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writingsofpuffles · 2 years

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The pay wasn’t terrible, nor was it great.

It definitely wasn’t enough to keep me from deciding to leave them, should the temptation ever guide me.

So, I grabbed my saw, and got to work.

Who knew what the other gods wanted with this world. It wasn’t their world, though. As curious as they were, they were only allowed to look.

Don’t touch.

We told them this, again and again, hoping that someday they’d get the picture.

They didn’t.

So. Saw. Work.

The fact that they grew their bones here was aggravating enough. They disrupted the crops, disturbed the wildlife, displaced the flow of everyone’s lives. Before I got to them in the early morning, they were as tall as the tallest man. By midday, they were at the heights of knees of the children.

The children found them fascinating, of course. They played games with them, daring each other to get close, to get closer, to touch the bones themselves. The children were told to mind themselves, the bones were not to be touched, but the children, much like the gods, refused to listen.

While I wasn’t rich from the sawing of bones, they did earn me a sizeable chunk from the sales. I split them up into manageable pieces, took them to the market, and sold them. The husbands sharpened them into weapons, molded them into tools. The wives, however, used them for food.

Soup made from the bone marrow of gods, I’m told, is an exquisite delicacy.

Eventually, someone decided enough was enough. No more were we going to live in fear of what these stranger gods would do with us, should that dreaded day arrive. We were going to do something about it, more than simply sawing away at them, more than simply telling them to go away. We were going to invoke our own gods. Pit them against each other, in a way.

A decent enough plan, in theory. After all, what could match the power of a god, other than another god? Whatever sacrifices they required, they could take. Whatever havoc they wanted to wreak, as long as they kept our world as ours.

What they didn’t realize, was that our gods were not so large, not so powerful. There were no bolts of lightning, no crashing thunder so terrible to frighten away those who meant harm. What they didn’t realize is that our gods were proportional to our world, just as the other gods were proportional to other worlds.

All our gods could do, was pick up the saw, and get to work.

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A/N: Thanks for reading!

20220620

Text: Bones grow up from the ground, piercing our town, the cold white ribcage of a curious, otherworldly god. Every day I grab my saw, and get to work.

#buh wanna get back into posting writing regularly #this is so rough tho #please ignore the gaping plot holes #my writing #prompt fill #one hour fill #OHF #20220620

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writingsofpuffles · 2 years

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A (v late) secret santa draw for @domarsword.

It's been a while since I posted on this blog, hi hello.

#art #aibous #original art #the secret santas are the only times of year i actually draw stuff anymore ahaha

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writingsofpuffles · 6 years

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The Bourne Identity by Robert Ludlum

Nothing says “I love myself” like purposely diving into genres made for white cis male self-inserts. But I'm here to be trash and also this book was given to me by a friend so I feel obligated to read it. Never mind the fact that this friend and I haven't kept in touch since school, but that's irrelevant. It's trash time!

We start off on a boat and I am reminded of how much I love off-shore lore and superstitions. Living in the Midwest leaves very little room to experience and hear about this kind of thing, so I live through books. And I. Am bored.

Is it books like these that lend to the glorification of war and destruction? Our protagonist is currently holding a hostage. Threatening and hurting an innocent bystander to save his own life. What makes him think he has the right to put his own life above hers? She has the title of a doctor (albeit not medical but shh) and he barely has a name. And, I understand that a human’s… nay, every living creature’s base instinct is to survive, and that is what he is trying to do right now. But again, what gives him the right? Is he some amazing hero that it would be better for him to live over her, due to some case about saving the many over the few? We don't know. We don't know anything about him. He could be some kind of terrorist, and we could either find out in the next chapter… or never find out at all.

And this leads to the proposition, “authors are not allowed to write evil protagonists” or “if you write an evil protagonist, there must be consequences or a punishment for their deeds”. And that is a blurry line. It depends on where you stand. It depends on how you were raised.

Ideally, people would be able to look at a person who does a bad deed and say, hey, that's wrong. But unfortunately that's not always the case. People look at protagonists like this and observe how cool he looks to them, and how they want to be exactly like him. They don’t look at the individual actions, and the harm he’s causing. The author doesn’t present them, and that is where the problem lies, I think. I’ve read books with ‘evil’ protagonists before, and it’s not necessarily that they feel remorse for their terrible actions, but it’s quite obvious that what they are doing is no good. There’s nothing like that with this book.

I’m on page 90 out of 535 and I’m wondering if it’s even worth finishing? But also I am curious as to why it got so popular… so I’ll keep on trucking for now. (although if I think about it the answer is probably that people have shit taste) I suppose it’s the whole mystery of “who is Jason Bourne?” that keeps people going. And I know who he is. He’s a dick.

Well, now I’m second-guessing myself. Perhaps I shouldn’t write these posts as I read the book and instead just write them after I’m finished, but quite frankly I have five separate in-progress posts of books I already finished and want to move on from.

Also it’s my blog and I can do what I like. So on we go.

It acknowledges that our Protag is a killer. Our current damsel-in-distress has called him a monster many, many times, so perhaps I was wrong about this book not presenting asshole characters as asshole characters.

