drags me away, tugging and looking down the halls. There is more screaming now. Steel clashes against steel. "How bad?" I ask. "Very." He answers. I do not ask for more, I know he means both his wound and those that have come. They have finally come. Guards shout, running past us and nodding. They will hold this hall for as long as they can. There are only three of them. They will not hold for long. Many more will desert. There are only two things that I ever feared. A singe capable, silent assassin that crept through the halls and slit our throats and a full onslaught. It appears that the latter has come. "Stop." Horace grunts. He looks at me. He ruffles my hair, smears blood across my face with his hand, then looks over his work. He grunts, pleased. "Harder to recognize." He tugs me again and we hurry. The screams grow closer, the sounds of steel now followed by wet sounds of flesh and blood. The butchery spreads through the halls. The city will know of it soon. "Is she safe?" I ask. Horace does not answer. We reach a side door to one of the gardens and he eases the door open, peering out. There is no one there. He shoves me through. "I'm sorry." He says. Then he slams the door shut and it is bolted behind me. I am confused. Then they appear from the gardens. Shadowy figures armed with swords and daggers and spears and axes. A dozen of them. I know each face. I know them well. I killed their parents. Their children. Each one of them has lost at least three members of their family because of me. They are here for blood. And they drag a woman with them. I know her. She wears my face. She is terrified and she screams as they wrench her along and toss her to the stones. One of them, a young man who lacks a father, grandfather, and brother because of me. He sneers and reaches down, his dagger buried in her back. She screams and he slams the dagger down again and again. There is no more screaming. "Your majesty." He says, spitting the words. I smooth my clothes and lift my head. I walk to her body and kneel. He steps back, snarling like a wild animal. He is afraid. I touch her head and force back the tears, swallow my sadness and pain. "I am sorry." I whisper to her. "So it's true." One of the others says. "You never sat the throne." "That is not true." I say. My fingers touch the steel of a dagger hilt tucked safely against my calf. "I did sit it. And I want you all to know something before this ends." "Did my sister get last words?" One of them growls. "Or my brother?" "My father?" "My husband?" I look at each of them and let out a breath. So many bodies were buried along the road to this place. "The dead cannot rule." I hiss, wrenching the dagger free. The boy is surprised when he dies, my dagger buried in his chest. I snatch his and tear mine free. Now I have two. The others finally gain their senses and decide to put up a fight. They do not know. They think that I am her. They think I am polite and fair and firm and everything they needed their Queen to be. Everything they needed sitting on that throne. If only they knew.

You are the queen’s double, or at least that’s what everyone thinks. You are, in fact, the true queen.

I toiled away, tirelessly carving miniscule runes into the cell walls. As I finished each one it flashed, before disappearing from sight. My gift, the magical quirk that made me so effective. Whenever I cast spells, they would vanish from sight until their activation. This cell had been my home for decades. Some would go mad, being locked up for so long. I didn't get that luxury. I had snapped long before being put in here. In fact that was why I was here. After those monsters stole everything from me, leaving me out on the streets as they sold my home, of course I lost it. So I took from them in turn. The courts didn't agree with my actions though. Apparently slicing open throats wasn't the right thing to do. I should have worked hard to remain what they took from me. They said my talents would have easily let me build up my life again. It's funny. They said that, and I realised they were right. I had a talent for making rituals in different ways, ones that bypassed material components. I just had to choose the right one to change. But now I was almost done. My cell was almost ready. One final rune was all that stood between me and freedom. I started to work on it, laughing to myself. They had no idea what I was doing. They thought the seals would hold. But I knew better. Seals prevented spells being cast, interfering with the release of it from a person. However they had no way to affect rituals, as the casting wasn't from me. It was the runes themselves. A small oversight, but one I was exploiting. I finished the rune as fast as I could. I couldn't hold off from starting it. I was older now. My natural life was running out. But this would give me an unnatural one. One that would break the judgement oath on me. They had said I would be here for as long as I live. But if I died for a moment, that would be the end of it. As it was completed, I felt a thrum. The runes emerged, as the ritual began. I stood in the centre of the room, as lights flashed around me. I felt the flow of power around me, focused on me. It slowly covered me, like the rising tide. But it turned, becoming sharp. It dug into me, though my body was untouched. I felt a horrid tearing sensation, as my mind was torn away. I felt my body slump, even as I was pulled from it. For a moment I felt fear, as I thought it had failed. But the power latched onto me. It bound my soul, connecting me to the world. It changed me, and my mind. I felt instinctual knowledge rise, as I became something new. Something terrible. Something... *unnatural*. At last the flow slowed, before drying up. I floated alone in my dark cell, looking down at my body. I could tell it was empty, devoid of life. For all intents and purposes, I was dead. I looked to the door, seeing it swing open ever so slightly. The oath was met. I floated down to my corpse, touching it. It was cold, and open. Waiting for something to fill it. I pulled my way in, possessing my old flesh. It was weird, like wearing the wrong sized shoes. But I could control it. I stood up with a wobble, adjusting to my new experience. But I managed to grin, my ability to control it growing easier. I was now free.

