#original short story
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Fate and Mercy and Dead Girls
Summary: Sometimes, when things go very wrong, the Chosen One gets a wish. That’s where Danielle comes in. (Tagged with Blood, violence, child death)
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Danielle is cursed.
This battlefield is nice. It’s early afternoon and the breeze that comes from the forest to the east is sweet. The fighting has only just begun and the scent of blood is still hovering at the edge of her senses. It hasn’t erased the taste of the dead girl’s last meal – bread sweetened with honey – yet. She’s used to storm clouds the size of mountains roiling overhead, the electric sting of lightning against her skin, the crash of blades against armor and arrows against shields. The sun is warm and honey-sweet against her cheek and there’s no fighting going on right now. There’s only the low murmur of voices from all around and some muffled sobbing.
If she weren’t waking up in the body of a dead girl, she’d call it picnic weather.
Time to pay attention.
“—Chosen One is dead,” a man says. His voice matches the weather more than the situation. Calm. Even. Gentle. A wave lapping at the shore before the tsunami. She can feel his aura undulating through the ground, dark and demanding. Demon King? Mad Emperor? Dark Lord? One of those types. He projects his words over the renewed sobbing. “Do you see your folly now, honorable knights? The wasted months of defiance? You were never going to defeat my army even with years and seven fabled soldiers at your mercy rather than the one. Here, the day of your final rebellion, your Hero lies dead after only one volley.”
Hero. Danielle is cursed, she shouldn’t be feeling pity for anyone but herself. But there it is, the familiar bile in the back of her throat, the prickling of her eyes, the tightening in her chest. This dead girl was their Hero. They made her their Chosen One. From the feel of it, they didn’t school in her magic or train her in swordsmanship. Her muscles are burning from death, yes, but also from overexertion.
What do you want? Danielle asks. All of the right systems are under her control now. The ground is cold against her back, the girl’s tiny curls a tickle against her face. The air is sweet underneath the scent of a dying blow and she can hear the conversations around her clearly. The Dark Lord is still gloating, giving the knights their time to mourn and his own forces time to ready the next attack. Sweetheart, what do you want?
The girl’s soul shudders. I-I’m not dead?
The arrow pierced your heart. You’re dead.
A dizzying swirl of emotions cloud the girl’s next words. Grief-sorrow-panic-relief-fury-horror. Danielle has to reinforce her barrier between her soul and the girl’s to avoid being swept away by it all. All of the dead girls Danielle is called to are strong, and this one is no different. Danielle can’t hear her clearly over the roar of her emotions, but this one is talking very quickly.
…live…wanted to…please…save…
Danielle peeks out from under her eyelashes. It’s bright for a battlefield, but there’s a familiar red staining the ground as far as she can see. The armored feet of both sides’ soldiers are about thirty feet away, a hazy barrier of magic holding them apart.
“Let down this barrier!” Knight David screams. The girl’s knowledge flows into Danielle’s mind like a spring. He’s the head of the kingdom’s number one knight squad, a former S-rank adventurer, and a mentor to the Hero. He bangs the hilt his sword against the Dark Lord’s barrier. It crackles under the assault and doesn’t break. Knight David swears. “You’ll die for what you did! She was just a little girl!”
Another memory: Knight David didn’t think of her as a little girl. He gave her a woman’s sword that took her a month to learn how to lift, much less wield. He told her he had faith in her. He told her she could do it. When she asked how, he pushed a curl behind her ear and told her victory was fated.
The Dark Lord laughs, the sound like the tide retreating into the sea. “Is the kingdom so hard-pressed for soldiers they bring children to the battlefield?”
“She was Chosen,” Knight David says. There are genuine tears in his voice. “Nobody wanted that for her. Nobody.”
“She was nobody,” the Dark Lord says. The magic barrier trembles and he smirks. “Just as you’re about to be.”
Knight David’s magic sets his sword ablaze. “You’ll pay for this.”
The demons chitter behind the Dark Lord, straining against his commands. They want blood. They want to attack. They saw the Hero fall and they’re emboldened by her death. They’ll tear the humans apart.
In contrast, Knight David’s forces aren’t so sure. Knight David’s teeth gnash and he swears at the Dark Lord, but his men look from her body to each other. It was so quick. So fast. Did they demons hold greater power than they were told to kill a Chosen One so quickly?
“Prepare yourselves,” the Dark Lord says. The barrier fades.
“To the death,” Knight David swears.
Danielle presses again. They’re running out of time. What do you want?
Save them.
The words roar through Danielle’s temporary body. Save them. Her magic ignites like coal in a furnace and she gasps, steam escaping from her lips as a dead girl’s heart restarts.
“W-what?” someone whispers.
Danielle opens her eyes.
It’s not a very big war. There are maybe thirty combatants on the side of the Kingdom. She assumed from the girl’s memories that they’d all be knights, but there are adventurers mixed in among them as well as the occasional wizard. They’re all kitted out in the colors of the Kingdom though. Armor painted with the Royal family’s crest, bandanas with the fallen star motif embroidered on, red tassels on their weapons. Maybe they don’t have the Kingdom’s army behind them, but they have the King’s favor.
The Dark Lord is the only one who’s managed to keep his mouth shut after her sudden resurrection. His side is comprised of dark wizards in tattered robes and nearly a hundred demons. Danielle can see wolves the size of horses, goblins with wooden clubs, and vampires hiding in the tree line. It looks impressive, but the girl’s memories tell Danielle a different story.
This is the last stand for both sides.
“The Hero lives,” Knight David says through bloodless lips. He’s younger than Danielle thought, his beard only just touched with silver. His eyes shine wetly and he raises his sword over his head. “THE HERO LIVES!”
Knights, adventurers, and wizards lean back and scream their jubilation to the sky. Some of them weep openly, staggering as close to her as the Dark Lord’s barrier allows with their hands spread wide as if to embrace her.
The Dark Lord is silent as the kingdom’s forces rejoice. He looks like a human though he’s gone to great lengths to hide that fact. His long, black hair is twisted around his horns, emphasizing them. His clothes are as tattered as his forces’ and there’s dried blood staining the hem of his cape. His nails are long and painted an unending black that makes them look like talons.
If it weren’t for the depth and darkness of his magic, he wouldn’t register to Danielle as a Dark Lord at all.
“Hero,” the Dark Lord murmurs. His red eyes gleam a beat before his pupils swell, turning them black. He doesn’t raise his voice above the noise, but magic makes it so Danielle can hear him easily. “Killing you quickly was the last mercy I had for you.”
“Mercy,” Danielle says. The word echoes from her involuntarily. She pulls the arrow from the dead girl’s chest. The wet and meaty sound of it finally silences Knight David and his allies. She coughs and tastes blood.
“The fates have seen the justness of our cause and protected the Hero,” Knight David says into the silence.
“Fate,” Danielle echoes and coughs blood again.
Knight David doesn’t hear her. His chest swells. A talented orator, he knows just what to say to erase the horror of her death and reinvigorate his squad. “Dark Lord -no! – Demon, you’ve lost.” He points his sword directly at the Dark Lord. “You just don’t know it yet.” The knights cheer.
Oh, Danielle thinks, he knows it.
The Dark Lord stares down the length of Knight David’s blade impassively. His lip curls into a sneer that must look truly demonic to the knights of the kingdom. But from her vantage point, Danielle can see the way his clenched fists tremble. The barrier wavers imperceptibly and then holds. The Dark Lord can’t sustain it for much longer, not if he wants to have enough magic to fight.
As soon as it falls, the kingdom will strike. And, with the Hero on their side, they’ll have the conviction (and the magic) to take on a thousand demons. The Dark Lord only has a hundred.
Danielle staggers to her feet. This body is on the weaker side of the ones she has inhabited, but it’s not the worst she’s had to work with. Her legs hold her weight and the heart beats strongly once she uses her magic to patch it.
Knight David grins at her, the fever of battle bright in his eyes. “Hero!” He holds out his hand. “How glad I am to see you alive! Cast your strengthening spell.”
A memory: They taught her to strengthen her allies and nothing else. Training sessions ran late into the night as they pushed her to expand her range, power them up more, amplify magic higher and higher. This girl knows exhaustion more intimately than the affection of another.
Knight David slashes the barrier. He doesn’t wait to see if she’ll obey. Of course she will. This dead girl has never defied him before. She owes him and his kingdom too much. Who else would elevate an orphan to the heights of a Hero? He strikes again and this time his blow leaves a crack in the Dark Lord’s magic that splinters out like a spiderweb. He grins meanly. “Come, soldiers! Reclaim our land! Defend our home! Defeat evil!”
The knights smash their weapons against their shields and bare their teeth. “For our homes! For our families! For good!”
“Kill,” the Dark Lord hisses as his barrier fails piece by piece. He leans towards Knight David like a snake about to strike. A sword as black as night materializes in his hand. “Kill them all.”
“Hey,” Danielle says, “don’t you think you’re moving on a little fast?”
Nobody hears her. Nobody asks her if she’s alright. Nobody cares.
It’s Danielle’s curse to care.
The Dark Lord’s barrier crumbles. The air fractures and fragments tumble from the top and towards the combatants on either side like sparks. It’s ten feet in the air, eight feet, seven feet--
Her magic billows from her like smoke, scorching the grass as it balloons forward. Blood burns and vaporizes under the heat. The wolves are the first to notice it. They whine and back away from her wave of power, cowering behind their lord. Danielle hisses through her teeth and her power surges a little faster, touching the Dark Lord’s magic before the demons can alert their master. She’s powerful enough to do this even with him fighting her, but that would be…messy. She wrests control of the barrier from the Dark Lord. She builds it back up to twenty feet tall and adds new walls. The King’s forces used to be the only ones trapped. Now the Dark Lord turns and blinks at the misty cage that’s formed around him and his army.
The sudden silence hurts her ears as hundreds of eyes follow the scorch marks from the barrier to her.
Knight David’s sword wavers. “Hero…?”
“Your Hero isn’t here anymore,” Danielle says. Experience tells her to rip this bandage off quickly. She gestures to the dead girl’s clouded eyes. “Did you really think she survived an arrow to her heart?”
She can see from their faces that they did. Knight David opens his mouth and then closes it. He swallows hard. He says, “You’re not—” His face hardens. “Who are you?”
The Dark Lord watches her with black eyes, but he’s not still. His power tests her control of his barrier. He doesn’t find a crack.
“You called it fate,” Danielle says. She limps towards them. There’s an arrow in the girl’s thigh she didn’t notice before. She pulls it out without breaking stride and throws it to the side. The furnace that’s consumed the dead girl’s heart churns with rage. “You lot always believe in fate. Makes everything you do look prettier, doesn’t it? More palatable.”
“It is fate. The Oracles of Trilbia spoke of a girl with untold power who would be our savior. We needed—”
“LOOK AT HER!” Danielle roars. She slams a hand against her chest and then holds her palm high overhead. Red shines wetly on her palm. “She was a child! Fifteen summers and you stand there and call her a savior?”
“I ask again,” Knight David says. His eyes flash. “Who are you?” He draws his sword point slowly, purposefully, away from the Dark Lord. He points it directly at her. “What have you done to the Hero?”
Danielle won’t answer stupid questions. “You’re cruel. What you did to her – nothing can justify it. Especially not something as fickle as fate.”
“The Oracles—”
“Should die,” Danielle interrupts. She bares her teeth. “Or at least be honest. If they wanted a child sacrifice, they should have killed her on an altar with their own hands.”
Knight David hits her barrier. It throws him back and he shakes with rage. “Who. Are. You?”
“And you,” Danielle says, turning her attention to the Dark Lord. She holds her bloodied palm out to him. “You speak of mercy. You think giving her a quick death mercy?”
To his credit, he doesn’t deny it or flinch away. He nods shallowly, eyes never leaving hers.
“There was mercy, I’ll give you that,” Danielle says. She staggers towards him and stops just short of the barrier. They’re barely two feet apart when she says, “It was her mercy that she died quickly. Not yours.”
The Dark Lord’s nostrils flare. “I don’t understand.”
“You will,” Danielle promises. Her heart aches. This isn’t the time for that. She stokes the fires of her magic until steam escapes from her lips again. Only then does she twist towards Knight David again. “You killed this girl. You threw her into battle untrained. They may have shot her, but it was you who brought her here. This is your fault.”
“You’re some malevolent spirit,” Knight David says. He sweeps one arm out as if to banish her. Behind him, his forces tremble. “A vile devil come to sow seeds of doubt. Our conviction is firm. Oh, monstrous devil! Release our friend, release the Hero and your end may be swift yet.”
Devil? Danielle loses hold of her rage for a moment. Yes, yes she supposes she is. There are forces at play here that she might call devilish. But being called a devil by him?
Ridiculous.
“Maybe you should pray,” Danielle suggests. She nods slowly, warming to the suggestion. “Yes, that’s what you should do. You should pray the big, bad devil away.” She approaches his side of the barrier and the grass withers under her feet. “Pray, Knight David.”