But I still hold firm that something was not done right here. Is that something… the fact that he doesn’t have a personality? “Oh, but he has no memory so he wouldn’t!” Well, if he can instinctually speak foreign languages and speak the right words and know where to go next, then he can have a fucking personality.

Obligations to former friends be damned, I have better things to read.

#book review #hm.

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writingsofpuffles · 6 years

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So, I like to think I read a lot. Mostly, it’s a bunch of YA books snagged for free on my BookBub emails. I also get Daily Science Fiction in my email as well. I have an RSS feed set up with various online SpecFic magazines, though I am really bad at keeping up with that. Don’t tell anyone.

RSS feed content includes the following: Apex Magazine | Nightmare Magazine | Strange Horizons | Uncanny Magazine | Tor Fiction

I often link the interesting ones to my friends, only for the links to get buried and forgotten, because my friends are busy people. Which is rather unfortunate. That is why I have decided to create this sort of backlog of short stories I have read over the previous month and post them here, to my tumblr.

Without further ado, and because I have nothing else to say: here is February 2018’s short story roundup!

The Cat is a Metaphor by Corey Mallonee

Resolve in Four Heartbeats by Kell Rajasalu

Introducing Your Parents to the Spoils of Adventure by Bryn Macnab

Fairyless Tales by Kyle Kirrin

Fight for the Stars by Shannon Fay

#I kept my intro despite the fact that i've not kept up with my RSS feed at all #backlog

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writingsofpuffles · 6 years

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Forbidden by Amy Miles

I'm going into this after getting halfway through Desolate, which is the first book in the prequel series. Honestly I'm not sure if I will finish that book considering that its title and warning at the beginning is quite apt… but reading it does let me enjoy the mundanity of this book. Never mind the fact that I'm absolute trash for vampires and high school settings. That's completely irrelevant.

But after (partially) reading Desolate, it's cute. Protag deserves happiness.

That being said, it gets pretty old pretty quickly, because the drama never moves fast enough, and I desire to move on to some other high school drama. Not to mention that LGBT+ never exist in these kinds of books. All the girls swoon after the popular guy. All the boys want to ask out the pretty girls. Only half the student population are attracted to the Protag, etc etc. Why can't the girls crush on the girls? Why can't the boys swoon for the boys? Where are all the trans peep? And before you tell me that there are so many LGBT+ books out there, I… am reluctant? To go out of my way to read them?

Deviating completely from Forbidden for a second, I have an Opinion.

See, my biggest beef about LBGT+ books is that they are about being LGBT+. The entire package about suffering and discrimination. And that's fine, some people dig that.

But I don't. I want to read about cute relationships in which they are happy, some fluff, some sex, mostly fluff. This is the sort of content I want more of in my life, and I will continue to seek it out. There has been one time where I've been pleasantly surprised to find LGBT+ in a book (all other times the book mentioned it in the summary). But that one time absolutely gave me life, and honestly I think we should aspire to live in a world where LGBT+ are represented more. Maybe not always center stage, “everything that is bad is happen to you”, but please, let's not pretend that they, we, don't fucking exist.

Honestly.

Yes, I know. There are exceptions to every rule. Not all LGBT+ books are like this. So on and so forth.

I don’t know. I’ll keep suffering, I guess.

Another reason why I didn’t want to start blogging about books is because when I’m done with this sort of book I just don’t have anything to say about it. I do have a tendency to underreact to things and be really apathetic, as well as just not know how to put my feelings into words. But! I figured making these would help with that? If only a little.

Plus, I just like talking about books and writing.

I understand that I don’t have to review every single book I read, and it’s true that I have no intention to write about some stuff (maybe someday I’ll write about Garth Nix’s Goldenhand, but it’ll probably be about how much I hate it. Haha... ha…). But I’ve already written this much for Forbidden and now I have to finish.

Maybe it's because I'm shamelessly gay, but I found Rose, our Protag, to be cute. I've read one (and a half) other book by this author, and really, she's not a horrible writer. In fact, I would like to read the sequel to that other book I've read (Wither) and I'll buy Resurrect... eventually... Probably won't continue on with this series because it's just not that appealing to me. Other characters weren't that spectacular, and the overall plot was just kind of meh.

It wasn't bad, but it wasn't good either.

#amy miles #book review #in the loose sense of the term.#Puff Reads Stuff

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writingsofpuffles · 6 years

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The Shadow Rising by Robert Jordan

Okay so this is the fourth book in the ever-so-popular Wheel of Time series. Designated as a classic amongst the fantasy crowd, it spans throughout 14 books with another few side stories. And it is boring. As. Fuck.

I don't understand why it spans 14 books since it doesn't seem necessary? With this sort of thing, you know how it’s going to end. There’s no room to question it, the world isn’t going to fall to pieces, because the protag has a power untapped by no one else, and is the Chosen One. It could so easily be resolved in half that length, if the author had been efficient. But, you know. Money, so let's expand on all the details of a world that is just like any other eurocentric fantasy world, and add a bunch of characters to create backstories instead of trying to make the ones we already have interesting to read. It's a good thing the author was a white male, because this shit would not have flown if he was not. That would have been cut off after the first two books.