You’ve been tried, convicted and sentenced to imprisonment for the remainder of your natural life. No one said anything about your *un-natural life* though…

James cleared his throat and picked up the new letter. "Well, Mike, our business license is here." Mike nodded in vindication and grabbed the letter they'd received the day before. "I told you the offer was genuine." "Can't be," James said. "Our business has no employees, no sales, no profits, no nothing." Mike shrugged. "It's got no losses either. It's a blank slate, hard to find a business like that." James hesitated. "You make... an excellent point. I suppose it might be worth buying a brand new company for four billion dollars so that you can build it up from scratch, just the way you like it- Wait, why doesn't this joker just start his own company if that's all he wants?" "Our name? Con Co. has a nice ring to it." James shook his head. "Nah, even we realize Cocoa Co. was a better name right after submitting the paperwork. Surely he could come up with something better for four billion dollars worth of market research." Mike sighed. "Maybe he's just removing the competition before our company grows too big to buy?" "There are much, much cheaper, although less legal, ways of 'removing the competition' than buying a worthless company for four billion dollars." James leaned back and stared at the flaking ceiling of their rundown apartment in thought. "What's the catch here? The paperwork is already signed, the bank teller said it was legit once we got him out of his faint... but how did the offer come *before* we even knew if our business would be approved?" "Quit overthinking this!" Mike rose and began to pace, gesturing emphatically as he spoke. "Four billion dollars for our company. Our worthless company. Like you said, it's basically a name at this point. We could just start another company if we wanted under a new name, especially with Four. Billion. Dollars. to pave the way this time." "I don't know," James muttered. "It seems too good to be true-" Mike turned and cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand. "I'm not letting you ruin this again!" "Again?" Mike coughed uncomfortably and looked away. "Like you ruined, uh, other things." James eyed him suspiciously. "Other things? How precise." "Never mind." Mike winced and waved away the whole conversation as he continued. "Look, for all we know the guy's a... time traveler or something." James raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You know," Mike said. "Like in that movie, *Terminator*." "Like... what?" Mike slapped his forehead and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, "That's in 1984, stupid." He cleared his throat and continued in a normal voice. "Like in that movie, *Time Machine*." James considered the comparison. "I do like *Time Machine*." "So it's settled!" Mike grabbed the paperwork and signed in his place, then practically shoved James's hand to his spot on the page. James touched the tip of the pen to the document and gave a rueful chuckle. "Time travel. Who'd have thought." He wrote the first letter of his name, then paused. "Hey, Mike?" "Yes, roommate?" "So, we're assuming this guy's a time traveler." "Yep." "So time travel would be real, then." "Would make sense, based on this offer." "It's just... I can't help but feel that I've been coming up with most of the good ideas for this company. And you kind of shoved your way into this partnership when I was thinking of going it alone. And you're really pushing this rather sketchy sale. And if we're assuming that time travel is real, and that time *travelers* know this is going to be a valuable company..." James set the pen aside and glared at Mike. "Tell me the truth. Are you also a time traveler who saw that *my* idea for a company would be successful, and came back to steal a share of what should have been all mine?" "...No." "Oh, good," James said, and signed. *** *More of my stories at r/NobodysGaggle*

The year is 1980. You and your roommate are about to start a small business together when you get a call from a time traveler saying he wants your company for 4 billion dollars.