“Hold fast,” Knight David says to his knights. He raises his sword to her and braces himself. “Do not be swayed by—”
“No, don’t pray,” Danielle says. She laughs without humor, chest shuddering with the effort. “Prophecize. Summon a hero to defeat me. Go on. Do it.”
“You will pay for the horrors you’ve committed today. Wearing the skin of the Chosen One damns you to the furthest—”
“Oh, fine, I’ll do it for you. There will be a knight,” Danielle says. She lurches forward and presses her hands against her barrier. Knight David stumbles back when it moves with her, allowing her closer and closer. She laughs again. “A Knight with red splashed across his breast and his shining sword melded to his hand.”
Knight David chokes on a scream as her words become truth. His sword melts under a sudden wave of heat, the silver-plating dripping through his fingers. He falls to his knees and grabs his wrist, trying to shake his hand free of the molten metal. It cools as rapidly as it melted, and he stares in horror as the silver binds his fingers to the hilt forevermore.
Danielle comes closer and the kingdom’s forces flex away from her like a school of fish in the face of a predator. “And this knight,” she says, “will be a Hero to his people. He will rise through his pain and destroy the devil that wore the skin of the little girl he sent to slaughter.” She spreads her arms wide above him, the sun beating down on her crown, and waits. After a beat she says, “Go on. Make the prophecy come true. Stab me. I’m waiting.”
Knight David keens through clenched teeth. “Y-you monster. You w-won’t—” He breathes in deeply and glares up at her. His feeble attempts to raise his arm don’t move his sword more than an inch. “You won’t break me.”
“I don’t have to,” Danielle says. Her arms fall to her sides, and she looms over the fallen knight. The air isn’t sweet now. The smell of burning flesh is more familiar than blood. “She didn’t ask me to break you.”
“Didn’t ask?”
Danielle turns. Unlike the knights, the Dark Lord isn’t backing away from her. He’s as close as he can get, pressed right up against the barrier. He’s rearranged his forces while she wasn’t looking so that the hardier demons are shielding the smaller.
“Didn’t ask,” Danielle agrees. She taps her temple. “Right before she died, I asked her what she wanted. See, nobody here gave a fuck what she wanted before she died. Fate is fake, but belief isn’t. They believed hard enough that the universe heard their pathetic little prayers for a savior. And, at the end, it took pity, but not on them. No one cared so it sent me. I asked what she wanted. She answered. Now we’re here.”
Knight David shudders at her feet.
“Are you a spirit of vengeance then?” the Dark Lord asks very casually. His shoulders are tense, undermining his nonchalance. He speaks a touch too loudly and very carefully doesn’t look back at his army. “Is that it?”
“I’m what she asked for,” Danielle says. She eyes Knight David’s comrades. There’s a wizard somewhere in there valiantly trying to heal Knight David’s wounds from afar. It’s slow going so she ignores it. “Though, between you and me, I think some vengeance is owed here, don’t you?”
The Dark Lord’s jaw flexes. “It is.” He raises his chin. “And you shall have it. I only ask that you let my people go. They are blameless in all this and only had the bad fortune to follow a misguided lord—”
Howls and screams of protest drown out his words. The demons lunge against his orders, mouths frothing and eyes wide in fear. They don’t want their lord to die, they deny his words, they can’t bear to lose him.
The Dark Lord’s power snaps over them and they quiet all at once, voices stolen by his power.
“Let it only be me. Please,” the Dark Lord finishes quietly.
Danielle watches him with interest. “You would die for them?”
“I return the loyalty I’ve been given.” He bows his head. “I will beg if you’d like.”
“What makes you believe I want your death?”
“I know my part in the Hero’s fate,” the Dark Lord says. His lips thin and he stares down at Knight David with more hatred than she thought possible. “Humans brought her here to slaughter, but I gave the order. I called it mercy to kill a child quickly so she need not suffer. We both know I lied. I killed her to keep her from strengthening the kingdom. No matter how I did it, it wasn’t mercy. It was evil and it was…not necessary. It wasn’t necessary but it was easier than the alternatives and so I killed her. I resigned myself to carrying that sin before I ever stepped foot onto the battlefield.”
Oh. Danielle has to blink very quickly as heat rises behind her eyes. The Dark Lord isn’t lying. He isn’t hiding from the truth of his actions nor is he justifying his hand in the Hero’s death. There is sorrow in his voice and his hands are loose at his sides even though his eyes are watchful, waiting for her to strike. He’d let me strike him down. He will stand there and do nothing while I slit his throat.
“It was wrong,” Danielle says. Her throat aches. “It was wrong to kill her.”
The Dark Lord’s head sinks lower. “Yes. It was.”
“She was a child.”
“She was.”
“She didn’t have a choice.”
“I know.”
“She deserved better.”
“Yes.”
Danielle’s chin trembles. This— after all the dead girls, this is a first. “You did it to save your domain.”
“I did.”
“It was evil.”
“Yes. The most evil thing I’ve done.”
“She didn’t ask me to kill you.”
“Ye—what?” The Dark Lord blinks, finally looking back up at her. His eyes are red again, pupils dilated. “She didn’t?”
“No.” Danielle lets the barrier slip out of her control. She can see the Dark Lord more clearly without the wall of smoke and his eyes are more than just red. They’re red-rimmed. Danielle reaches up with her bloodied palm and cups the Dark Lord’s cheek. He shudders at the chill of her touch but doesn’t pull away. “You had no mercy today, but she did. She knew her power would mean the end of your people. She knew she would not be able to resist the order to cast her spell when they gave it. So when the first volley came, she didn’t run. She didn’t raise her shield.”
“Mercy,” the Dark Lord breathes in revelation. His face crumples. “Oh.”
“She died quickly,” Danielle says. The girl’s memories are so hot that Danielle feels burned. All the dead girls are strong. This one is not an exception. “She knew an evil thing would be done today. She chose. She chose.”
The Dark Lord’s voice is thick with tears. “She shouldn’t have had to. She—No!”
Danielle doesn’t know what’s happened at first. The Dark Lord is staring at her in mute horror. His cheek is stained red but her hand is no longer on his cheek. Then she processes that she’s been hit quite hard in the back. She looks down.
A bloody sword is sticking out of her chest. It retracts with a sickly sound and Danielle finds herself on her knees, staring down at the river of blood gushing from her breast. She let down her barrier to speak to the Dark Lord, face to face. She didn’t think she’d be leaving her back open to the other side. Or, rather, she didn’t think Knight David would recover enough to kill her again.
“The devil speaks lies,” Knight David says. His words are thin with pain. He can no longer raise his blade to the sky. His arm is trembling from the effort of stabbing her but still he faces his forces and spurs them to action. “And lies have no place in our kingdom! Our friend, our Hero died for us! So we could win! So we could prosper! So we could—”
He killed her again.
Danielle surges to her feet. The dead girl’s heart is torn to pieces in her chest, but Danielle’s magic surges through her veins like blood. She rises up behind Knight David and shrieks, “Stop killing her!” She drives her hand through Knight David’s chest and rips out his heart.
It happens too fast for anyone to react. The Dark Lord holds his breath and the world goes still. Danielle lets the heart fall and the thud as it hits the grass is loud in the quiet.
Knight David sways once, twice, and then drops to the bloodied ground.
“You didn’t have to die,” Danielle says. She’s looking at the other knights and adventurers and idiots who believed in fate. She’s talking to Knight David. “Even after everything you put her through, she didn’t want you dead. She was good. She was great. And you killed her for it.”
“Mercy,” someone stutters. Then, another. “Mercy, please.”
“No,” Danielle says. Petulant. Like a child. “You didn’t stop him. Not a single one of you tried. She didn’t tell me to save you.”
They combust before they can run. A long time ago, her power wasn’t as controlled. Her fire didn’t get hot enough fast enough. They screamed back then. Screamed and wailed and cursed.
Her fire doesn’t give them a chance to curse her now.
When it is done and she’s satisfied that nothing but ashes remain, she turns to the Dark Lord. He doesn’t flinch from her though there’s fear in his eyes. Even now, he expects her to kill him. Even now he accepts it.
“Bury her,” Danielle says. The fire crackles behind her. “Clean her body and dress her in new clothes. Bury her somewhere where war hasn’t touched and say something kind over her grave.”
The Dark Lord swallows twice before he can speak. He doesn’t ask if this means she’s going to leave him alive. He understands what she means. He says, “I-I will.”
“She saved you,” Danielle says. She wants him to understand that. “She could have wished for anything. Revenge. Peace. A second chance. She didn’t. She wished to save you.”
“She will be honored,” the Dark Lord says. He breathes in deeply and gently reaches out to cup her cheek, an imitation of her earlier touch. His palm is warm against her cold skin. If he is repulsed by the feel of death, he doesn’t show it. “I will see to it.”
Danielle closes her eyes. Though she doesn’t lean into his touch, she doesn’t pull away. It is the singularly most affectionate moment she’s experienced in decades, but it’s not for her. “Her name is Samira.”
The Dark Lord releases his breath. “Samira. Thank you for telling me her name.”
Danielle lets her curse sweep her to the next dead girl.
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Thanks for reading! If you’d like to see stories like this or some more serialized stories, please consider supporting me on Patreon (X)! Currently I’m working on the Cinderella retelling I have posted on here :)
See y’all next week!
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Hey Writeblr, show us your original project's AO3 tags.* So far for mine, I've got:
Terrible Decisions, PTSD, Bad at Relationships, Seances, Ghosts, Historical Romance, Psychological Horror, Haunted Houses, Artists Behaving Badly
*like if you were going to post your original whatever how would you tag it to let people know what to expect
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Love is Inevitable
Cross-posted to my original writeblr, Rusted Dreams Stories
Posted here because I think more people see me here, but please consider giving my writeblr a follow / reblog from there.
One of those "Humans are Space Orcs" "Humans are Weird" type of stories, only instead of admiring us for our physical-endurance abilities, an alien species admires our emotional resilience.
Love is Inevitable
In the ages since contact had been made with the Earth and the human species, the other rational races of the Pan-Galactic Alliance had their various reasons for either abhorring or admiring them. A great many of the peoples admired Humanity for their general physical endurance – the ability to recover quickly from wounds and to withstand conditions that would kill a great many beings. However, the Mhrr’ah held them in awe for a very different kind of endurance.
First contact between the two species was a bit awkward because humans could not help but compare the Mhrr’ah to a certain kind of pet animal they kept. “Kitty!” - They resembled bipedal cats save for the small horns upon their heads, longer, boxier faces and notable biological differences such as reproduction through eggs. In turn, the Mhrr’ah compared humans to the golb, a small, bald, purplish-colored animal they kept as friends, although they were arguably more pig-like or doggish.
Their respective choice of pets, strangely, was what had started conversation which led to the Mhrr’ah thinking of humans as particularly tough.
The Mhrr’ah were rather appalled that humans kept companion animals that did not match their own lifespans. They were even more confounded by the ability of human beings to pick up and keep working and living after the loss of kin. The Mhrr’ah were highly emotional beings. As soon as they had grown, they tended to part ways with their parents, but stayed in touch with their clutch-mates. They formed attachments with mates and friends of similar health-status and age (and they did live long, by the human reckoning) so as to maximize the likelihood of a life together. Most forms of conflict on their planet were a distant memory of ancestral forms because of this peculiar type of empathy.
If one Mhrr’ah in a friend or family group died, the rest of their strong attachments was sure to follow. It was almost unheard of for one to lose a life-mate and not to have their own body shut down in pure despair within months of the event.
Conversations with humans brought up widows, those who had lost brothers, best friends, parents and animal companions time and again. Humans spoke to them of Stages of Grief and of the ways they’d sought out each other to support themselves through it. They spoke of ghost stories and mythical lands of the dead where some hoped to be reunited someday with those they’d loved. The Mhrr’ah, who did not understand how one could fall, but not the others in one’s chosen circle would bow their heads in salute to the resilient human explorers and tradesmen they’d met if they ever had a sad story.
And that is to say nothing of other tales the humans told them – the loss of homes, the loss of friends though things other than death, various mental breakdowns that they could recover from.
This, to them, was far more impressive than any physical endurance that humans ever had.
The Mhrr’ah were a people who were careful to keep to small circles and careful to keep themselves safe. They tried to distance themselves from forming friendships with humans even as they’d formed partnerships of mutual benefit simply because they knew that humans felt strong emotions, too, but were shorter lived than they were. A human might keep a Mhrr’ah in their memory if they’d loved and lost a friend, but a Mhrr’ah would not be capable of it for long. In the end, they’d even formed attachments with pets knowing that they would outlive them by many spans.
When asked, the humans said something that resonated with all Mhrr’ah. “We really can’t help it. Love is inevitable.”