Actually, at the time, probably not published at all.

I don't even know where to start. The characters, I guess? The characters are… pretty generic. The Chosen One. His sidekicks. The love interests. The mentors. So on and so forth. Normally, I'd be fine with this sort of nonsense, if the characters’ personalities and interactions were fun to read. Amazingly, they are not. There is a significant amount of sexism and lack of respect for the other gender. The boys are hard-headed and stupid. The girls are puzzles and temptresses. You would think that four books of the same thing would get boring to write, and Robert Jordan would use this thing called “character development” to improve his writing. You would think. You would hope, and, being a fool like me, you would trust that people have good opinions to actually deem a good series as a classic.

Now, I'm not entirely sure what requirements a book has to have before it is considered as a classic. Is it that the writing was popular at the time, and so people use it as a sort of nostalgia factor? In that case, would Twilight or Fifty Shades of Gray be considered classics?

Is it something that withstands the winds of time… no, sorry, what the fuck am I trying to say. Is it something that withstands the turning of the wheel, and is something that can be enjoyed to this day, by old and new readers alike? I think several classics do not fit this category. I can't tell you how many of my classmates hated reading Catcher in the Rye for school.

As far as I can tell, there is no rhyme or reason to books, publishing, and popularity. There's no telling if a well-written book that has tried new things will triumph over a book with the same plot, the same characters, the same setting…

What even constitutes as ‘good writing’ anyway? If a piece has excellent worldbuilding, excellent characters, excellent plot execution, but terrible prose, does that count as good writing? If a piece has the best prose, but terrible everything else, does that count as good writing? If a piece has excellent plot execution, excellent prose, excellent worldbuilding, but is the exact same cookie-cutter piece of something that has been done so many times before, does that count as good writing?

I like to think that the characters make the book. You can have the worst plot, the most boring setting, but if character interactions and motivations are good? You’re fine.

Quite frankly, I’ve been a little reluctant to start a review blog, because: 1. I struggle to keep up with things on a regular basis. Posts will most likely be sporadic, but hey. Maybe more frequent than they are now. Which is, what? Twice, three times a year? 2. There are rules for book review blogs? Or like. Guidelines, or whatever. I’ve already broken them. I’m not a true book blogger. 3. I don’t know what good writing is. I try to write, and I try to read, and I still don’t know anything about this industry.

But fuck it, I am a PERSON with FEELINGS (contrary to what a certain coworker of mine believes) and there’s no point in being one of those if I can’t shout said feelings into the void of the internet, yes?

I was reviewing a book? Was I? Oh, right.

So. The Shadow Rising.

I’m not actually finished reading it, I’m about halfway through the book. I don’t think I will finish it.

I’m definitely not going to finish the series, because it’s fourteen fucking books and I ain’t got time for that shit. I’ve got books I actually want to read, and there are so many of those.

So many.

If you have the time, and the patience, then by all means go for it. After all, it is a classic.

Whatever that means.

#book review #I forgot to add a thing so I'm reposting because tumblr fucks up my formatting and I can't get it back if I just edit it #still not putting it in the tag #still a coward #Puff Reads Stuff

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writingsofpuffles · 6 years

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Oh hey it's february I don't even know if I have read anything good during the month of January. Hm.

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writingsofpuffles · 6 years

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RSS feed content includes the following: Apex Magazine | Nightmare Magazine | Strange Horizons | Uncanny Magazine | Tor Fiction

Without further ado, and because I have nothing else to say: here is December 2017’s short story roundup!

Elemental Love by Rachel Swirsky

An Unexpected Boon by S. B. Divya

Cat Person by Kirsten Roupenian

Three May Keep A Secret by Carlie St. George

Apathetic Goblin Nightmare Woman by Cassandra Khaw

Which Super Little Dead Girl™ Are You? Take Our Quiz and Find Out! by Nino Cipri

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writingsofpuffles · 7 years

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All of my characters are ace because I'm ace and I don't know how to write otherwise. I mean. What?

#i do try occasionally though

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writingsofpuffles · 7 years

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My coworker was the sweetest thing I’d ever known.

Every single time I saw her, she was adorable - whether it was a short sundress or a knitted sweater, the concept of sexy or disheveled didn’t seem to apply to her in any way.

She brought in baked goods frequently. She met complaints and anger with a smile. Just her appearance during an argument would shame the people into silence. We didn’t want to disappoint her - ever. Productivity in the office increased, people stopped being late.

So it was a complete shock when she appeared in front of me, covered in blood and gore, carrying a sword.

No one spoke. No one moved. Even Ardella seemed taken aback to find herself in this situation.

She cleared her throat. “Well.”

“What the fuck was that?” I whispered, drawing her attention to me.

“I don’t know, Adam. You tell me.” She held out her hand. I hesitated, then accepted it, letting her pull me to my feet. I wiped blood off my hands in some semblance to get them clean, but my pants were just as bad, thanks to the pool I’d been sitting in.