"Why'd you do it, Father?" "A Christmas gift, Coleen, dear." For a beat, the Coleen's cheerfully rosy cheeks flushed maroon with ire, but she quickly composed herself. Her skin paled again to its normal wintery hue. She placed an almost convincing smile on her face, making rosy cheeks prominent. "Father. Christmas is soon, and the children you'll never touch will need him." "Will need him." Krampus mocked. He circled icicle-shaped fingers over his business desk. The magical blizzard was so heavy that it was impossible to tell if it moved swiftly or dumped down slowly. Each its own brand of destructive, along with the hypnotic hold it had on most. "You should have thought of that." "I should have thought of that?" Coleen smacked the desk. The flurries froze. "Hmm." Krampus confirmed. He watched the two caged magics with unfeigned curiosity. Would the flurries break free first, or the fire which flickered in her black eyes? He loved to see how the red began to crack through. Coleen didn't let silence fill the air. She hummed a carol as she removed her mittens, and the frown that came might have been for the puddles now on the floor. She hadn't removed her snowboots before stomping in. But her memories told her that no one ever did. Parents left manners at the door when coming for their ill-behaved children. And neither mother nor father had ever taught her otherwise. She had her husband to thank for all the pleasantries and security she'd later learned. Security which had fled with her father's kidnapping. "Claus and I are not children to think of such things." Krampus startled, causing icicles to grow down the edges of the desk. He snarled and snapped the one closest off. "You will always be my child, Coleen. You've been very naughty, and since you belong here, I took someone who doesn't." Krampus' tone didn't match the growling nor growing icicles, nor the threat of being snapped off. The coldness in his tone bit at her nose, and threatened to seep into her bones. Coleen stopped humming, and started to remove her coat. "The North Pole is my home." Coleen's words weren't an argument, but a marveling as she set to unpuzzle the invisible package of words. The cold of the Antarctic was good at silence in a way the cold of the North could never be. She couldn't win a game of silence here, but she knew it was better to ignore Krampus' cold, dark glare and try silent thought before trapping herself in confused, angry words. The room became steadily colder, but soon Coleen's warmest clothes were set up neatly on iced over hooks. The only sound was the crackling fire in her eyes, no longer coal black or even red, but blue and white with fire barely checked. Krampus' business room began to reflect the heat, but underneath a steady coldness continued and nothing melted, like too cold ice cream topped with too hot pies. "Hungry?" Krampus asked, and grinned as the flurries began moving again. So she lost her grip when he let her win, did she? "I believe what we have is sufficient." The hearth - an empty, windy flurry of sharp icicles - spouted out a feast of oranges and cranberries and fruitcake and roasted nuts and meats. Invisible hands set it out as swift as furious winds. "I'm not hungry. I will be taking my husband home now." The wind howled and threatened to dislodge icicles growing above. Her clothes ripped off the hooks and flew into the ice-fire, instantly ripping to shreds there. Coleen had never seen her mother so furious. "Naughty." The wind's word was a verdict she'd heard hundreds of times over, but never directed at her. The word dive straight into her bones, along with the accusation. A woman formed out of the flurries. "Nevermind the tatters. I've another coat for you anyway." "But eat first, and promise to visit sometimes. That's my deal, then he...and you.. can go and celebrate the winter your own way."

When Santa got kidnapped. Unfortunately for the kidnappers, no one knows that Mrs. Clause is Krampus's daughter.