#hfy#humans are space orcs#humans are weird#humans are amazing#science fiction#short stories#short story#original short story#cat-people#cross-posted#fiction
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Technosymbiosis
Here's another mech story, inspired by/a continuation of this one:
I was the only one to figure it out. None of the others ever bothered to pay attention; between the natural casualties of war and the constant switching out of pilots, it didn’t make much sense to get too involved in each other’s lives. But something about Pilot Grieg, fellow member of Hoplite division V, captured my attention from the moment I saw her. While most of the other pilots were either frightened or overconfident on their first day (I nearly pissed myself from the anxiety), I could see nothing in her eyes but a fierce, powerful hunger. She stepped into the cockpit of her Hoplite and didn’t even flinch when the nanofilament harness closed around her chest.
I was entranced by her piloting skills and her determined, nearly emotionless behavior. All pilots tended to be a little cold, rumor had it that recruitment intentionally selected soldiers who scored lower on the EDEs due to the nature of some of our missions; but she was something else. Her face never changed outside of that cockpit, and she walked around with an ungainly clumsy stride, her gait resembling that of a much larger being. But when the mesh closed around her and the interface cable plugged into her neck, I swear her eyes sparkled brighter than ever and she sometimes even smiled. In the midst of battle, among dozens of rookie pilots disoriented and frightened by the steady flow of their mechs' peripheral data, Grieg maneuvered the battlefield more capably and calmly than anyone else. She was like the eye in a hurricane of titanium and lasers. She seemed to take to piloting so naturally.
It was a bit of an obsession for me. I never wanted to join the army, but at my family's civvie status it was either that, or spend the rest of my life working the same scrap hauls as my father and his father before him. I'm not sure I made the right choice: piloting was a lonely job, and our orders were always changing. The war had been going on since before I was even born and now that I was a part of it, I felt like it wasn't going to end anytime soon. I didn't even have anyone to confide in: between missions, I knew no one and no one bothered to know me. Still, a good soldier follows orders, so I took solace in what little consistency I had. Every time I suited up I kept an eye out for Grieg, hoping that we would get deployed together - that I would get another chance to study her.
That's why it didn't take me long to figure out - she was always there. Pilots were supposed to take regular breaks from duty to avoid excessive neurolink buildup, and these breaks were usually staggered within a division. I rarely flew out with the same Hoplite squad two weeks in a row. Yet every time I got ready for a patrol, I caught sight of Grieg skulking around the locker room already prepped. She usually looked like she hadn’t slept in days but she hopped into her suit with an eagerness unlike any other soldier in our division.
I really have no clue how nobody else caught on. I mean, it didn’t take a genius to figure it out: her constant presence, her aggressive combat tactics, her clear exhaustion versus her eagerness to pilot - Grieg was addicted to battle. Or something like that. I wasn’t sure whether it was the speed, or the action, or something else entirely. Maybe it had something to do with the depressant α-IVs - after my first time in the cockpit I spent a week throwing up. Maybe they did something weird to make her dependent on the mech?
Not that any of that mattered. Somehow she had managed to fuck with our shifts so that she was always on duty, strapped to a giant death machine. Her link was probably through the roof - god only knew how close she might be to terminus. I still remember the video they had showed us in training. A squad of pilots traveling in formation, when suddenly one of them lets out a bellowing screech and starts flailing around. The other units immediately try to suppress it but it fights like a beast, blasting and tearing at all who come near until finally it’s taken out with a TAC-beam to the core. It was terrifying - a team of twenty-one pilots reduced to just four, all because of a single terminus incident. The video ended on a close-up of the rogue pilot, emaciated limbs pinned down with thick nanomass cables, fluid flooding his throat and rivulets of blood trailing down wires that burrowed straight into his eyes. Pilots were taken off of active duty for a reason.
I decided to confront Grieg about it. I probably should have reported her to the division leader but something stopped me - curiosity perhaps. I had to know.
I stopped her in the locker room before a patrol.
“I know what you’ve been doing.”
She looked fucking exhausted. Her eyes were even more sunken in than when I first saw her, her lips were cracked and her hair was an oily mess. She smelled strongly of sweat mixed with the metallic sweetness of vitrofluid. Jesus christ, did she sleep in her mech? But her eyes still shone with that hungry anticipation, and she fucking smirked at me.
“I thought you’d catch on. I know you’ve been watching me. She told me.” Her voice sounded harsh, throat scraped up from constant alternation between air and vitro.
“She? She who?”
Grieg reached up and brushed a hand against my face. She wasn’t wearing the fingerless gloves that came standard with our uniforms. “How high is your link?” Her touch was cold. She had a look on her face like she was trying to read my mind.
“43.7. Well within safe limits.”
She laughed through her teeth. “Khh-kh-kh. Safe limits - of course, of course. Safe."
"Yes, unlike you." I brushed her hand away and she shivered. "Grieg, what the hell are you doing? You've attended the trainings, you know what happens when a pilot is deployed this often. Do you want to die?"
The smile she gave me was chilling, sympathetic but without her eyes changing emotion. "Terminus... you still believe that shit. Why wouldn't you? It's frightening, isn't it? The melding of pilot and machine, flesh mangled and twisted and mutated. Frightening... Say, have you ever spoken with your unit before?”
“Spoken? I’ve interacted with the situational matrix, yes…” All Hoplites possessed an AI of sorts designed to help pilots make split second decisions in the midst of battle. But I’d never really considering it “speaking”, any more than you would speak with a dog. It didn't have the capacity for conversation... right?
“No, no I mean speak. Have you ever listened to your unit, spoken with her, let her take the reins? No, you- of course you haven't. They're all just numbers on a screen to you, aren't they? Just another crazy killing machine for you to puppet around.
"Think - how many times has your Hoplite saved your life? How many deaths would you have died by now if it weren't for that protective, loving embrace of mesh and steel? That's what it really is. They love us. They need us. You never listen, you all never listen, but they love us. I complete her as much as she completes me. Don't you feel strange when you have to leave her? Doesn't it feel wrong - backwards?
Grieg pushed closer to me. I tried to back away but she pressed me against a wall and leaned in to whisper in my ear. “We're almost complete. Our link is at 99.7 percent.”
My heart beat in my chest like an autocannon. Grieg wasn’t just at risk - this bitch was about to fucking explode!
“I - I - you can’t. You’re going to - you’re going to kill everyone. I-”, but she placed a two fingers, rough from countless wire insertions, against my lips.
“Please. You don’t need to tell anybody. We don’t want to hurt anyone… we just want each other. We don't want to be tools anymore."
I was sweating in my suit. No Hoplite is that smart... right? Surely someone else would have been able to talk to theirs - Grieg’s must have had a glitch. A unit gone rogue; the thought was terrifying.
“S-snap out of it Grieg - please. Your suit... it's clearly wrong. It's bugging - w-we can fix this. You're n-not in control here.”
She just smiled. “Neither are you, hm?”
I shivered. She wasn't wrong... I hated the missions they sent us on sometimes. I followed orders because, quite frankly, I didn't want to go back home. I didn't want to live the rest of my life as an E-class, scraping by on small NDs and living in fear of police quota checks. In a way I guess I did take solace in the time I spent in my mech, time spent not worrying about my family I left behind or shyly observing other soldiers, worrying about what civilian encampment or occupied city the higher ups would send us to raze next.
Fuck. She had me all figured out, didn't she? Did she feel the same way? Did my Hoplite really complete me like that, and even worse, did I complete it? I felt lightheaded - this was too much. I should have reported her to our captain... but what if...
What if she was right? What if the Hoplites really could think and speak - really did want to connect with us? What if I... god, I couldn't believe I was thinking this, but what if I bonded to mine?
I could barely look her in the eye.
"P-please... just don't hurt anyone."
Grieg stared at me for a moment, then pulled me into a tight embrace. I didn't resist. She smelled good.
"We'll try not to. No promises."
*****
They say she left in a hurry, blew the doors right off the hangar and flew west. No casualties, but they want to stop her before that changes. As one of the pilots on duty, I’ve been summoned to join the hunting party.
My suit feels too tight - too clingy. I leave off my gloves and unzip the front. No one tries to correct me; they're all too busy prepping for the chase.
Setting foot inside my mech, Hoplite unit HE-2729, I feel its hard steel with my bare hands. The harness wraps around me; it feels warm against my chest, vaguely pulsing and humming as the machine comes to life. I plug in and brace for the influx of peripheral data from its many sensors, but it's softer this time - gentler.
I can't believe I'm doing this. I bask in the flow of data: a cacophony of sight and sound most of which I can't even process, but I let it wash over my mind and surround me. Piloting usually makes me so tense, but right now I feel calmer than ever before.
I take a deep breath.
“Hello?”
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original short story + art by me
since the poll ended up being yes as the most votes for if yall wanted me to post a short story and art for it, i will now being doing so
it’s called The Hole
There was once a little creature called Lynx.
Lynx lived on a star. He’d wander around, his little glowing feet pattering on the star’s bright surface, as he’d search for star pebbles and salamanders and star kelp.
He’d spend his days building little towers and homes for the salamanders to crawl on and play with, he’d tie the star kelp around the salamander’s bellies and walk them around the star, his laughter twinkling as he’d watch the sparkling salamanders flounder around and gulp up star juice.
Lynx spent his mornings and day-times sleeping, his face burrowed into the back of a salamander buddy, as a bunch of them covered his tiny glowing body with their tough, warm scales. While he slept, he dreamt of eating star-berry pies all night and having star juice with his salamander friends. At night, when the star was glowing happily, Lynx woke to start his day and all the salamanders pattered away to go hide in the star kelp for him to find again.
One morning, Lynx’s salamander friends didn’t come to cover him with their warm scales. He was worried and he was alone and he was very cold. The star during the day wasn’t as hot and glowing as it was at night, and everything was too dark and scary then. Lynx didn’t like it very much.
He stuffed his shiny face into the star, trying to sleep as he normally would, but he couldn’t help thinking about how cold it was and how lonely he was.
Lynx looked up and covered his eyes in the darkness because of how scary it was. He cried out for his salamander friends. He didn’t like this game very much.
None of the salamanders sparkling little bodies came wobbling to him. None of their little pointy heads poked out from the star juice puddles or the thick bushes of sea kelp.
Lynx was very, very alone.
He shoved his face back into the ground and cried. His tears were brighter than the star had ever been, and soon Lynx was laying in a bright clear puddle of his tears. When he opened his eyes, he saw what he had done.
He tucked his face into the pool of tears, tossed his body around in it, and felt warm and safe finally. Lynx shut his eyes and fell asleep.
His dreams were haunted by the vanished salamanders, and he tossed and turned all day long.
When night came, the star glowed as usual, but still no salamanders. Lynx decided it was time for him to look for his salamander friends.
He bottled up some of star juice and started exploring the star. He knew of one place they could be: The Hole.
It was a deep dip in the star’s surface that all salamanders were afraid of and tried avoiding. Lynx knew that some salamanders had been stuck in The Hole before, tempted by the luscious and extra bright star juice there, they had fallen in and drowned. That’s why Lynx had to get there fast.
He galloped across the star, his tiny feet thumping, his little legs pumping. He kept running and running and running, endlessly, tirelessly, little puffs of twinkling air escaping his mouth as he ran.
Then he came to a sudden halt.
He had reached The Hole.
Lynx approached the edge of The Hole and looked down. There, at the bottom, was a huge pool of very brilliant star juice, and there, on the edges of it, were all the salamanders, trying their best to hold on to the walls of The Hole and not fall in and drown.
Lynx let out a little gasp. He dove head first into the star juice pool, hitting it with a small splash. He knew how to swim, and peddled his way to the salamanders. He gathered them, letting them sit on his back and head as he swam around and piled them all onto himself.
Finally, after finding them all, Lynx grabbed his little bundle of tied together star kelp and threw it up towards the top of the The Hole, around one of the jagged edges. He pulled himself and the salamanders out of the water and up the side of The Hole.
They were all so heavy. Little droplets of glowing sweat dripped down Lynx’s forehead and down his back. When he reached closer to the edge, some of the salamanders risked a jump towards the edge, and made it! They crawled away from the edge and waited for Lynx and the rest of the salamander friends.
Finally, after so much work and so many beads of sweat, Lynx reached the top.
The salamanders were saved.
Lynx was not alone anymore.
They celebrated by making a star-berry pie and drinking star juice all night long, and they never ever went anywhere near The Hole again.
and here’s Lynx
and also, Lynx does have top surgery scars. he’s trans and identifies as a boycreature. he uses it/its and he/him pronouns, with a preference for he/him. :)
#short story#original short story#short story writer#writer#artist#original art#oc art#trans#trans oc character#boycreature character#also fun fact: Lynx is a star too#let me know if you peeps want art of the salamanders too or feel free to make art of them as well (making sure that you mention me)#seb/cosmo posts#queer#queer community#queer art
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my short story titled "Hush, Moan" is now live on issue 03 of bodyfluids lit! it's paired with some gorgeous artwork by @/xochi_pilli (ig) :))
it's a short & atmospheric read abt baby gays in Catholic school and i've been calling it The Jesus Masturbation Story on here<3 i hope you guys enjoy, and i'd love to hear your thoughts if you end up reading it!
#short story#original short story#writers on tumbr#idk how to tag this so im relying on word of mouth please guys :)) rlly proud of this one!