“But you… I…” I could barely process the event that had just unfolded before my very eyes. “I-I don’t understand. Why do you have a sword?”

“Why indeed.” She started walking. I stumbled to catch up with her brisk pace.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” She paused. “Adam, why don’t you make yourself useful and see if everyone is okay. If they were bitten at all, take them to the boiler room. If they are fine, bring them to the break room, there’s coffee and brownies. If they are unable to move, call me.”

“But-”

My protest died quickly at the look she gave me. Not anger, not disappointment- merely curiosity. “Is there a problem?”

“I… no. No, not at all.”

We moved in separate directions to cover more ground. Most everyone seemed to be unharmed, only terrified. Half the people didn’t seem able to bring themselves to their feet, until Ardella muttered a few words to them, they nodded, and got walking. Even then, there were still people I had to help carry.

There were only two people I needed to bring to the boiler room. Ardella looked at them after having washed her hands and face in the bathroom, sword nowhere to be seen. Her expression was unreadable, though it seemed a little… sad?

“Adam, I don’t think you want to be here for this.”

“I-” I wondered what could possibly be worse than what I’d already seen. Not to mention the more questions I asked, the more she seemed to avoid them… or no, that would imply she was using gentle tactics, rather than abrupt shutdowns. I didn’t want to let her out of my sight until she answered something. “I’m staying.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She knelt down near Wendy, an intern in her early twenties who was shaking and clutching her side where she’d been bitten by that thing… that monster.

“Hello,” she said. Casually. As if they’d just been introduced by a mutual acquaintance. “Nice weather we’re having, isn’t it?”

Was she fucking serious?

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, no. It’s a hard thing to take in, really, so it’s no wonder you don’t understand. But it’s gone now, you’re safe.”

The girl cringed. “Am I?” she whispered.

Ardella reached out to stroke the girl’s hair. Her back was turned towards me, but I knew she was smiling, as gentle and loving as her touch. “Of course. It’s gone, now. We’ll take you to the hospital, get you patched up, and you’ll be able to go back to your classes. What are you majoring in, Wendy?”

“Ph-physics.”

“Physics, huh? Do you love it?”

“I do.”

“Tell me about it. What classes are you taking? How are your teachers?”

Wendy spoke slowly, her speech growing steadily more slurred even as her eyes lit up over the subject she was passionate about. Until the liveliness was gone completely, drained from a cut in her neck made from a knife I didn’t even see.

Ardella laid the body down, closed her eyes, kissed her forehead. She straightened up. Turned to the man.

“No! Please don’t kill me, I-I-I have a wife! And children! She’’s pregnant, I can’t-”

Ardella sat down on the floor a few feet away from the man who was huddled up against a large pipe.

“I know. But, that curse is not something you want to bring upon your family.”

“So cut it off!” the man screeched. “Cut it off! I can live without my leg, just… please, let me live.”

Ardella shook her head. “I cannot do that. I’m sorry, but you’ve been bitten, the curse is already within you. You can feel it, can’t you?”

The man didn’t answer.

“It will turn you. Into one of them. And then the ones closest to you will be the first to go, whether by bite or by death.” She held out her hand, which the man shrank away from. “You don’t want to hurt them, do you?”

“But… but…”

“They’ll be taken care of. Reimbursed for their loss, kept safe. I’m sorry it has to be this way, but there’s no alternative. They’ll be safe.”

The man didn’t move. Neither did Ardella.

“Will… will they really?”

“Yes. we will protect them.”

“Can… can you tell them I love them?”

“Of course.” Her hand was still out and waiting.

The man inched closer. “My son, he… he has needs, he can’t-”

“I know. We will take care of them.”

The man trembled as he took her hand.

“What’s your son’s name? How old is he?”

“Aaron… he’s six.”

“He must be a cute one. What are his favorite foods?”

“He likes-”

The man shuddered, unable to speak any further. Ardella jumped forward to catch his weight before it hit the ground, and repeated the same actions she’d done to Wendy.

I stood, silent and unmoving, staring at the two bodies in front of me.

“Alright. Well. Adam, I’m going to need you to step aside.”

I snapped my attention back to her. “No.”

“Please step aside.”

“Not until you answer my questions.”

“I’m not going to do that.”

I crossed my arms. “Then I guess we’ll just sit in here.”

“We could.” Ardella reached into her purse, pulled out the sword from earlier. “But I have better things to do. So step aside.”

I jumped in shock at the sight of the blade. Long, silver, etched with patterns or runes I could never begin to understand. Very real, very dangerous. “Y-You c-c-c-c-can’t kill me. There… there are laws!”

“Laws?” She threw her head back and laughed, looking significantly less cute with the front of her shirt dripping in blood. “Adam, this goes way past any known laws. This is magic, this is monsters, this is beyond anything you can comprehend. There are no laws. No rules of any sort.” She raised the blade. “So step aside.”

“Alright!” I turned, opened the door and stepped aside to let her through.

“Thank you.” She tucked her sword back into her purse - god, what was that? - and stepped past.

Police and paramedics had arrived, and were in the process of examining and questioning. By the time I was allowed to go home, Ardella had long since disappeared. I would have to live without knowing.