Confusion spreads among the group. There were four of us in the back of the carriage, and the fifth leading the horses. I continue the conversation after the quiet lasts too long for my liking. "So what you're saying is that we're doing that bastard noble a *favor* by grabbing you?" The kid, well not really a kid but still young, turns to me. The unkempt mop of hair swishes like an angry tide. "One less person clawing at his will. Though he never believed me when I said I wasn't one for worldly possessions." "What of the brother?" Asks Lloyd, the brute of our bunch. He was stacked like a cargo ship, to the point he earned plenty of looks from many guardsmen. He has a thing about family we never figured out, but he called us his real family. "He stayed gone. Haven't seen or heard from him in years." "You don't seem too interested in any of this going on," said Alyssa, our resident nimble fingers. She was the one capable of getting into locks like none other, except Lloyd when he was angry. "To be quite honest I'm waiting for whatever unpopulated hovel we end up at to be my grave." "What a poor sport. We expected you to squirm and scream, maybe even cry a little. This is... boring! I feel cheated." Willem is our close-to-unhinged magic expert. He used to dabble in the dark arts but 'got better' - his words not mine. "What I'm hearing is that we will now have outstanding warrants in three principalities and can't even get a ransom from it. How are we supposed to get paid from an unwanted noble's son?" asks Stephan from the front of the cart. Our expert in law as well as surprisingly good with animals, and my right hand. "I thought you were paid to take me. A surprisingly well executed plan in the daylight of the market could only be the work of professionals. Professionals only Father could afford." He spat out that word with so much heat I thought the wagon would catch fire. I try to calm the situation with my favorite tactic - my contagious laughter. I clap the boy on the shoulder. "Nah lad; if we were professionals we wouldn't be trying to kidnap noble children for money. I appreciate the compliment, and I'm sure the rest of the crew does too. But we wouldn't want to kill you, *especially* if that's what he wants." Willem lets out a disappointed noise. That earns a stare from all of us except the ever-professional Stephan, keeping an eye on the road ahead. "We still need to get paid. I'm not being wanted without enough money to bribe whoever wants to arrest me." Now all eyes are on me - a valid point. I organized this venture and need to slither out of the rubble I found myself in. Little did I know my savior was sitting right beside me. "It seems like we're on the same side. I know a couple of places my Father has invested in. We could pay them a visit. I'm sure between the lot of you and myself we can get some well deserved pay." By the gods, it seems this kid was looking for an excuse. And I'm here to aid and abet.

"Kidnapping? Really? Do you know who my father is?" "Yeah, we should get a nice little fortune outta you" "I don't think you understand. My older brother wasn't lost at sea. He was kidnapped."

My tormentor was an ingrate, but he knew how to cause me problems. His father was the mayor, so he seemed immune to the law. I was beaten, stalked, and suffered no end of indignities, but this had taken all of that and made it look like a beautiful summer afternoon. He had me framed for utilizing powers, powers I never possessed. Evidently he had some very talented friends who managed to falsify video evidence of me throwing him with my mind. And so it was I found my hands locked into a pair of metallic power inhibitors. He knew I had no powers, but he also knew my love for the piano, and there would be no way I could play with those large, metal contraptions bolted to my hands. Each key had to be precise, each note played at exactly the right time without intrusion by its neighbors or a piece would fall apart. My whole lifes ambition tossed away for a schoolyard prank, I knew I needed revenge. I didn't have powers, but that didn't mean I was powerless... I spent years, learning all I could about my new clunky accessories. It took me two years to learn how to disable them, another year to remove them from myself. Manipulating the tools took alot of patience and precise maneuvering, but eventually I got the things off. I would free myself at home, every night letting my hands feel the cool air. After being locked up, the air on them felt refreshing. But I wasn't done. I kept up my research, seeing how the gauntlets worked. And day by day, I knew more about their nature. It wouldn't take me long to learn how to do the opposite. To not neutralize ones abilities, but enhance them... There was a place, just outside the city, called Tartarus. The Tartarus asylum for the unnatural and insane It was simple work to send a transmission to their own power dampeners. Within minutes the asylum erupted, literally, with supercharged superhuman lunatics. The mayor was forced to resign in disgrace, but I wasn't done, oh no. They took everything from me, claiming I was some supervillain in the making even though I had no powers. Villian they call me? Villian I shall be. I began seeking out the inmates who escaped the carnage, captain combustion was the first. A short tempered man capable of some pretty nasty explosive powers, having him amplified to much could turn him into a walking nuke. But he didn't need to know just how high I could turn up his abilities. He seemed fine taking down buildings. Madam Mischief, an illusionist, was able to cause the entire cities inhabitants to believe they were trapped inside the city limits. Whenever they left, they found themselves wandering the streets. Next was the sewer dweller, his monsterous form made even more powerful at my command. Right under the nose of the now former mayor, I made every supervillain in the city pay me for their powers. Publicly I was just a helpless young woman wearing her legally mandated gloves. At night however I was a ruthless crime boss charging a hefty subscription fee for their enhanced powers. Anyone who didn't pay had their gauntlets re-activated. It wouldn't be long before I set my sights on Ethan. Ethan Edward Parker, my old bully. In my daily life I maintained a day job cleaning the offices of Parker and Malloy, a lawfirm in the city. I kept a close eye on the doofus as he got a job through sheer nepotism. Mommy's precious boy working at her law firm. I had both his parents killed. Told captain combustion that he wouldn't have to pay again if they were both killed violently. They were found with their temples burst, their brains painting the house. Madam Mischief implanted the vision in the head that Ethan was the one who did it. Suddenly there were several witnesses willing to testify that not only was their son the murderer, but he had hidden powers. Ethan was sent to Tartarus, to spend the rest of his days rotting for a crime he didn't commit. I made sure to have the spectator visit him while invisible, and tell him what I did. He hung himself a few weeks later. And so here I am, sitting in my home simply taking in the money from supers wanting to enhance their abilities for a price. Life is good when you are a genius.