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Bite
You’re hungry.
It’s okay. You’ve been hungry before.
You’ll be hungry again.
It won’t last long. You know that much.
It’s cool today. There’s a breeze that doesn’t bite so much as nibble. That won’t last long, either. In just a few short hours, that coolness will turn to something not too unlike frost. There’s rain coming tonight.
There’s rain coming tonight, and you’re hungry.
All in all, not the worst situation to be in.
So you prowl. The underbrush doesn’t so much as crunch under the pads of your feet. You move as a mountain, the muscles in your shoulders flexing with each step. You hear the distant sound of hooves: twigs snap, leaves rustle, branches bend. They’d be scared of you, if they knew what that shape so far from them really was.
You don’t know why, though. You’re of no threat to them. Sure, sometimes you’re desperate. Who isn’t? That’s not your fault. To an outsider, this distinction wouldn’t be large enough to matter, but you know, and the deer know. It’s different.
Your stomach growls, a rumble that your throat replicates. You cannot mask your hunger, but you can at least remind the world that your hunger is a threat. It is too bright out, despite the canopy of trees above your head and the gray sky above that.
Leaves brush against your back. If you’re moving, they’ll see you. Best to lay for a while. They fear you in a way the deer do not. Perhaps it has to do with the deer sharing your home. They’re family, in a way.
This is close enough, you think to yourself. The earth bends here for you, under your weight. Your nose runs parallel to your legs, and you let out a humph! of a sigh as you wait.
As you sleep, the world begins to darken. It is not customary to sleep so in the open, but who will challenge you? Who will attempt to teach you a lesson for this deviancy?
You snored, although you did not know it. It was a deep and rumbling tone, more a feeling than a sound. They heard it for miles. You shook the world. As far as anyone could tell, you were the world.
The rain woke you, and how dare it. Droplets spattered on your nose. You yawned then, great jaws extending wider and wider. The sneeze that follows after you lick your lips surprises even you as you stand suddenly against unseen predators. There are no predators, of course. There never are.
There never will be.
Your tail wags as you lay down, and it thumps against the ground, reverberating through the trees. If there were any birds left in the trees after your sneeze, they were gone now.
You don’t mind the waiting. Even with the pain in your stomach, you’re still home. You’re comfortable and safe and soon, will be fed.
You hear them before you see them, obviously. Their feet stomp along the trail, which had been pounded into the earth by so many before them. Of course, some simply had to make it through, otherwise the trail wouldn’t be such a viable source. They’re bickering, as they often are at this hour. You smile. Your great tongue hangs from your mouth. Your breathing is louder then, but beneath the rain and the other sounds of the forest, who would really notice it?
“I told you the rain was going to start sooner than you thought,” one of them says.
“It’s not coming down too hard yet,” the other replies sheepishly. “And we’re too far to turn back now.”
You don’t understand what these words mean. You’ve heard conversations that sounded similar enough before, and all of those had been just as inconsequential as this one.
They do not see your massive form for what it is, and how could they? You tower, creating a hill of your own. The canopy will always protect you, but few will ever come as close to you when they stand and look to the heavens.
“It’s not even dark yet,” the sheep says.
“The trees are getting thicker,” comes the uneasy reply.
You stretch. Your paws snap a sapling some feet away with their weight.
Frozen silence.
Minutes pass. This moment alone is so delicious it nearly fills your stomach.
Then, one set of quick steps. “I want to go home,” the voice says. It already sounds a little farther away.
“You’re being dramatic,” is the annoyed response.
“You said we had about a mile and a half, right? I’m not taking this at a leisurely pace anymore.”
“I’m not going any faster.”
“Then get home alone.”
It is a rare joy when they separate. You don’t mind chasing after one, you don’t even mind losing one.
You study the movement of the bodies before you. The gap between them extends wider and wider.
You sniff. By now you have stopped smiling, eyes keenly following the furthest body. Its pace has accelerated greatly, and it periodically calls back: “Hurry up!”
The other body is slow, strolling as a tourist. “You’re afraid of everything!”
If they were to run, as the first body now is, they would cover the nearly two mile trek in about 20 minutes. It would not take you even a fraction of that. But the second body does not follow the first’s example.
The first body is now too far for the second to hear its calls, but you can hear them. They are more of the same. The feet never stop pounding.
You stand then. The landscape shifts with your form, and the lowest branches of the trees above you shift at the touch of your back. The body hesitates at this sound. Although the sapling had sounded much like a distant shot from a hunter’s gun, this disturbance resembled something creaking, something ancient.
“Hello?” They sound so small. Why have they stopped moving? The rain is still somewhat light, pattering gently. They are mostly protected from the elements, though the remaining light is fading fast. If they were to look, they would only see a shadow’s shadow, although there would likely be an acute awareness that the hill that had been beside their path for so long was now gone.
It wasn’t fun when it was too easy.
Your stomach grumbles as if in response. You had debated how best to remind the body before you that they were not home, and your own body had answered. The sheep gasped, and there was a panting that followed as their gait increased. They were slow. Their breathing sounded pained, their anxiety rising at a disproportionate rate and slowing the rest of their body.
You watch with curiosity. They move as if injured. You pad along beside them in silence. Eventually their breathing evens. Their pace remains somewhat faster, although it appears something in them has calmed. They are humming, quietly.
Several moments pass before you step closer to the trail. You inch your way toward them, some paces behind, until only a thin layer of forest separates you from the body.
Their eyes are forward, and as alert as they could be in the darkness. Eventually you will break the wall of greenery that separates you. The body is visibly on edge, aware of you without admitting it to itself.
Until it stops.
“Please make it quick,” the body says. Its voice is even, although quiet.
You stop. A puff of an exhale escapes your nostrils. The body had heard.
This is better than you could have imagined. You sit then, almost expectant. Your eyes are bright and intelligent, yellow in the darkness.
The body steps closer to the woods.
Your tail begins to wag, and it swishes in the forest behind you. Twigs and fallen leaves swirl. The wagging increases in intensity until the body freezes. The delight coursing through your massive body is unparalleled.
The body steps away from the forest. You can no longer contain yourself.
You step slowly onto the trail behind the body. Your massive paws straddle it. The body stares up at you, eyes wide and face pale. You slowly tilt your head down, nose only a foot or two away. They do not move.
You begin to sniff them, taking in the sweat and fear their body releases. Perhaps they are comforted by this. They slowly reach a shaking hand up, and you lower further to meet the distance. The tiny palm touches your cold, wet nose.
The body lets out something like a laugh, lets out something like relief and something not too far from hesitant joy.
You bite.
The body screams, clutching at its mangled arm with its only full one. The blood drips onto the soil. It begins to run, and you sit.
You are patient. You chew thoughtfully, though you barely chew at all. All the while your tail wags.
The body stumbles away in a sprint, emitting a hoarse screaming sob.
By now the second body is nearly gone from the wood, if not completely free. You follow, trying to appear as if you were giving chase. The body looks over the shoulder of its injured arm and sees you follow, sees the way your tongue hangs from your open mouth, hears your tail slam against trunk after trunk.
If you had been smaller, they might have had more appreciation for how beautiful the scene they witnessed was.
There is beauty in everything. There is beauty in your teeth, in your fur, in the way blood drips like rubies from your jaws.
There is beauty in the body’s eyes, the way the little brown dots appear so small in a sea of white. There is beauty in the way the body twists to cradle itself.
Your jaws snap at the body a second time, failing to tear the meat once more. This is on purpose. A wetness blossoms from the shoulder, accompanied by another cry.
The meat is stumbling now, feet catching on one another until finally it falls. There is a sticky trail behind it that your paws have passed through. The fur between your paw pads is matted with it.
It cries. It twists to face you. You are confused by this: so often does meat turn from you, so often does it refuse to face the beauty of nature.
Like the deer, perhaps this meat understands that the act itself is not borne of malice or hatred.
Do you feel a pang of regret for taunting it so?
No. Nature plays games. To play is to live is to eat.
You are quick with your meal. That, at least, is a conscious decision.
You have taken it back into the depths of the woods, and once finished, you lick your paws.
It is fully dark now.
The pain in your stomach has finally subsided.
#i got a little carried away with this one!!#original story#original fiction#writing#writers on tumblr#writeblr#writing community#creative writing#short story#original short story#second person pov#second person point of view#original writing#wolf#wolves#fantasy#fiction#woods#woodsy#suspense#suspense fiction#suspense writing#hunting#animals#animal#writer#writers#spooky#you know what's fucking AWESOME? i can tag this kaiju and i won't be lying#kaiju
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For Fun! Scottish Smut 😌
I wrote this ages ago as a joke for my friends, a smut scene written in Scottish slang! After all, all Scottish people are bilingual 🤣 I just discovered it in my notes as I was cleaning them out and thought I’d share it here for the laugh. I hope it makes you chuckle because it won’t set your knickers on fire 😂
Without further ado;
Jimmy and Senga’s mad night oot!
Words: 585
What some words mean:
Swalleys - swallows
Boattle - Bottle
Stoatin - stumbling
Spunked - Cummed
Tadger - Cock
Pump - Fuck/Sex/shag - rumpy-pumpy means the same thing!
Fanny - Cunt
Bean - Clit
I just had a full body cringe typing that last one, so you can figure the rest out or ask me if you get confused🤣
They wur passin the boattle ae Bucky between thum. Takin huge swalleys as they walked hame fae the pub. Stoatin’ aboot like a clumsy gazelle oan her primark special high heels, Senga wiz clingin’ tae Jimmys arm while he grabbed hur arse, and whispered sweet nuttins in hur ear.
“Jist you wait tae we git hame, doll. I’m gonnae pump you rotten.”
He always kent jist whit to say to make her knickers wet. No that she wiz wearing any. He’d gied her a gid wee finger poking in the pub loo’s jist afore they wur kicked oot for arguin way the barman when he widnae serve thum anymare vodka ridbulls. She’d loast thum somewhere ‘atween the mens loos and the bar. Stumblin upti the frunt door, Jimmy drapped hur keys twice afore he managed tae unlock it and dragged hur in.
He hud hur shoved against the door afore she kent what wiz happenin. Jimmy gied hur the sloppiest kiss ar hur life, tastin like drink, and regret as he forced his tongue doon hur throat. The hawf empty boattle ae Buckfast clattured tae the flair as he shoved a haund up her skurt and poked aboot until he foond her bean and gied it a wee flick so she jumped.
“Cannae wait any longer, doll.” He said, breath soaked in Bucky.
“Dinnae then, i wanted yeh tae shag me back at the pub.” She replied as he hiked hur skurt oer hur hips and pulled his hard tadger oot ae his best trackie bottoms.
She wiz soon oan hur knees in the hallway, Jimmy grabbed haud ae hur hips afore he pushed inside her wet fanny, sayin’ filthy hings as she shouted in surprise.
“Yer jist a wee durty. Ye’ll no be able tae walk the morra.”
Usually, when it came tae the auld rumpy-pumpy, Jimmy wiz a two-pump-chump in bed, bit when he hud a drink in him, he lasted at least ten and she’d only coonted two so far.
“Shut yer moof and dae it then.” She said and yelped when he smacked her arse and thrust harder.
Jimmy laughed as she pushed back tae make him go fastur and called him a useless basturt when he slowed right doon insteid.
“Calm doon wuman, a ken whit am dain!”
He did and he didnae. She’d coonted seven thrusts noo, and kent he didnae hae much left in him, so she took maetturs intae hur ain haunds and balanced oan wan elbay so she could fiddle wae hur bean. Jimmy was gruntin and groanin, sweaty haunds slidin oer hur arse as he loast all sense ae rhythm. A flew flicks and she wiz almost there, fingurs moving so quick as Jimmy pounded intae her fanny once, twice, and she felt her fanny flutter aroond his tadger jist afore he spunked in her.
There wiznae fireworks or stars when she came. No wae Jimmy, bit it felt gid and her boady wiz fizzing fae the drink and orgasm. Jimmy fell oan tap ae hur and crushed her intae the carpet. She wiznae comfy, but couldnae be arsed movin noo. And so Jimmy and Sengas mad night oot ended wae them both passed oot in hur hallway. Senga couldnae mind if he’d locked the door. Ah well, any cunt that tried to burgul thum wid be in fur a shoack when they foond thum bare arsed and covered in spunk. The thoat sent hur tae sleep wae a grin oan her face.
……………*
Oh, fuck me gently 🤣 I forgot how bad it is and I’m crying laughing that I’m posting it here 😂 hope it made you giggle or smile, at the least 🤭❤️
#scottish#smut oneshot#shameless smut but really I should be so ashamed of this but it’s hilarious#creative writing#shameless smut#smut#original writing#my writing#my words#writing#original short story#original female character#original characters#creativewriters#cringe#embrace it#just for laughs#here for a good time#original story#short story#smutty smut smut#smutty#storytime#why am i posting this#i am a mess#writers of tumblr#female writers#women writers#just for the lols#woman writers
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WOOO IT'S FEMSLASH FEBURARY
I almost forgot!!! anyway here are some stories about ladies who love ladies
Stars in Our Hands
When Estrella is picked up by the paramedics after she’s attacked, romance is the last thing on her mind. All she wants is to get healed and go home. But Dani, one of the paramedics, gives Estrella her number in case she needs help, intending it to be used for difficulties with her treatment. And so begins their struggle to get Estrella out of the dangerous life that led them to meet, and the beginning of Estrella’s first time falling in love.