A few months of sitting in my apartment with no job - the company had shut down the building for repairs - and boredom set in. Boredom, curiosity, and a desire to put my life back in danger, apparently.

I wanted to find her. Find her and make her talk.

I’d start with the contact information she had given the company. She worked there for two years, it couldn’t have been fake. And if that didn’t lead to anything… well. I’d find a way.

Because according to her, there were no rules.

#my writing #fantasy #blood #violence #death #I enjoy writing asshole protagonists.

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writingsofpuffles · 7 years

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Procrastinates by updating my info page

#:B

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writingsofpuffles · 7 years

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“Dude, what the fuck.”

I ignore the voice, merely tap my foot, waiting for a new player… or the same player to try again, who knows.

Sure enough, there came the ding! sound of a player starting a new game. I mentally prepare myself, doing stretches as if I were going to get some exercise.

Ha. Funny joke.

The lackadaisical music is grating on my ears, and I miss my own music, where it meant serious business. None of this pansy shit I’ve been delegated to.

It usually takes players 1-5 minutes to get through the tutorial stage. Depends on the player’s learning curve, if they’re taking their time… though, from the sounds getting closer, it’s evident that they’ve rushed through the stage. And when the avatar appears, it’s clear that it is the same player as before - the avatar never changes, yes, but play styles differ from person to person. After decades, you learn to detect small nuances. How often they jump, how hesitant they are to move forward, how they check every single corner for hidden treasures, how they look around the environment…

“You think you’re ready to take on the world? You’ll have to get through me, first,” I say after the avatar has triggered my cutscene. There was more to the speech, but I was sick of this. No more.

The avatar takes on his fighting pose, and I raise my hand to the sky. The avatar tries to get in a few hits, but a few simple choice words brings down a thousand lightning strikes upon the avatar, instantly killing it. It disappears, and I am alone again.

I find a rock to sit on, and I wait for the next player. The ding! comes almost instantly this time.

It isn’t until ten minutes later when the avatar reappears. I grin, and simply say, “hello,” before I raise my hand to the sky again. The player bolts, and it’s all I can do to keep myself from bursting into laughter.

The avatar does not reappear for a while, so I resume sitting on my rock. When it does reappear, it’s only after it has exhausted all other possibilities of clearing the stage. No, my friend, you’re stuck with me, and I with you.

I stand up and brush imaginary dirt off my pants. The avatar gets into its fighting pose (somewhat reluctantly?), and I raise my hand once more.

But before I can use any powers of great magic, a hand grabs my wrist and a familiar voice says, “what the hell are you doing?”

I turn and spot Alphonso glaring at me. Despite the growing pit of hatred in my stomach, I sneer at him. “I’m doing what I was made to do.” It wasn't a lie.

“‘White Existential Death’? Seriously, Jeff?”

“Yes, seriously.” I yank my arm away from him and turn back to the avatar, who is no longer in its fighting pose but rather just… standing there. Watching. Somehow, this pisses me off even more, and I want to destroy it immediately.

“You are in the goddamn tutorial stage, Jeff. You do not need to be using your ultimate attack.”

“Yeah. Probably not.”

He scoffs at my casual tone. “So why-”

“Because, Alphonso, I was not made for the tutorial stage. I was made for bigger, better things. Things that have been taken away from me, Alphonso. Things that, unlike this here tutorial stage, are more befitting of my station.” I raise my hands in a sort of shrugging gesture, and allow electricity to crackle forth from my fingertips. The avatar steps back a little, clearly intimidated.

I feel myself knocked to the ground, the breath knocked from my lungs.

“YOU COULD HAVE ASKED. There was no need to be dragging the player into this, you moron!” I wince at Alphonso’s voice yelling mere inches from my ear, then force myself to wheeze out a chuckle. I push his weight off of me and stand.

“I have asked, Alphonso. In fact, you’ve been avoiding me, I should think.” I narrow my eyes. “Is that, perhaps, because you’ve found my inquiries to be annoying?”

Alphonso groans, and rolls over onto his back. “This was only to be a temporary trial, so I would appreciate it if you just chilled, and lived with it.”

I crouch down next to his prone form and say, “it’s been five months, Alphonso. I want my lair back. Aaron has no business being there, so why is he?”

He doesn’t answer right away, but I will no longer allow him to avoid the matter.

“I said, why. Is. That?” I jab my finger into his chest with each word, adding enough electricity to make him jump.

“God. Stop. Okay, fine. I’ll talk to the others and we’ll see if we can’t… rearrange ourselves again.”

I shake my head, and straighten. “Mm, no, Alphonso. What I want is for everyone to return to where they are supposed to be. You, to your midgame station; me, to my sweet, delicious, final level; and Aaron back to this pansy-ass piece of sh-”

Alphonso leaps up and elbows me quite hard in the stomach, effectively cutting off the rest of my sentence. “Do not swear in front of the player, Jeffrey. What if they are a child?”

I give him the nastiest glare I can muster.

“Okay. Just sit through this for one more day, and we can switch back tomorrow. Does that sound fair?”