The world has taken precautions against super-powered beings, handing out inhibitors if deemed too 'destructive.' You sat in the principal's office with horror etched on your face as a pair of inhibitor gloves were handed to you. The smug grin of your life long bully telling you everything.

Senrix let out a sigh as his cell phone rang. It was the fourth time in two days that his contact had called. *What did he do this time?* The human was an insufferable egomaniac. That much Senrix had learned early on in their partnership. Sure, the human could drum up excitement and scorn at the same time. But the time Senrix had to spend coaching the human made it almost not worth it. Taking a breath, he accepted the call. “Yes?” The human babbled on and on – something about how the unwashed masses did not like him. “Slow down.” It was all Senrix could do not to crush the frail human device in his hand. “Why did you think it was a good idea to remove so many key personnel?” The human replied. Senrix felt his eye twitch. “You know this company is critical to my business. I desire the output it generates.” His other hand began gouging slivers of wood out of his desk. “So why, may I ask, are you trying to run it into the ground?” Again, the human gave a simplistic, shortsighted response. Senrix rubbed his forehead. “I understand your followers worship the very ground you stand upon. They’re the only reason I haven’t terminated this partnership, human. The amount of misery they have managed to elicit from others has been astounding. But if you do not get your act together, I may need to reconsider our arrangements.” The human began again, causing Senrix to immediately cut him off. “No! Why on earth do you think your employees would agree to that? They may love you, but I know your labor laws. You’re treading a fine line there, human.” The human began to explain. At first, the throbbing in Senrix’s head grew. The mental gymnastics the human had to go through to create such a plan was frightening. Yet the more he spoke, the more Senrix began to see the final goal. “You realize outsourcing such a decision can only end poorly?” The answer was surprising. Senrix shook his head as a small smile began to form on his lips. “Amazing. In response, the humans will think you’re catering to them, when in fact you’re only doing the bare minimum. And the blind faith your supporters have in you will only grow.” The human continued, bolstered by such praise. “I appreciate the extra initiative there. Such an act will almost certainly ruin your reputation. At the same time, the potential conflict makes this worth pursuing.” Their conversation continued for another hour or so as they hammered out the details. Senrix finally relaxed and said, “This crazy plan of yours better work, human. I expect this business venture to stabilize and grow within the year.” He hung up and leaned back in his chair. Even now, the misery generated from his human’s latest acquisition fluctuated wildly. Many humans found such a turn of events hilarious. Many more suffered significant mental and emotional damage from such a frivolous decision. And if the human played the part well, they would both win in the long run. The amount of misery would be immense – beyond anything they had collected in the past. It would be delicious. ... Quick response before going to bed. Hopefully not too on the nose. If you're interested in my works, the archive of my various writing responses can be found in my writing portfolio, link through my profile. There's also an original story, The Crossroads. Thanks for reading.