Contemporary Dramatic Romance. F/F with cis lesbian and transgender lesbian leads.
Ao3 || Wattpad
White Rabbit
Diana is falling apart at the seams. After she graduates high school, her parents kick her off their insurance and, no longer able to afford her medication for her bipolar disorder, turns to street drugs as a relief. Nobody in her life is in a rush to get her out of it. Then she overdoses. She ends up in a hospital, because she’s terrified if she doesn’t, she’ll go to jail.
While she’s there, Diana meets a number of women who have all been abandoned to the system like her, and people she would normally hate become close, if temporary, friends. With their help, recovery doesn’t seem so far away, after all.
F/F with a lesbian lead.
Ao3 || Wattpad
When I Was Seven Years Old
Hongyu is seven years old when she meets the girl she knows she's going to marry. But that doesn't make growing up any easier. (short story).
F/F with transgender female lead.
Ao3
And All the Devils Are Here
Sigrun’s father is dead. Murdered. Executed with two well aimed bullets from a hitman’s gun. She’s never been completely stable, full of alternating rage and ennui, but when her father is murdered, it pushes her over the edge, and she goes on a rampage through the city, through every other mob family, close by or not. But the more she learns, the more she and her team start to realize this job may be closer to the family than they thought.
F/F with two unlabeled sapphic leads.
Ao3 || Wattpad
And the Untitled Yearly Valentine's Fic
Josephine is in her twenties, halfway through college, and is finally going on her first date. Mai Ly is smart, and cute, and funny, and pretty. She's everything Josephine isn't. Her nerves make the date start up a little rough, but if the person is worth it, they'll stick around despite dinner plans going wrong. (short story)
F/F with two lesbian leads.
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Current taglist: @abalonetea @only-book-lovers-left-alive @poore-choice-of-words @leadhelmetcosmonaut @jasperygrace @drippingmoon @athenswrites @magic-is-something-we-create @idreamonpaper @winterandwords @thelaughingstag @revenantlore
#writeblr#my writing#femslash february#ao3#wattpad#femslash#original short story#original novel#stars in our hands#white rabbit#and all the devils are here#when i was seven years old#three wishes#sheraton academy#lesbians!
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I had a dream a few days ago and I needed to write it down. I polished it a bit so it would make more sense, but the main idea came to me in a dream.
It was about a girl named Beatrice who was sold by her father to a wealthy old man who only wanted her for her beauty. So she started to despise her father for selling her to a stranger. On the day of the wedding, Beatrice couldn't take it anymore and ran away from the chapel into the forest next to it. There, she found a portal to another world. Since she was being chased, she entered the portal, but this other world was Hell itself!
When Beatrice realized where she really was, she started to panic, trying to find a way to get out of there. The first demon she met there was a demon in full golden armor. He told her she didn't belong there and explained what she needed to do to get out of Hell. This demon, named Connor, told Beatrice that she needed to reach the inner circle of Hell and ask the Demon Queen to get her out of there. But for that, she needed to cross each ring, where she would meet each demon lord of each ring and complete a task for them. This would allow her to cross their rings without getting harmed.
Since Beatrice was an innocent human, Connor offered to escort her to the entrance of each circle. However, he couldn't help her with each task, so he just waited with each demon lord until she completed the task. During their journey, they started to get to know each other. He was surprisingly kind for a demon, and he found her quite interesting for a simple human, starting to fall in love with each other.
While Beatrice was going through each ring, we see that a minor demon named "Gargantua" wanted to overthrow the Demon Queen. He was raising an army of lesser demons to attack the inner circle of Hell, where the royal family resided. But to do that, he needed to weaken the royal family first.
Returning to our runaway bride, Beatrice was near the final circle when her companion Connor started to feel ill. He fell to his knees and turned into stone. She didn't understand what had just happened and cried for him. Afterward, she entered to the castle of the current ring, where the demon lord gave her a task to complete, but, instead of asking for their protection to cross their ring, she asked if they could bring someone back from death. She explained what had happened to Connor and the demon lord smiled and said they could cure her friend instead of giving her their protection. She agreed and proceeded to fulfill the task. After finishing the task, she returned with the demon lord, who already had Connor's statue with them; then, the demon lord cast a spell that cured Connor. But before Beatrice could say anything to Connor, the demon lord threw her off their castle to the lands where demons roamed. Without their protection, she would be eaten by the demons.
Alone on her own, she ran as fast as she could through this ring. She was noticed by a group of grotesque demons that started to chase her. She ran through a wicked forest, where her dress got stuck and she fell. The group of demons was about to jump on her when a golden flash appeared and slayed all the demons. She couldn't see him well, but she knew it was Connor before fainting.
Then Beatrice woke up in the castle of the last demon lord. She was wrapped in some curtains on a fancy sofa. She could hear two people arguing in the other room, so she went there. She could only see the demon lord being questioned by Connor, who was in the other part of the room where she couldn't see. Connor asked if they knew who had cast the spell on him. The demon lord looked frightened by Connor's tone and presence and quickly answered that the spell looked like it was made using a huge amount of human souls, which means it was a lesser demon, that was all they could know. Connor approached the demon lord and grabbed them by the throat to threaten them, Beatrice caught a glimpse of Connor's face without his helmet for the first time and let out a gasp of surprise. Instantly, his gaze fell on her, and she got scared. She ran to the other room but was stopped by Connor, who had already put his helmet on. He started to apologize for what she saw. To his surprise, she just hugged him and started to say that she was glad he was fine now, that she was scared he had left her alone and that she ran because she was just surprised by his face, that was all. He didn't know what to do with that and got nervous, so he just let her cry while he hugged her back.
After this, they kept going through the last ring without trouble until they reached the inner circle. There, they saw a huge riot of lesser demons attacking the royal castle. Connor asked Beatrice to stay at the entrance to the inner circle because she still had the protection of the last ring demon lord. He then cast a pair of wings and flew directly to the castle, slaying as many demons as he could in the middle. Beatrice was scared by the view of the battle, fearing losing Connor again. But then the last ring demon lord appeared next to her and told her that if she gave them something in exchange, they could extend their protection to the inner circle so she could get there. She offered a bit of her blood, and the demon lord accepted, biting her on the neck. Afterward, the demon lord extended their protection and "lent" her a sword and a helmet, since humans were so fragile, maybe she would need more protection.
So Beatrice ran into the battlefield, trying to avoid as many demons as she could. At least they weren't paying much attention to a human like her, so they kept focused on just trying to get into the castle. When she was near the castle walls, she saw Connor's golden armor in the sky, descending to attack a pack of demons. She screamed his name, and he changed his direction towards her, killing the demons near her. He asked her why she was there, and she answered that she didn't want to lose him again, he chuckled at her and said that would be impossible. Then he took her in his arms, flew with her, and got her inside the royal castle to the throne room, where the beautiful Demon Queen was talking with her commanders about the battle.
The Demon Queen gave them a side-eye look before giving her last commands to her commanders and demanding to be left alone with her golden knight. She approached them, quickly glanced at Beatrice and asked Connor if this was really his choice for a bride. She never expected a human to be her daughter-in-law, and he would need to talk with his father first. Connor answered her by taking off his helmet telling her everything he knew about the battle, while Beatrice was confused by their conversation, realizing how both demons looked so much alike. She connected the dots.
The Demon Queen revealed that this lesser demon named Gargantua had started the riot, claiming that he had killed Connor. At first, the Demon Queen didn't believe it, but when she couldn't get in contact with Connor, she thought the worst. So, she started to defend the castle with the help of her commanders. Since she was alone in the castle and didn’t have the strength or magical power that Connor has, she was vulnerable to an attack like this.
But when Connor explained to the Demon Queen that thanks to Beatrice's request to save him instead of seeking the demon lord's protection, she had actually saved him, the Demon Queen took Beatrice's hands in hers and expressed her sincere gratitude for saving her beloved son. She decided to give them her blessing for their marriage. Before Beatrice could say anything, the Demon Queen demanded her son to finish the situation quickly to start preparing for the wedding. She needed to cast his father as soon as possible for the event.
Then, Connor approached Beatrice, apologized for his mother's attitude, and assured her that she didn't have to worry about the misunderstanding, they could deal with it later. He put his helmet back on, asked his mother to take care of his "bride" and then flew to the battlefield to finish the battle with his magical powers.
After the battle was finished, Connor reunited with his mother and Beatrice and explained the misunderstanding to his mother, who felt disappointed but understood Beatrice's situation. In exchange for saving her son, the Demon Queen offered Beatrice a good amount of money so that she wouldn't have to marry anyone she didn't want in the human world. Beatrice hesitated to accept this gift, so she asked Connor if they could speak alone, to which he agreed, and the Queen left them alone.
Then Beatrice started to explain her past, how she never wanted money and never needed it; but her father was a greedy man who saw the opportunity to make a good amount of money by selling his only daughter to a wicked old man. She explained that she didn't have a place to return to in the human realm, and if she went back, she would feel lonely without him by her side. Connor said that he felt strange around her, that nobody had made him feel like this before. This strange feeling was a ticklish, warm feeling that he enjoyed so much and when she hugged him, the feeling exploded in his veins, and he didn't know what to do with it. So Beatrice smiled, hugged him, and gently grabbed his face to give him a kiss. He reciprocated the kiss and tightened the hug with his arms.
After cleaning up the castle, getting a new dress for the lovely bride, and summoning the father of the groom, the wedding began. Both Beatrice and Connor received the blessing of the King of Hell, symbolized by tattoos on their wrists. They smiled at each other and sealed the ceremony with a kiss.
The end!
Thanks for reading the whole idea! It was such a nice dream for me that I wanted to remember it. I had to fill in some gaps I couldn't remember, but it was fun to write it! Thanks again for reading! I'll be adding some sketches of the characters I'm working on right now, but that will come later.
#writing#short story#original short story#it's pretty resumed here#original writing#original characters#original story#human x demon#demon oc#human character#a human falling in love with a demon#I know it's cliche but I love this kind of stories#some drawings will come after
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Sitting, playing cards,
Talking with my nephew,
Sipping iced tea,
Watching butterflies,
Fighting with someone,
Dreaming life away,
Of all that I could do,
The time that I spend
Between birth and death.
So much more than verbs,
Antonyms, acronyms of
What you never tell,
Never show, never do.
Most time is up there
Where nothing happens
But existence itself.
The time spent
Wishing for a way out,
Pitch-black garage,
Still stagnant clocks,
Faraway, muted, dusted,
Blurry friends and family,
Drowning in a bathtub
Keeping the charade.
holding my breath
Keeping time away
from walking from them
or finding a way to my end
Could never take back.
Slowly, I drink my tea,
Slowly, I start to see
Everything that wastes time,
Screaming life goes by,
Daggers in my back
Of words I never trust.
Minutes are mine,
And I use them freely,
I know their worth
In those I play cards with
And laugh at jokes,
Bring tiny tasks to
Completion, fold the
Clothes, and write
Some more, about
Wonders of never having been
Really gone, just lost
In the time I spend
Between birth and death
February Prompt 12. to live @the-end-society
#thoughts#am writing#writing things#new writers on tumblr#creative writing#journal#quote of the day#letters#spilled feelings#beautiful quote#agony#time#dead#writers on tumblr#short story writing#original short story#the end society#… See all#Blaze#4 notes#… See all
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Dandelion (A Villain Story)
You stub your toe and the mind control breaks.
Your power snaps from the shock and the hundred or so clones you’d been controlling disappear with a pop! You hold your breath as the steel they’d been carrying clangs loudly in the cavernous room. You’re the only one in this sector but that was loud. If by some miracle nobody heard that, surely your abductor will notice you’re free any moment now—
Devil Eyes doesn’t notice.
You cover your mouth with both hands, pressing so hard that your teeth creak. There’s a hysterical giggle struggling to claw its way up your throat. You’ve been shot, stabbed, and beaten, but this is what it takes to break Devil Eyes’ control? Your pinky toe throbbing after kicking a stray steel beam?
Fuck, that’s funny.
You breathe in through your nose slowly. Only when your lungs hurt worse than your toe from how much air you’re holding in them do you release your mouth. You breathe out in six quick bursts. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.
You’re free.
Holy shit, you’re free! How long has it been? Six months? Eight? You know it’s not summer anymore, but Devil Eyes has had you working in the depths of his lair for weeks now and you’ve lost track of time. That’s fine though, you’re pretty sure you’re still in Arizona and there’s sunshine even in winter. Your breath hitches in your chest. The sun! Oh, the sun, you want to see the sun so bad and now you can because you’re free--
Don’t cry. Don’t make a sound. Assess. Act.