I grunt, and he nods, satisfied by my non-answer. “However, I do want to talk to everyone about this. Conference. Tonight. Don’t be late.” And with that, he disappears, leaving the avatar and I alone.

“Well?” I say when it hasn’t moved. “Go on.” It stands there. Has the player gone AFK? Well, it wasn’t like I particularly cared.

I find a comfy spot between two trees, and settle down, resting my feet up on a boulder. I’d take a nap, and it would be swell. That was one perk of the tutorial stage. Sure, the music was downright painful, and more often than not I could practically feel myself slowly descending into madness, only to catch myself at the end of the day when i could go back to my own level and soak in all that fire and brimstone--you couldn’t exactly take a nap in that, though.

“The first order of business is, can you turn off that fucking music.”

“Right, yeah!” Aaron gets up and disappears behind the bar, and a few seconds later all twelve of us are sitting in blissful silence. I really wish I knew what that trick was.

“Thank you. Now, we gather here today in order to talk about the current structure of this game.” Markus looks very official, with his suit and glasses, and pile of papers sitting in front of him. Why does he have this stuff and where did he get them? Beats me. “More specifically, a certain member of our congregation has requested that we return to our original formation. Does anyone here have anything to say about this request?”

All of the anger that I suppressed over the days, weeks, has suddenly boiled up again. Why couldn’t we just return, and be done with it? There was no need for us to go through this.

“I really learned a lot about the game, in my time as a final boss,” Aaron spoke up. “I appreciate having the opportunity, and I really think we could all benefit from doing another switch, but in different positions. I would very much like to try being in Alphonso’s midgame level.”

“It occurs to me,” I speak loudly, interrupting whatever Alphonso’s reply was going to be, “that, as the final boss, I have the power to destroy all of you right here, right now, and be done with this shit. I could run this entire game by myself.”

Several exasperated sighs rise up. I swear I even hear a quiet, “shut the fuck up, Jeff.”

I lean back in my chair and rest my feet on the table. The table was one of many pushed together in a tavern of sorts in the middle of the tutorial, a place for the NPCs to drop hints of the plot and also maybe have the player pick up some possible side quests.

“No offense, Jeff, but you’d make a terrible game.”

I raise my eyebrows at Aaron. “Excuse you?”

“Well, that is to say… well, I meant exactly as I said, really. Jeff, you make a really bad tutorial boss.”

I slam my fist on the table, pushing myself to my feet. “You wanna say that to me again, shithead?”

Aaron’s gaze was unwavering. “You make a terrible tutorial boss, Jeff. The reason I say this is because the tutorial is supposed to get the player used to the controls, right? Well, you have a tendency to just let them pass through after two basic hits.”

“Well it’s the fucking tutorial stage. It’s not supposed to be challenging.”

“No, it’s not,” he agreed. “However, as the final step of the tutorial, you are, shall we say, a sort of test. They are supposed to use what they’ve learned, and put it into practice. More specifically, you are to try to make them use all the tricks they’ve learned.”

“Yeah, I actually noticed that too,” Marina, one of the main party NPCs who accompanies the player, says. “When you introduce new things early on and get them used to doing it, it saves a lot of trouble later if the characters don’t just use the same basic moves over and over again.”

I don’t say anything as I mull over the words.

“Don’t get me wrong, Jeff. You do a good job as the final boss. You know exactly how much to challenge the players according to the amount of experience and equipment they’ve got. But, you don’t have the entire game right after to think about, and in that sense it’s a little easier than working as the tutorial boss. Though the smell of sulfur gets to me sometimes.”

A couple people chuckle at the last statement. I sink back into my chair, having nothing to say in response.

“Anyway. That’s all I wanted to say, and I understand that you want to return to your volcano. I really learned a lot, and I would like to switch with some other people. Alphonso, if you wouldn’t mind…?”

Alphonso grinned. “Sure can. I’d like to try my hand at the tutorial, see if I can’t do a better job than Jeffrey.”

A heat in the pit of my stomach appears as the others speak up about wanting to do more switching as well. No one speaks of wanting to take my place, whether it’s because they know I won’t agree to switching again, or because it doesn’t seem appealing to them. Either way, I’m left to return to my lair by myself, disregarded by the others.

Despite this being what I asked for, somehow it just makes me more angry.

You are an endgame enemy who was demoted to the tutorial level. After ten years of taking it easy on new players, you’ve finally had enough.

#my writing #writing-prompt-s #spilled ink #video games #games #prompt #these names were just placeholders at first but now I'm too lazy to change them.#so they're staying #also I started this like a month ago lol #...

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writingsofpuffles · 7 years

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That is a first draft, finished!

#that only took me over a year #writing #my writing #spilled ink #its done done done done done

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writingsofpuffles · 7 years

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From writing.prompt.s instagram

I actually cried for days after it was announced.

My family had such an impressive line of weapons, and all I got was a fucking pen. I was disappointed. My parents were disappointed. My brothers... Wouldn’t say anything, but I knew they were also disappointed.