You are an ancient demon that feeds off human misery. In ancient times people were tortured and sacrificed in your name. But as time went on you realized you needed less misery from any individual human the larger the human population grew.

[Poem] A child had arrived In Valhalla's halls they began to play The warriors stood shocked Who is this child, what battle won, what monster did they slay to earn this stay? Odin arrived, he was perplexed So he asked the child, "How did you come to be in a Halls of Valhalla, what war did you win? What great battle fought?" The child looked up and replied honestly "Well I never swung a sword, or shot a bow, but they say I fought a fearsome foe, they say I fought bravely and as long as I could, they named my foe cancer and I battled long and hard, but now I am here so I must have lost to this fearsome foe, maybe I don't belong at all..." The child slumped looking so small, Then, Odin did something none had ever seen, He let forth a single tear "No child, you did not lose, you fought more bravely and against a greater foe than anywhere, in fact from now on you sit by my side, for you see, you are the greatest of warriors here" The hall erupted with cheers and toasts "To the child, the greatest of warriors this Hall has seen!"

A very confused child somehow ends up in Valhalla. Not knowing what else to do, Odin himself ends up adopting the kid.

I'll never forget the crisp crack floor tiles make when they splash into smithereens and coat everything around them in debris. I was in the dreary bathroom in the local park when the lights dimmed suddenly; the bulbs slowly beginning to pulse; the temperature rapidly dropping. BOOM! Like a knock at the door the floor buckled. BOOM! Again. BOOM! And the floor opened up like a great whale breaking the surface. Thick darkness poured from it's mouth and coated the room. From the centre of the opening a lonely dark figure rose ever so slowly, a long thin person adorning a dark robe. As they finally stood tall the thick glop, unlike it did to everything else began sliding away. From each long robe sleeve with machine like efficiency slid out two gleaming sickles. As if moved from a breeze that never blew the hood flew back and a wispy being with glowing amber eyes looked out. **"I. AM. DEATH"** Cannoned their voice inside the room "YIPPEEEEEEEE!", I felt my self breaking out into a little sprig, "Do you have *ANY* idea how long I've been waiting?" "Y... Yo... You've been waiting?" the voice stammered still stuck in surround sound "Dude, I mean, my silly little mental health walks; with my silly little headspace app; and my silly little comfort shows were only going to go so far." They strode forward with an attitude. "Listen here! We've been understaffed for GOD DAMN millennia! I'm **sooooo sorry** you didn't get priority". ​ " Woah woah, all I'm saying is, life has been fucking me for like ten years. It's nice for you to join the party" Death blushed dropping one of their sickles. "Oh I'm sorry! I didn't know you and Life had a thing" they pushed out sheepishly reaching a bony hand to scratch their hair abashedly. "What?" "You and Life. I heard they were seeing a human now but I didn't thin-" "What? They're called figures of speech, I wasn't literally waiting for you, and do you think I'm just out here giving it out to corporeal beings?" I shouted getting in their face, "and what, did you think this was some weird menage a trois?" "No! I didn't mean to insult you", they shrunk back, "it's just you know, **we are** *figures* of speech, plus I've never even been on a date much less!" I began laughing, "You've never been on a date?" "What's with the tone? Do you know how hard it is to find people working a job this demanding?" "Yeah I bet, it has to be a ***killer***!" "You wouldn't believe! Plus, no one wants ***soul food*** on a first date". We both began chuckling. "I mean, call it crazy, but I have been ***dying*** for someone to ***take me out***" "Well, it's a good thing your schedule is clear" Death nudged me with a playful elbow "Too soon." "*sorry*" "You can make it up to me over lunch. And by make it up to me, I mean you're taking me to lunch" "You are very pushy you know" "Good, you're learning" I clasped a cold hand, "My mum always said I had a date with Destiny, but here I am with Death" I teased "Wait, you know Desti-" I glared. "*sorry"*

When they said you had a date with death you did not think it was literal.