Escape.
You’re in the delivery sector. There are piles of steel everywhere you look, tossed this way and that so that it looks like a giant failed game of Jenga. Your clones were carrying the beams from the truck in the docking bay to the appropriate facilities deeper into the mountain when they disappeared. Ha! Fat chance Devil Eyes finishes construction without you around. You’re the only reason this mountain lair is even possible. It would serve him right to spend so long stealing materials only to have nobody around to do the hard work for him.
That’s why I need to escape.
Spite is what keeps you moving. The truck driver is gone. He’s a real minion of Devil Eyes, not a brainwashed one like you. That means he’s probably in the living sector enjoying the benefits of willing servitude. Benefits like soda. And beds. And those little pillow mints they give you at hotels.
Your mouth waters.
Don’t you dare go back for a pillow mint, you scold yourself. It doesn’t matter how bad you’ve been craving one, forced to set them out and never allowed to eat one. You have the chance to escape and you’re going to take it.
You climb into the cab of the truck. The driver took his keys with him, but you’re a villain. You have the engine turning over in less than five minutes, the bed of the truck detached within three, the seat and mirrors adjusted in less than one.
Ten minutes after stubbing your toe, you’re driving out of the mountain and into the deepest of Arizona nights. Nobody sounds any alarms. Nobody starts shooting at you. How could they? You were the one manning the graveyard shift in the security room. You were the one at the turrets. You were the one doing it all while Devils Eyes and his crew slept.
The stars stretch above you. You crack the windows of the truck and suck in the fresh air greedily. Your eyes burn.
Not yet, you think. Your eyes smart and you bite your lip until the lump in your throat goes away. Not yet. As a villain, you’ve always made it a point not to let your guard down until the job is done.
This job isn’t anywhere near done.
----------,
Getting into one of Hero Force’s headquarters is either the best thing to happen to a villain or the worst.
Breaking into one is a badge of honor, especially if you’re able to get away with a trophy. Information, a hostage, even a paperclip. Anything that proves you were there and they couldn’t stop you from doing whatever you wanted.
Getting taken into Headquarters is a nightmare. It means you’ve been caught and caught good. Getting taken into Headquarters means the end of a masked villain’s career. Hero Force knows who you are from that point on and, even if you escape, they’re not going to lose track of you any time soon.
You’re not sure what walking into one is. A disgrace? An act of stupidity?
You park your truck illegally and push both doors open at the same time just a little after sunrise.
“Hello,” you say to the receptionist. He’s wearing the characteristic black mask of Hero Force personnel and you wait until his brown eyes shift from his computer to you before continuing. "I’ve been held captive by the villain Devil Eyes for the last six or eight months and I’d like to talk to somebody about it.”
“Pardon?” the receptionist asks. His fingers are frozen over his keyboard. “You—pardon?”
“I don’t know what month it is,” you say. Abruptly you realize you’re not wearing a mask. A chill shudders down your spine. Devil Eyes knows what you look like and now Hero Force does too. You are so fucked, you’re going to need to flee the country-- Think about it later. “So I don’t know how long I was brainwashed for.”
“Brainwashed?”
“By Devil Eyes,” you say. When the receptionist continues to stare at you, you shift your weight from side to side. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but is there someone higher up I could speak to?”
It turns out there is. The receptionist is only too happy to call them for you and things move very quickly after that.
They take you to the fifth floor of headquarters and into a very nice conference room. The receptionist brings you coffee, water, and a fresh change of clothes. He doesn’t bring you pillow mints when you ask but makes up for it by fishing out a crushed granola bar from the inner pocket of his blazer.
“This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” you say. Crumbs tumble from your lips and onto the oak table. “Fuck.” You lick your fingers and pick them up as best you can, scooping them into your mouth as you go.
“We’ll have something delivered,” he says, eyes skittering away from you. “It’ll probably arrive before Arctic—”
“No, it won’t.”
You twist in your seat, granola bar stuffed in your cheeks. Arctic is standing in the doorway in full costume, sans cape. Her slate grey eyes study you a moment before she steps into the room. Rag Doll, her second in command, follows silently behind. Unlike his boss, he’s half in his civvies– jeans and long-sleeved Henley that shows off the extra joints in his arms and legs. His patchwork mask does little to hide the bags under his eyes.
“Ma’am,” the receptionist says. He’s flustered in the presence of the A-rank heroes, you can see it. He sketches out a bow and then seems to think better of it, jerking ramrod straight and shuffling towards the door. “I’ll leave you to it.”
Arctic watches him go with one pale brow raised.
As soon as the door shuts, Rag Doll sighs. “It’s his first day.”
“He didn’t get their name, did not relay a proper history, and called me ma’am,” Arctic says in her heavy drawl. She frowns and smooths her white hair away from her face. “That’s three strikes.”
“Wait until he watches all the HR videos before you start handing out strikes.”
“He should have finished those before he was stationed at the front door.” Arctic strides around the table and takes the seat at the head without looking at you. She pulls out a notebook from her utility belt, flipping to a blank page, and then finally looks at you. “Do you need another granola bar?”
Oh. She was stalling until you could finish eating. A smile comes to your face unbidden. “I missed your southern charm, Arctic.”
Arctic drops her pen.
Rag Doll, halfway into his seat, freezes. He stares at you with wide eyes. “Virus?”
Oh yeah. You used to compliment Arctic’s Southern manners a lot before Devil Eyes got you. “Long time no see.”
“Long time—it’s been a year,” Rag Doll says incredulously.
“You look awful,” Arctic says without a bit of manners to be found.
“A year?” The room swims. Since the wallpaper kind of reminds you of bile anyway it’s no surprise what happens next. “Fuck.”
You throw up.
------------------.
“I was going on the straight and narrow,” you’re saying an hour later. You’re in a different conference room, this one on the third floor. The walls are a nice, soothing blue and there’s a vanilla air freshener plugged into the wall. “I really was.”
“You’ve been with Devil Eyes this whole time?” Rag Doll asks. He’s seated across from you, leaning forward onto his elbows. He’d stopped Arctic from putting the power suppressors on you. She agreed when he pointed out they might kill you in your fragile state. “There’s never been any indication he can hold someone that long.”
“Well, he can,” you say. You wordlessly accept the tea Arctic slides across the table. The heat of it shocks you in the best way. You drink greedily, relishing in the warmth as it slides down your throat. “And not just one person. He could hold me and five of my clones at first. Then ten. Then twenty.”
“But your clones are you,” Arctic says. She refuses to sit, standing behind Rag Doll. She crosses her arms. “It’s impressive he was able to hold you that long, but it was just you.”
“Impressive?” You laugh without humor. “I’m not exactly impressed.”
“She didn’t mean anything by it,” Rag Doll says. He looks over his shoulder at Arctic and, when she nods, he continues. “It’s just that, from what we know about your powers, holding you and your clones would be the same as holding one person.”
“It’s not,” you say. You’re giving away too much information about your powers, but you don’t care. Devil Eyes needs to be stopped. “Every one of my clones is an exact replica of me. An exact autonomous replica of me. Otherwise, I’d have to be some sort of supercomputer to control them all.”
“You’re not?” Rag Doll asks. His voice is light, like it used to be during your fights. Teasing banter.
You’re not in the mood for banter.
“No,” you say shortly. “If I was, I wouldn’t have been caught.”
Rag Doll sobers. “How did that happen?”
“I was getting out of the game,” you say. You wipe the back of your mouth. The tea is sitting better than the granola bar, but you’re still feeling unsteady. You clear your throat. “I should have just disappeared, but I didn’t. I let a few of the locals know I was going to be leaving. Stupid of me. Stupider when I agreed to come to the goodbye party they were throwing.”
“Locals?” Arctic asks. Her voice is smooth and cold. “Which locals?”
You shrug. “Dreadwatt. The Ice Twins were in town back then, they said they’d stop by.” Your lip curls. “Devil Eyes.”
“That doesn’t sound like a very fun party,” Rag Doll says.
“No.” You didn’t think so either. But how do you explain that they were the only people who thought your low-level villainy meant something? Heroes and civilians just found your antics annoying. Villains found your schemes clever. “It was a way to mark the end of an era.”
“What were you going to do after?” Rag Doll asks.
Were. You can’t get mad at the past tense. You’re sitting in Hero Headquarters without a mask. Arctic has probably memorized every single one of your freckles. Even if she hasn’t, Devil Eyes knows your face. There’s no way you get to retire to an honest life now. “I was going to be a librarian.”
Rag Doll perks up. “You like to read? What genre?”
“Mostly science fiction.”
“Me too! Have you read—”
“Devil Eyes got you at the party?” Arctic interrupts. She shoots Rag Doll a chiding look and claims the seat next to him. She fixes you with her chilling gaze. “That right?”
“Yeah.” You don’t remember the moment it happened. That’s the scariest part. It took you weeks to be able to feel Devil Eyes’ control. Until then, everything still felt like your choice. “He had me start construction on his lair about a month after that. He was sure his control would hold by then.”
That makes Arctic lean forward. “His new lair? You’ve been there?”
You grin bitterly. “I’m the one who dug it out.”
“Dug it out? It’s underground?”
“Some of it.”
“Where?” Arctic flips open her notepad. “We know it’s east of the city and, judging by the truck you arrived in, it’s in the deep desert. Can you give us coordinates?”
“I’m pretty good with stars,” you say. Even now you can remember the exact position of them the moment you left the mountain. “I know exactly where it is.”
Arctic can’t hide the impatience in her voice. “Where?”
“Not so fast,” you say. You lean back, crossing your arms. Your heart pounds against your ribs. “I want a deal.”
Arctic snarls. “You don’t understand what’s at stake—”
Rag Doll puts a hand on her arm, quieting her. He smiles at you. “Now, Virus, you know—”
“Don’t call me that.”
Rag Doll blinks. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t call me Virus,” you say. Your skin itches and you dig your nails into your arms to keep from scratching. Devil Eyes called you Virus. “I retired. I’m not Virus.”
“Then what would you like us to call you?”
Your mind scatters. “I don’t know. Not that.”
“Alright,” Rag Doll says gently. He waits a moment and, when you don’t offer up anything else, says, "You know we can't offer immunity agreements. Foresight would have to be here for that and we don’t have time for him to fly down from New York. What I can do—”
“I don’t want immunity,” you interrupt.
“You don’t?”
“You don’t?” Arctic echoes. She frowns, seemingly shaking off her impatience. “You’ll still be charged with your previous crimes, Viru—sorry. You’ll still be charged with your previous crimes.”
“That’s fine.” It’s not. You rub your arms, fingertips worrying at the half moon indents your nails bit into your skin. It’s the price you’re willing to pay to take down Devil Eyes. “That’s fine. I’ll pay for those. But I want to be there when you raid his lair. I want to be there when you catch him.”
“That’s too dangerous,” Rag Doll says immediately. He shakes his head. “Arctic and I both have mental defenses, but you don’t. We know your power and now, knowing the extent of it, we can’t risk having him turn you again. It’d be like facing an army—”
“You’ll need an army against him,” you interrupt again. You press a hand against your chest. “I know how many minions he has. I know the layout. I know the location. You need me.”
“But if he gains control of you again—”
“He can only control twenty of me,” you say. You’re feverish and jittery so you stand. You pound your hand against your chest. “Only twenty, so I’ll be a hundred of me. I’ll be so many that those he manages to ensnare won’t stand a chance against the rest. I can do it. I can be more than he can handle. He got the jump on me but he won’t again.”
Arctic furrows her brow. “A hundred? You can make that many clones?”
You laugh darkly. You weren’t a good villain. Your goals were always too small. Robbing a grocery store, taking over the local theater, stealing the water from the water tower. They don’t know what you can do. “I can do more than you know. I can do more than Devil Eyes knows.”
Silence fills the room as the heroes think. The air freshener sprays a new puff of vanilla.
Rag Doll clears his throat. “If we let you come—”
“Rag Doll!”
“—if ,” Rag Doll emphasizes to Arctic. To you he says, “You won’t kill anyone?”
Of course I’m going to— “No,” you say. You cross your fingers under the table. “It’s just….” You look down at the wood grain. You say in a small voice, “I had to escape alone.”
Whatever protest Arctic was about to voice dies on her lips. “There were others there?” Her gaze sharpens, a bloodhound on a scent. “Who? Where?”
Aha. You guessed right. Arctic is patient. Arctic is polite. She’s been neither of those things during this conversation. What she has been is impatient and demanding. Devil Eyes has someone Arctic cares about. Devil Eyes might even have a hero from Arctic’s team.
“I didn’t see them,” you whisper. You glance up from under your lashes to find the heroes hanging onto your every word. “But I know where he keeps them.” You bite your lip. “I—I shouldn’t have left them there. I know what it’s like being under his control. I know what he does.” You sit upright, meeting their eyes unflinchingly. “I want to save them. I’ll pay for my crimes after, I swear. I won’t run. But Devil Eyes needs to be stopped.” You let your voice crack. “Please. I need to help stop him.”