“But you know,” my friend, Marshal, said when I confided my feelings to them. “You know what they say about the pen being mightier than the sword.”

I sighed in exasperation, shoving a pillow over my face. I had heard that so many times since it was announced. I wanted to strangle everyone who mentioned it, at this point.

“W-well, you know what I mean.” They had sensed my irritation, and was trying to backpedal. “But like. It’s very you, you know?”

I didn’t really care how much the pen was ‘me’. It was not flashy in any way. It could not defeat dragons, it could not rescue people in danger, it could not do any of the things that led a person to fame and fortune. It was not a means of raising money for my family, and I would have to find some other way. It would not protect my family either. It was fairly useless. What was I to do if I could not protect?

I started out by writing up the many fantasies I’d had over the years. Adrenna, the fearless warrior who did not speak a word, yet was the prettiest and deadliest among all the kingdom. Adrenna, the quiet assassin. Adrenna, the famous hero who could not, would not say a single word as they rescued maidens, princes, warriors who braved dragons yet still somehow found themselves in a spot of trouble. Adrenna, standing on a hilltop, hair flowing in the wind wielding a short sword, a mace, a bow with arrows, with the sun setting in the background… the pen didn’t make nearly as impressive an image.

But, the pen was mine, and I was the pen’s. No matter of complaining to my parents, whining to my friends, moaning to my neighbors, there was nothing I could do about it. There was nothing anyone could do about it, not the king, not the priests. Their answers ranged from, “The pen can do many a great things,” and, “I’ve seen worse. Begone, and think of bigger problems to pester me with.”

Despite my anguish, I did eventually find some perks to the situation. The pen was, by far, the comfiest I had ever held. It fit nicely in my hand, though I let others try it, and they said they preferred other pens. But I loved its bulky feel and heavy, but not too heavy weight. I loved that it held ink so easily, yet flowed so freely… the point was not too thick, for how small I wrote, yet not too thick that it felt scratchy on various styles of parchment.

It was my perfect pen, as such weapons were. Perfect for the yielder, yet there was at least one tiny thing wrong to anyone else. It made me wonder where the weapons came from, who made them, who designed them for each individual person.

Of course, the priests’ answer was the gods. They were the ones who looked over us, who knew us more intimately than we knew ourselves. But I was skeptical. Why would the gods pay any attention to someone like me, who was apparently pathetic enough to have earned the pen.

By the end of the first year, I still had very mixed feelings. Yes, I had grown to accept and love the pen, almost as its very own entity, but I grew more jealous as my peers received weapons more awesome than mine. I avoided them more and more, not having much to connect with them any longer. Hell, it took Marshall months to stop cooing over their stalf. I spent increasing amounts of time at my desk, not wanting to see anyone.

The words I wrote…? Most were unimportant. A lot were my own fantasies, as I’d mentioned earlier. Later, I’d taken to writing down my frustrations regarding the experience. I had to watch people much younger than myself go on fantastical first journeys with their weapons, while I stayed at my desk and wrote the day away.

Several times, many times I thought it would have been easier to have something dangerous. Everyone believed that the pen was so safe. Their lost limbs were almost a trophy in of themselves, a sign they’d been out and about, doing something good. Everyone just gave me patient smiles when I complained about wrist cramps, and back pains that resulted from sitting much too long. They told me that I had it so easy.

But those statements only made me feel worse. That, and the words people had said in the beginning, how the pen could do such great things, and yet here I was, writing nonsense. When I tried to write something bigger than silly fantasies, everything seemed too cheesy, too cheap. None of those words felt right, and none of them seemed necessary to show to others.

Of course, no one gave me any sympathy for that, either. They asked me to see it anyway, and how bad could it be?

Marshall and I had gotten into a fight over that. It ended with me slamming my heel in their face several times, because they’d gone easy on me. But I’d asked my brothers to teach me how to fight, and even picked up a few tips from my other friends.

(For those of you who are wondering, they’re fine. They’d been on many adventures at that point, and could withstand a little beating. And we did make up after that. Well, they apologized right away, but I avoided them for a while after that. For more than just that reason.)

It took me awhile to get rid of those feelings of inadequacy. In fact, I had put down my pen for many months at a time, and vowed to never write again. The gods had been mistaken. I was not meant to write. I was not good enough with my words, and writing other people’s felt… inappropriate.

I used this period of time to go on my own adventures. I accompanied my brothers, I went out on my own to seek out someone to love (a quest I’m still working on to this day). Over time though, I found myself yearning for the peacefulness of my desk. I missed my pen, I missed not constantly hearing the oh-so-subtle hints that I wasn’t speaking enough for people’s liking.

So I returned home. Marshall suggested that I take the pen with me, keep them company as they went adventuring. Document their… or, maybe not, they corrected at my look of disgust. It was a tempting suggestion that I actually liked. Putting it into practice was a different story. The wind blew away all my sheets, I could never find a stable, comfortable place to set my ink, and quite frankly the sheer volume of materials I wanted to keep on me at all times was just too much. Enough to make Marshall themself say enough, and send me back home.