\[TRIGGER WARNING - MENTIONS OF SUICIDE\] ​ My father always said I had a guardian angel. Of course, every father says that, in one way or another. I just never thought he *meant* it. You can imagine my surprise then, when in my darkest hour, she revealed herself, clad in shining splendor and brandishing a broadsword. Her hair, the color of freshly fallen snow, fell unmoving past her shoulders even as she severed the rope keeping my body suspended. As I crumpled to the ground she knelt, quickly but calmly undoing the noose I'd so painstakingly knotted. Breath filled my lungs. Color returned to my cheeks. I gasped, half choking, half crying, unsure of what to say or do. Finally, after what felt like hours, I turned my face to hers, still kneeling. "Who... who are you?" I asked, my throat hoarse. "Fear not," the woman had said with a straight face, "for I bring you tidings of great joy." I blinked. I actually *blinked*. I'm sure my mouth fell open, gaping like a fish as I sputtered. As I stared, the woman cracked a smile. Then she started laughing. "Oh, Lord above, you should see your *face!"* Her shoulders shook as she giggled profusely. "I can't believe I finally got to use that line!" Her words held no malice, no anger, only mirth and amusement. With a flourish her sword disappeared into the folds of her gown and she stood, offering me her hand to help me up. "I'm Kara," she said, wiping a tear from her eye. "Your guardian angel." \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ It was that day that I'd learned that my father was right, as crazy as he'd sounded my whole life. I never bought into the whole religion thing, but according to Kara, everyone got one regardless of religion. Each angel was assigned at birth to a human, to protect them from the Powers of the Adversary. It didn't always work, though, which is why you have bad people doing bad things. Their angels are still there, just... diminished. Less powerful, since their charge refuses to listen to them. "We all get the chance for a direct intervention," Kara explained one night over a cup of coffee. Turns out angels took a liking to the stuff, who knew? "Only one, mind you, but there are rules around it. Number one, we can only reveal ourselves during the course of The Intervention. And number two, once the intervention is over, you'll never see us again." "Why then," I asked, taking a sip of my own coffee, "can I still see you?" "Your intervention isn't over, duh!" Kara said with a smile. "Another rule is that the intervention has to be significant to your overall life. And it just so happens that I've decided the most significant thing I can do in your life is to be your friend." That was how I came to live with an angel - *my* angel - for the better course of a decade. We fell in love, as friends do, and one day... well, we decided to get married. At least, we tried. The events of the past nine years flashed through my eyes as I stood in the doorway to our bedroom, staring in horror at the carnage within. Kara, the love of my life, my friend, my guardian angel, lay sprawled upon the floor, blood pooling behind her. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, a sick, wet gurgling noise coming from the hole in her lungs. All this time, she'd protected me, and I never once thought about if she might need protection. I dropped the bags I held, groceries, and rushed to her side, cradling her in my arms. "I'm here, Kara," I said softly, brushing her bloodstained hair from her cheeks. "I'm here." Drops of something, clear and stinging, fell from my cheeks, and I realized I was crying. "I'm here Kara, I'm here." Her lungs were punctured; there wasn't enough time to get her to a hospital. It looked large, almost as if something had punched through her. "De..." Her breath came in wet, choking gasps, blood pooling in her mouth and bubbling out between her lips. "De...mons...." Kara took my hand in hers, pressing it tight around something. I paid it no mind, trying to focus instead on not turning into a sobbing mess. Our apartment flooded with light then, and I had to turn away to keep from being blinded. Footsteps padded on the thin carpeting and stopped before the two of us. "Give her to me, child." A voice, calm and commanding, directed. Instinctively I curled my body around Kara, around my angel, and glared at the feet of the intruder. "Get back," I hissed. "She's *mine.* You can't have her!" "Karasiel is wounded," the voice, neither male nor female responded. "You will do her no good weeping over her shell." Kara gurgled out a word beneath me. "Gabe..riel..." More blood pooled in her mouth, a hacking cough spraying it over my shirt. With a hesitant glance at the newcomer, I uncurled my body from over Kara. Gabriel, *the* Gabriel I realized, bent to scoop my lover in his arms as if she were no more than a bundle of rags. Two wings, plumage as pure as could be, wrapped around her and hid her from my sight. "She will be returned to you once she is healed," he said. "Karasiel has suffered a great deal today, but her pain will no go unnoticed." With a nod of his head he motioned to my hands, where the item Kara had pressed into them still sat. I open my hands and blinked, surprised. A miniature sword, no bigger than 4 or 5 inches long, sat beneath my curled fingers. "If you so choose, child, you can fight your demons for her. She will heal if you do not, but-" "I'll do it." I cut him off, gripping the miniature sword tight. "For Kara. For my angel." With a flash of light the miniature was no more and in its place rested a glowing pistol, holster and all. I hardly noticed the ornate carvings on the grip, instead focusing on the name carved into the barrel. *Reckoner.* "*Reckoner,"* the Archangel said. "Your love for her is strong indeed." With a wave of his hand, the air tore in two to reveal a hellish landscape of brimstone and screams. "Go then, Reckoner, with the blessing of the Father. Find those that harmed you and your own. Fight your demons. You will now when you are done." I said nothing, only nodded as I stepped through the portal to Hell. If a reckoner I should be, then a reckoning I shall bring. "Hell hath no fury," I muttered, once the portal closed. For my angel. For my friend. For Kara.