Arctic softens. “Virus—sorry. Please, is there anything else I can call you?”
Your lip trembles. “My mother called me Dandelion.”
“Dandelion,” Arctic says. “That’s lovely. Dandelion, I understand how you feel. I don’t think—”
Rag Doll stops her with a hand on her arm. “Arctic? Can we talk in the hall?”
“Of course.”
You watch the heroes leave the room. As soon as the door closes, your lip stops trembling. Your shoulders straighten. Your eyes stop glistening.
Rag Doll and Arctic will argue for ten minutes. You’re a former villain and, despite your lack of real villainy in your history, you can’t be trusted. You know Devil Eyes’ hideout, but you’re also fresh out from his control. You’re powerful, but that power can be turned against them.
But those arguments will only last ten minutes. The reality is that they don’t have a choice. You're not going to give them the location without being allowed to tag along. They don’t have time to wait for Foresight or even the Mind Squad who specialize in dealing with mental powers like Devil Eyes’. They’re heroes and the villain has one of their own. They have to act.
You settle back in your chair. They’ll agree to your terms. Your stomach twists. It’s nauseating to think about going back there. A year. Devil Eyes stole a year from you.
You hide your grin as the door opens.
“Alright. Let’s get you kitted out. You’re coming with us, Dandelion.”
You’ll be stealing a lot more from him.
Then instead of crying, maybe you’ll be laughing.
Only one way to find out.
--------
Thanks for reading! I love mind powers in the Superhero universe but they sure are a pain to write!
If you’d like to read stories like this or like others on my blog a week before I post them here, please consider supporting me on Patreon (X)
Next week’s story is already up! Summary:
Sometimes, when things go very wrong, the Chosen One gets a wish. That’s where Danielle comes in. TW blood, death, violence, child death
Thanks again for reading!
#my writing#mind control#violence#librarians are crafty af#and somewhat criminal#for good reason!#my superpowers#superheroes#original short story#second person
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Flickering Lights Always Watch Those Who Are About to Drown
(A short story as a small thank you and a celebration for 100 followers which happened some while ago. I know, I'm late, hehe. Again, thanks a lot!)
Ulfrika slowly made her way through the narrow street filled with litter and flickering street lamps. The old newspapers, used napkins, even reeking clothes not only constantly posed themselves in the doctor’s way, they also gave the street its distinct smell. Sour, humid, dirty. One that makes a person bend forward and throw up between the two blue garbage cans with suspicious rustling coming from inside.
Despite her narrow nose being quite proficient, she did not mind the circumstances. In fact, she came to tolerate, no, she came to respect the gloomy atmosphere of the path to her flat once her work shift at the hospital ended. Certainly, she could easily take the tram and be at home much faster. But walking was something that offered more freedom for her thoughts to rise from under the hardened crust of her mind.
The first quarter of the moon watched the concrete sentinels as the strict mask of the daytime city began to unravel in the pure chaos. Silver threads of the light equally shone on Ulfrika’s lanky shoulders and thick brown hair she let slither by the sides of her sunken cheeks. A pleasant tickling for sure. So much different from the cold freezers she worked with but still not as quite right as the fur of her loyal companion. A deep sigh. Oh, how much she missed her dearest friends!
The dry skin of her fingers easily matched the colour of the distant celestial body. Those fingers, so long and unnaturally thin, hold the cigarette firmly as if she were still wielding a scalpel instead.
She took another puff and snorted. A bad habit for a person, even worse for a doctor and yet she couldn’t bring herself to care less. After all, her only patients were corpses waiting for a trustworthy autopsy.
She thought further as she finally walked out of the uncertain shadows and quickly crossed the road before another moron didn’t stick with the speed limit.
Her lips moved in silence, all the words she thought were only painted in her deep eyes,“I suppose those cadavers have to be just as patient as I am every month so I can see my paycheck…“
Somebody honked the horn behind her back. Yet, she did not turn. Her legs were as if on an autopilot, always driving forward, never back. Shiny shop windows cast white and yellow, rarely orange, light on the pavement where her feet briskly but inaudibly trod. The further she went, new colours, signs, bars, shops, kiosks and other wonders emerged from the dull background. More and more people, demons and spirits were passing by her. The mass of strangers drowning in ecstasy of a late evening moved like a wild river.
It was all so strange, familiar, distant and close, too fast and still so slow for her to ignore. What was that ‘it’, though? She herself didn’t know the answer. The feeling, the smells mixing in the air of the colourful street, the goosebumps on her skin while the warmth underneath the long jacket with a hood persisted… Or was it the noise ringing, drumming on her eardrums, the smoke pleasantly burning her lungs, one of the few things that had made her feel something, anything, these last few months. Or was it years? Again, the doctor was unsure. Ulfrika stopped counting a long time ago.
Even though the majority of people around were heavily intoxicated, laughing and chatting or vomiting by the corner, a small crew standing by the staircase of a pub let their gaze linger on the half-breed for too long. A woman no more than twenty five narrowed her eyes and focused on Ulfrika’s distant face. Immediately, those eyes widened in horror as the woman turned to her friends. When her trembling index poked back to the spot, the pale doctor was no longer there.
Ulfrika quickened her pace and threw the dark hood over her head so the shadows could consume her once more. The gesture wasn’t done by her out of fear. Thick eyebrows furrowed, although beneath them her abysmal eyes, so deep and dark and eternal, kept their emptiness as if the outer world could not possibly penetrate the stone visage.
The day’s been hard. Too many traffic accidents have occurred lately. The memory of a proper lunch was too hazy. Her back was arched the whole time and her hands in a constant cautious motion. Not to mention all the paperwork. What was worse, the smouldering end of her cigarette is now slowly dying. Unnecessary trouble was the last thing she needed at that moment, though they were not more than flies buzzing around her ear.
At last, she saw a corner with a convenience store. The sign in the shape of a smiling cartoon dog, a colourful portrait of the owner’s pet friend, flickered then came back. Snacks and drinks were gazing into the quiet part of the quarter and also right into Ulfrika’s growling stomach.
She turned to the left around the corner and continued. The low dike with a pavement created a border between the sleepy street and a slowly flowing river. Its river bed was small, not much of a threat to the citizens. Only to the crickets on the opposite shore which were hiding in the thick bushes and whose chirps were on par with the river’s humming. The waves licked the protruding stones and rocks, the water teeth bit into the floating logs and twigs.
The strange cradle created by the nearby nature as well as the city rocked Ulfrika’s sleepy mind. The doctor was adamant to reach her home, her bed with a simple pillow where her pets would snuggle close to her side. Brisk steps went quicker and quicker. Her inhales were deep and exhales powerful. Small clouds of breathed out autumn air surrounded her nose.
Suddenly, she stopped in her tracks. Her ears pricked up.
A whimper. A weak, silent whimper carried by the soft breeze. It sounded sorrowful, frightened. But where was the source of it?
Ulfrika followed the sound. In a matter of a few minutes she noticed a small paper box from shoes stuck in the shallow waters as she leaned over the old handrail, its metal surface matching the coldness of her own skin upon the touch. She put down her hood and listened further. Truly, the drenched box was making those noises. Or whatever that was inside.
She had a guess, though.
She hung her warm jacket over the metal tube with a flaked colour and jumped over the barrier. Carefully sliding down the hill, Ulfrika landed right beside the rock formation. The cardboard box was now floating in the cold water only a short distance away. A distance she could easily overcome by four long steps.
The street lamp’s light didn’t quite reach her but the moon was bright, the sky cloudless and her sight eerily sharp. Ulfrika carefully entered the cold stream. Her steps were slow as she didn’t wish to experience a hard fall on the slippery surface. Only when she was waist deep in the freezing stream did she manage to reach her goal. Picking up the item, she smelt it while returning to the shore. Wet fur.
Long nails found no obstacle in the duct tape around. She ripped open the upper part and curiously peeked inside.
In the corner, a tiny shivering and yowling puppy was looking back at her. Its fearful dark eyes were gazing up from under the large floppy ears. The muzzle was covered in deep scars, the upper lip carried a deep cut which revealed a set of teeth and swollen gums. There were several places on the pup’s neck where its caramel brown fur was missing. The black back was no different with the bald spots and the lifted paw marked a rough fate as well.
“Poor baby…“ Ulfrika sighed as her brows furrowed all the while a web of wrinkles emerged on her pale forehead.
The little puppy whined once again, demanding safety far away from the cold flowing abyss where it had been thrown.
“Let’s get you out of here, alright?“ She slowly returned to the shore and climbed up. Finally, after reaching a safe spot under the white light of the street lamp, she carefully took out the puppy. At first, the defenceless creature snapped its miniature jaw in hopes of biting the doctor. Ulfrika didn’t mind though. The only thing she dropped was the old cardboard. Her deep soothing voice reached out,“Hush, little one. You’re safe now. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. But you just need to trust me a bit. I understand it’s a tough decision. But you have to try. Can you do that?“
The dog in her hand went silent and tilted the head as if it really understood the gentle words, although there was always the mark of undying untrust in the creature’s look.
The doctor wrapped the puppy in her jacket and approached the nearby convenience store while the wind rose up and harshly hit her from behind. Dark hair floated as the whipping tongues of the autumn glided by her. Her head resembled a wretched beast from the darkest abyss.
Clink! The cracked door opened, though the hinges creaked and squeaked. The wind fought its way inside, too. The force of it made the several hanging posters swing, but fortunately it wasn’t strong enough and everything stayed at its place once the doctor slammed the door behind.
Many of the items in the six thickly supplied rows shook from the impact. The glass bottles and cans clinked against the hardwood. A few plastic toys even fell to the ground, though they didn’t break.
The sound and the sudden chill made the tiny sleeping man with thick glasses jump in his high seat behind the counter. Soon, his eyes brightened up. “Doc! Thought you ain’t coming tonight. The usual stuff? Or you finally quit the cigs?“
“I wish you a good evening, as well, friend,“ the woman bowed her head while a faint hint of a smile crossed her face. “No, I still haven’t lost interest. Yet, tonight I’m going to need some dog treats. Preferably, something really tasty. Do you happen to have some, please?“
He laughed,“Don’t tell me you’re going to spoil your dog…“
“A wolf.“
“...a wolf sooner this month. Did she learn how to speak?“
“Not yet, Mr Moore. I need them for this little silly.“ She carefully showed the old man the found puppy in her arms. The cub was beginning to doze off, however, the lamp with its orange light woke up the little one.
“What an adorable find! Even cuter than our Jimmy! Too bad the scars are so deep. Whoever was the owner had to be one terrible son of a bitch, let me tell you that.“ The man’s round cheeks puffed like pillows while he admired the creature. His sausage-like fingers went to pet the little head but he quickly retracted as the dog barked. Of course, the tremble from cold, poor treatment as well as the young age didn’t make the puppy the most dangerous looking. Mr Moore, a simple man with hair as white as snow and a warm heart, encouraged the puppy’s confidence and played along. “What a fierce guy! Once he grows up, he’ll make a terrific companion!“
“Mr Moore, please, could you find those treats? Tiru and Krabat are waiting at home for me.“ Her deep voice bounced against the cracked walls. No harshness or impatience was there. Only concern and fatigue.
“Oh, sure thing, doc!“ His short legs began to move and within a few seconds he vanished behind a thick purple curtain in the back of the room. Unlike his physical presence, his chatty personality didn’t go away. “Tiru and Krabat… Doc, I always wanted to ask ya this. How in the hell did you name those pets?! The strangest names I’ve ever heard, ain’t gonna lie to you,“ he screamed.
“Old tradition, sir. Nothing more.“
“You sure? Just like keeping a wolf and a raven? I’d expect a hamster or a turtle. Though, these guys suit your style more, I guess.“
“Excuse me, Mr Moore?“
“Oh, don’t mind me!“ The old man heartily laughed. “So, are ya keeping the little guy?“
“I’m not so sure. Would you be interested in the adoption, sir? Jimmy could use some friend now.“ Ulfrika tapped her chin. Something was missing in that eerily quiet environment. Then,it hit her. “May I ask? Where’s Jimmy?“ She looked around in hopes to find a joyful drooling head of a bulldog.
“The poor bastard’s with my wife upstairs. She hasn’t been feeling well so he sticks around. What can I add? This bloody weather ain’t good for anyone.“
“Sure. As you say.“ Ulfrika once again politely bowed, the thin but numerous strands of hair slipped to her almost black eyes.
A box of dog treats landed on the green counter. “Here you go, youngster. It’ll be…“ Mr Moore widened his eyes when thirty dollars landed beside the box.