At this point, I was a little more comfortable. I still didn’t know what to write. I don’t know what I’ll write tomorrow. I’m still skeptical that the pen can do great things. Well, no. The pen can sign in laws that can change lives for the better, or worse. The pen can forge alliances, or it can create feuds.

But, I am no king. I am not in any position of power. The pen can do great things, but can I? I am not entirely sure who I am, why I was chosen for the pen. My name is Adrenna, but that means nothing to you, does it.

My words are not magical. I don’t know if they’ll be able to help anyone at all. But people strongly believe that they will. And… for that reason, I will continue to write, and hope that someone enjoys reading.

#writing-prompt-s #writing #my writing #prompt #spilled ink #fantasy #is this a self insert? you may find yourself asking #it is a self insert i confirm #trying to do that thing where you just kind of hint at things and people will hopefully imagine a bigger world #i should use more description for that tho #hm.

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writingsofpuffles · 7 years

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Caffeine Challenge 2.10.2017

Prompt: A young witch in the modern age whose body produces poisonous substances when she is upset. She works in fast food.

“Alright, have a nice day.” A sweet smile, and a perky tone of voice yields nothing but the customer’s back after they grab their food. Never mind, the next customer is already telling me his order.

“I’d like a double cheeseburger meal with a side of fries and a large coffee.”

“Alright. Will that be for here or to go?”

“To go.”

“Alright, your total comes to eight ninety-nine.”

He forks over the money, and I give him his change. I almost file him under the category of a nice customer until I hand him his receipt, saying, “We’ll get your food to you in just a little bit.”

The guy takes his receipt, crumples it between his hands, and looks me straight in the eyes as he hands it back to me, his face entirely stoic.

I take the receipt, smiling, and throw it away in the back area, even though there was a trash can two feet away from where the man stood on the other side of the counter.

I stay back there for a few minutes, trying to regain my thoughts and my temper. It doesn’t take me long, just a few short breathing exercises.

As much as I’d love to let the guy’s food become poisoned, I considered myself a pacifist and would condone the murder of no one. Solitary confinement for the rest of their miserable lives, sure, but murder in cold blood? Never. The power I ended up with was an unfortunate one. But I tried to make up for it by learning other spells, and learning them for good. Besides, it wasn’t like the guy did anything incredibly horrible. Although it was obvious that he had an awful personality. Lord knows how badly he treated his family, and what terrible consequences it led to in their lives. And if he had any pets….

I shuddered the thought away in my mind as I quickly gathered the guys’ meal. I didn’t bother looking at him as I handed it off, then addressed the next family who was waiting in line.

“Hello!” I said, giving them my brightest smile.

“Hi! Can we get an eight piece chicken meal?”

“Alright. Your choices of sides are between mashed potatoes, cole-”

“We’d like the fries and mashed potatoes.”

My eye twitched. Nothing pissed me off faster than being interrupted. “Unfortunately the fries are not available as a side.”

The mother acting as spokesperson gave me a look. Hey, this isn’t my fault, I don’t make the rules here. “Then what are the choices for sides?”

I tried my best to keep the hatred off my face as I listed off the familiar litany. “Mashed potatoes, coleslaw, potato salad, and baked beans.”

The squat woman turned to discuss this with her husband and two children. I allowed the smile to slide off my face as they did this. They weren’t paying attention to me anyway, so what did it matter.

“Mashed potatoes and potato salad.”

“Alright.” I package up their food, slightly concerned. Had that one small instance made me angry enough to produce the poison? I wasn’t entirely sure. Most of the time it kind of snuck up on me, and I could only hope that it wasn’t in the food, for even the tiniest amount could make a person fall deathly ill.

How did I know this? I wasn’t entirely sure. I’d known it for as long as I could remember, and though I somewhat suspected that an event in my life had me discover this… ability, I could remember no such event. I only hoped that the fact that I knew about it was just a side effect of it.

The rest of the shift passed uneventfully, though I was in a horrible mood.

I got home and contemplated a little. Customers were actually pretty nice most of the time, but it was the little things that got to me. It was I who had the terrible temper, and it was I who had this monstrous ability…

I caught myself. I didn’t want to sink into such dark thoughts. This was what I was born with, and this is what I had to live with. I couldn’t do anything about it, and so there was only one thing left to do.

I cracked open my book of spells, to a page with a decorated bookmark. It was one of the most complicated potions, and I had yet to successfully brew it. But, it took hours of intense concentration, and I could do with the distraction.

Wow it took me so long to figure out how to do a gosh darn read more. Anyway, this is my first time doing one of these, but I've been wanting to expand my writing circle. So, what better way than to involve myself in writing communities.

This isn't posted right after 11:00 because I wrote it by hand and tumblr formatting is trash. But you know what isn't trash? Fun witch prompts. You know what is trash? Food retail. May or may not have made small edits as I typed it up which I'm not sure if that defeats the point of the challenge.

The prompt comes from caffeinewitchcraft, and I had decided to do this on a whim.

...boop.

#writing #caffeine challenge #my writing #witch #spilled ink #there is actually ink on my hands my pen is leaking please help #also I questioned my writing abilities several times during this #meh oh well

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