You've always had a literal guardian angel- but she's currently bleeding out on your bedroom floor.

"You threw me out, remember?" I stare at the young woman before me. She's wearing a hoodie and a track pants, just like I always wear. Her voice is familiar, second nature familiar. "Yesterday. After we had that arguement. You shouted out loud that I should get out. Next thing I knew, I woke up behind your house, next to the bin." That is... ironic, to say the least. I think back to yesterday. I always have conversations in my head, and arguments too, but yesterday it was especially bad. I got so mad at myself - no, not myself, this person standing before me - that I screamed for her to get out, and knocked my head against the wall. I had a massive headache afterward, but the voice stopped. How am I supposed to know I literally knocked the voice out of my head? I study her again. The more I look, the more I realise how similar we are. We have the same colour skin, the same eyes, same hair tied up messily. Her voice is the only thing different. My voice is rough and rather deep for a girl. Hers is higher and smoother, like cool water beneath a frozen river. "How do I get you back in?" I ask cautiously. I know the voice in my head. Let's just say that she isn't exactly the angel whispering in my ear. She shrugs, careless. "Personally, I dont care. I don't want to go back there." "Listen," I say patiently. "You're the voice in my head. You have to come back. Who else would persuade me to take chances?" "That's not what you said yesterday." Her eyes are cold. I imagine that it is what I look like half of the time; a cold, indifferent look that, according to my few friends, chills most to the bone. "You said that I was a bad influence, that I wasn't good for you." "I was angry yesterday," I reply. "Most tend to be when the voice inside of their heads start plotting the humiliation of their best friend." "She deserves it," the woman snarls. The sound echoes off the room wall, and my mind, distracted as always, thinks, Echo is a pretty good name for her. "She betrayed us. She should feel karma slapping her in the face." "Not this way." I shake my head. "Karma works on its own. No intervention needed." "You are weak," she spits, striding to me and pushing her face in mine. "You cannot take decisive action yourself. You're too worried about how Cody will see it." "Cody?" I splutter. "No. I am not weak. You are without mercy. You know Cody sees me as a saint. If I can teach him the right ways, the pain of his past will be erased." "He is a child, and not your own. You care too much about too many things." She grabs the sides of my head. "I am the voice that tells you to think of yourself sometimes. You never listen to me. But maybe I will listen to you. Sometimes." And the world warps, and twists, and I cry out but I am falling, falling, falling. I open my eyes, and I see... my room. I try to turn to the window, where Echo was standing, but instead my head turns towards the door. Suddenly, my body is moving, and I can't stop it. "How does it feel?" Her voice is everywhere, in my ears, in my head, in my bones. "Playing passenger is a surprisingly boring job." And I scream, trying to feel my hands or my feet or something, anything, but all I am is a soul, a conscious, a voice. Her laugh shakes through my body - her body. "Not very nice, is it?" Her joy and amusement is palpable. "Now. Let's sort out that friend of yours."

You wake up one day and notice that the voice in your head is gone. You think nothing of it, until you come home from work/school and enter your room, only to see a person inside. It’s the voice in your head. You ask how it got there and it’s response is...