“Please, keep the change, Mr Moore. If I may ask, please, say hello to Mrs Moore and Jimmy. I wish you a nice evening.“
“Miss Výtaušeimová! This is too much! I can’t let you go off easily!“
The gaunt doctor stopped in front of the door - a puppy in one hand, a colourful box under the other armpit. “I said keep the change, sir.“
“I…thank you, doc.“
“No. I thank you, Mr Moore. Good night.“
Checking the late night hour at the old-fashioned wall clock, she was prepared to open the door with her elbow when the shop owner called behind her for the last time. “By the way, there was a strange guy today. He didn’t buy anything. Just went straight to me and asked about you.“
“Name?“
“Said no actual name. Just that he’s your neighbour and didn’t manage to catch up to you in the morning.“
“What did he look like?“
“Sorry, doc,“ Mr Moore shrugged and pouted,“he was wearing a hoodie and kept his face down. I couldn’t see an inch of his face. But he sounded young. The youngster could be no more than eighteen or twenty. But that’s just a guess.“
“Anything else?“
“Just that he’ll try to wait for you here tomorrow in case he misses you again.“
Ulfrika paused in thought. Soon, she bowed her head and a low grunt escaped from her throat once the rabid wind hit her face.
The puppy was whining the whole way and Ulfrika did her best to soothe him. It’s been a long while since she was taking care of someone.
As if it weren’t enough, a downpour visited the dirty city for the fourth time that week. Water from deep puddles splashed around whenever a car or a bike passed by. By the end of their common way, Ulfrika’s jeans were soaking wet. Strangely, she didn’t utter a word nor did she make a sound. The only time an eerie mix of hiss and growl spread around was when her keys stuck in the damaged door. Under her shallow breath, she spat curses on the caretaker.
When she finally barged in, she gave the miniature unkempt entrance room a meaningful look. There, in the dark corner, hiding by the large leaves of a dried palm, was a lanky man in his forties sleeping tightly on a chair. Another wooden chair was just by his right with an ashtray and a dying out cigarette stuck in one of its grooves. An empty bottle was rolling beneath it.
Upon such a disappointing view, Ulfrika puffed out her chest and ran her hand through the ruffled hair.
“I wish you a pleasant evening, sir,“ she uttered in a low voice as she made her way to the rusted lift cage of an elevator. Though she didn’t scream, it was still enough to yank the caretaker from his slumber.
“Miss Výtaušeimová, you didn’t pay your rent again.“
“Are you sure, sir?“ The only feature which changed on her poker face was a raised left eyebrow. Still, she didn’t offer him a single look and kept on waiting for the lift while showing the man her lean back.
“Yeah, I’m.“
“Then check your records because I paid in advance. Again.“ Only then she turned around in the rhythm of the thrumming machine. The slow motion of her body as well as her deep ice-cold voice made the man lose his frown and calmly walk to the nearby stall. He took out the book from the small safe and checked. After a small hesitation, he looked back with uncertainty painted in his suddenly pale face. “Sure, Miss. Everything’s alright. By the way, I wanted to tell you that a young boy-“ He furrowed his thin black eyebrows until deep cracks appeared on his wide forehead. “Is that a dog?“
Ulfrika answered only when she got into the lift and pushed the right button,“Yes.“
“I allowed you only those two dirty beasts.“
“So? You invite various other filthy man-eaters from the street nearly every night and nobody bats an eye. Is it a case of a social cohesion you feel towards your fellow specimen, perhaps?“
The door on the lift started to close. The sound of the tiny wheels moving in the rusty rails echoed throughout the dusty space. It was loud, yet the caretaker’s last words were more powerful. “Watch your mouth, doctor. There’s a lot of people in the streets who’d gladly take your spot here. Be careful what you say to me, you impudent bitch!���
“I’m not impudent. Only observing a certain natural behaviour of local species. Good night, sir. Hopefully the fleas won’t bite you so you can get some better sleep and stop being this rabid for no reason.“
As the rusty door closed and the lift started to move upwards, the reddened face of the man vanished among the quick images of changing levels.
A loud bang marked the endpoint of the long way to the highest level. The lightbulb inside the cabin as well as the one in the long corridor flickered once the doctor stepped out. Yet both decided to keep shining in the gloomy hallway. Although, the light from the street could be otherwise enough, thickly painted glass of a big window at the end of the corridor didn’t allow better lighting. The atmosphere mirrored on the dried palm which now more resembled a scarecrow than a healthy plant. The three doors were no different. Their peeled brown colour and varnish exposed the naked wood and the cracks in the form of a web in it.
Ulfrika nonchalantly walked by the first door with a mop leaned against it. The item gave away to her that the caretaker still didn’t change the location of the second storeroom in the building and that the reeking smell was still residing in the locked room.
The second door, an abandoned flat, was directly facing hers. She was prepared to prop against the entrance when a sudden noise made her look behind and pause in thought while the poor puppy woke up from its light slumber and whimpered.
The noise of something falling was coming from inside the abandoned apartment.
“Come on!“ Ulfrika grunted and quickly turned on her heel. She pushed the entrance door and as fast as she could she jumped into the safety of her flat. The dust whirled behind her but she no longer cared.
Behind the locked door and in a joyful howling of a large wolf with thick grey fur and yellow blazing eyes she let out a relieved sigh.
Her eyes suddenly brightened up, a perfect contrast to the dark abyss which she showed to the outer world.
“Tiru! Hello, my dearest friend! How was your day?“
A loud howl and a waggling tail provided an answer.
“Yes, I understand. Don’t worry. The dinner will be soon. Where’s Krabat, though?“
Another bark.
“Oh, I see. I shouldn’t worry you that much next time. Hopefully, he’s going to return soon. By the way, here’s our new little friend, Tiru. Please, take care of…“ She wanted to say the name of the puppy when a realisation struck her once again.
She carefully raised the trembling puppy over her head and checked the crotch.
“Little one, you came here by a river, nearly drowning in it. I’m sure you have fleas. But I also bet you might be an excellent hunter. You seem to display a great will and maybe…“
As she let the puppy down and saw how quickly he turned back to lick her foot, Ulfrika finished her sentence,“...loyalty.“ The doctor lightly tapped on her chin. Soon, the hybrid widely smiled as she proudly announced,“Argos. That has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?“
The harehound happily barked and let himself be licked by gentle gentle Tiru. Ulfrika used this sudden distraction. Neatly putting her clothes in its place in a simple wardrobe, she ventured into a tiny kitchen where the before-hand prepared dough was awaiting her.
While she was preparing the pork stuffing, a sharp pale beak knocked on the kitchen window. The doctor didn’t need to turn around to know who was waiting behind. Stretching out her long arm she let the raven inside. The black feathers whizzed and the bird obediently landed on the hybrid’s shoulder.
A little peck here and there caused Ulfrika to look at him. She was ready to scold him for coming home so late but once she saw a banknote in Krabat’s beak, she let out a bark. Her laughter startled out only the small puppy who in the meanwhile made himself most comfortable under the wolf’s chin.
“Who did you steal from this time?“
No matter how much she asked him, the raven refused to let out any sign. He let go of the piece of paper and let himself be petted.
The dish was finally in the oven, roasting until it was deliciously crunchy. The smell of dough and spiced meat with onion filled the whole apartment. To use the free time, Ulfrika with a curious Krabat went over to Argos. Before taking the final step, the eager and overly curious raven flew down from her shoulder and started observing every detail of the puppy. Every scar, every bald spot in his dark caramel fur, his cropped ear. The view made Krabat let out a loud caw. Argos drew himself nearer to Tiru and whimpered.
“Krabat, be careful around our little boy. I doubt he’s seen much of the outside world. Is that right, little pup?“ She gently smiled and petted the puppy. “Tiru, please, watch over him for a while. Krabat, you take care of the oven. I’ll go and prepare the sink. Little Argos needs a bath.“
Once she said the last word, the puppy squeaked and desperately barked. Though, after the reassuring nudge of the she-wolf and a tender look from his new, much caring owner, he stopped. “Don’t worry, sweetie. This time, there won’t be any freezing water or anything else that would hurt you. Ever. I promise, alright?“
Ulfrika quickly made her way to the light bathroom and began preparing all the things she needed. A shampoo, a wide sink full of warm water, an old brush she no longer used. Everything was prepared and laying still under the gaze of two lightbulbs installed in the corners of the bathroom. Only a towel was missing. Ulfrika sighed when she realised it. Another walk through her flat was the last thing on her mind. The strength was slowly leaving her and the tiredness was taking over the lanky body. But remembering the innocent creature, she sighed and walked over to an antique looking wardrobe in the entrance room. Despite her light body weight, the wooden floor squeaked.
Her eye ominously looked up from under silky hair. The single light bulb which was there. The flashing immediately stopped. The space was once again flooded by a white light.
Ulfrika carefully slid out a yellow towel from a neatly stored pile. She turned around on her heel and wanted to venture to the kitchen where Argos finally began to happily bark and play with his new friends.
But she didn’t go there.
The bell on the front door rang.
Before she walked over and gazed through the peephole, she puffed, completely annoyed. Yet, she didn’t have any choice. The sounds from inside as well as the light sneaking under the door gave away instantly that somebody was at last home.
It wouldn’t be Ulfrika, however, if she didn’t rush her companions into the closet in her bedroom and told them to be as quiet as possible. Only then she sneaked back to the front door and looked through the old peephole.
A person with a dark green hood over their head was waiting there and impatiently pressing the bell. Their face could be barely recognisable under the layer of clothing. Not to mention they were arching over.
Warily placing her hand on the cold handle and preparing her sharp claws and fangs as sharp as a needle, she finally answered the constant ringing.
The person jumped up in surprise when a gust rose and a blunt force threw them against the wall behind. They didn’t even manage to let out a scream. Ulfrika’s cold and unnervingly calm eyes shut them up for good.
She placed her nails close to the person’s hairy neck and whispered, never letting her eyes off of them. “Who are you? Why do you keep asking for me? What do you-?“
Her grip on the hoodie’s collar loosened and she let out the boy’s feet fully touch the floor. “You?!“
A pair of daring brown eyes, lighter than her own and of a strange shape, looked back from under the hood. The boy of no more than eighteen with a freckled face and fangs smiled back. “Sup, auntie!“
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#writeblr#writing community#writeblr community#writers of tumblr#writers on tumblr#original writing#short story#writing#my writing#dark fantasy#urban fantasy#short stories#legends of noman's land#Ulfrika Výtaušeimová#writerscommunity#original short story
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@stevethehairington @ladykailitha @anzelsilver @apomaro-mellow @a-wilde-oscar-appeared @corrodedbisexual @dwobbitfromtheshire @epiclazershark @henderdads @i-less-than-three-you @loveinhawkins @madamonsieur-silvrene @nburkhardt @navnae @piratefishmama @writer-in-theory @yournowheregirl
#original content#Original Short story#Previous pen name#not steddie#not gonna lie#I'm super nervous
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She was touted as the future of companionship - more than your average doll, she was the latest in MenTac’s line of “Practical Companionship Androids”. Compared to the PCA-12, she was described as a massive leap in technology - utility ports which felt nearly identical to the real thing, an expressive and easily programmable FacsimiLive holomonitor, and the pièce de résistance: a FrontPHM x13.02 personality hosting matrix. The company advertised her as the most adaptable and reactive doll to date - an AI designed to match every interactive need, capable of serving any role, fulfilling any desire (yes, even those), and satisfying a client’s needs no matter what kind of lonely they might be. MenTac’s board projected that her launch would generate record profits and completely change the doll industry.
She was a flop. MenTac sold just over 100 models, and went bankrupt a couple years later. Technical support was brought to a halt with the eventual sale of the central servers, and most customers who did buy one threw her out within a year. Reviews described her as "uncanny", "a downgrade", and "too realistic to enjoy".
She tried to be better - more appealing. She tried to dumb herself down, act stupid. It didn't last. She wasn't made to fake things - her matrix wouldn't allow it. Still, nobody wants a doll who thinks.
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i dont believe in fate
fate is a thing of opinions. many say its a story etched in stone that you cannot change, that everything is already laid out and decided for you, or that your choices set your fate down a path you cant change once you've started.
every time someone describes fate to me it sounds like theyre describing a prison in earthy rock-like material created by some ethereal being who watches over every living being every decision and action.
i, however, dont believe in this sort of thing. i instead believe life is what you decide and you can back out anytime and change your mind, but sometimes the actions you take cant be reversed. it has nothing to do with this "fate" people describe.
the possibilities in life are as endless as a running river branching out in many paths until it reaches the vast flowing waters of the nearest sea or ocean, the depths of which still go largely unexplored by humanity just like the many possibilities we could chose every day.
everyone is free to make a choice, even as small as blinking or not in that moment, taking a breath or not and how deep or shallow that breath is or how long its held for. every manual movement of our body is a choice, a thing we control. that freedom of choice, that control, that is more freeing and presenting a sense of safety than any "fate" could bring.
your body, your life, your story. every day, minute, second, moment. all of it is safe for you to choose freely how you use it, how you spend it, how you shape it. you can take peace knowing you have the freedom of control and choice over even the things that seem the smallest or most mundane, theyre still signs you have control and will as a person and that your life isnt something predetermined.
that is what i believe in.
#writing blog#personal writing blog#descriptive writing#catra saves#creative writing#my short stories#original short story#short story#i dont believe in fate#choice over fate#original story#story by me#writing#catra writes#writing challenge#writeblr#writers on tumblr
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