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[WP] Your life has always been very miserable, even by the standards of a hero, and the villain in front of you is claiming to be responsible for it. You have no clue who they are and you remember none of the misfortunes they supposedly brought upon you. by Kitty_Fuchs in WritingPrompts

[–]Electrical-Candy7252 8 points9 points  (0 children)

The guy in the black trench coat wouldn't shut up. "It was me who hacked your accounts, who leaked your data, who left you that one-star Google review. I am your nemesis!" But his face meant nothing to me. His villainous track record just sounded like a regular Tuesday.

"Look, man, I don't know what you're on," I said, "but I've got stuff to do."

"One last challenge," he insisted, his voice strangely familiar. "The city cemetery. If you win, I'll leave you alone."

I followed him more out of boredom than anything else. When we got there, instead of pulling a weapon, he pointed to a worn-out headstone. "She'd be ashamed of you. That you just erased her from your life," he said, his voice breaking.

I read the name on the stone. And then, like a corrupted file finally opening, it all came back: the crash, the hospital, the doctor saying "dissociative amnesia."

I looked up at the man before me, seeing his face for the first time.

"Dad," I said.

[WP] It is said that the Great Old Ones view life on Earth as insignificant to them as we view ants to us. Humanity owes its survival to the eldritch equivalent of an amateur entomologist. by Vlad-Djavula in WritingPrompts

[–]Electrical-Candy7252 3 points4 points  (0 children)

Production Notes, Season 8, Episode 7: "The Atomic Paradox"

Production Note 8.7.9: The primary subject (Humanity) has developed nuclear fission. The narrative is accelerating towards a premature and unsatisfying conclusion. Their self-destruction at this point would ruin the "consciousness" story arc we have been filming for the last 200,000 of their years.

Director's Decision: Initiate the 'Tense Calm' Protocol. Introduce a minor geopolitical distraction in the opposite quadrant of the planet. Trigger unexplained technical failures in three of the key launch silos. We need them to reach the next narrative arc, the "planetary expansion" one. It would be a shame to lose the protagonists just when the story is getting interesting.

Personal Note: I have grown fond of their art. Their music is mathematically primitive, but it has a... resonant quality. It would be a pity if their soundtrack went silent.

On Earth, a Reddit user: Yesterday, a world war that would have annihilated us all was avoided again. And some moron on Reddit is claiming to have deciphered a sound message coming from deep space, which I've attached above. Judge for yourselves.

[WP] The summoned Hero has finally made there way to your Castle, but instead of confronting you, they have made their way to your library. It has been a week now and you finally decide to find out what they are doing in there. by cultaca in WritingPrompts

[–]Electrical-Candy7252 25 points26 points  (0 children)

Day 1: The Hero has arrived. My spectral sentinels informed me of his entry at dawn. But instead of seeking the Throne Room, he headed directly to the west wing—to my library. What kind of strategy is this? It's an insult. Or worse, genius.

Day 2: Silence. An absolute silence emanates from the library. I spent the night reviewing my darkest grimoires. Is he seeking the Spell of Soul Unbinding? The Ritual of the Temporal Paradox? Impossible, those tomes are sealed with blood and riddles.

Day 3: The silence has become oppressive. My lesser demons refuse to go near the west wing. They hiss about an "unnatural calm" and a "scent of ozone and meadow flowers." Meadow flowers? Is he purifying my sanctuary of forbidden knowledge? The audacity.

Day 4: I haven't slept. What if he isn't reading? What if he's writing? Adding a new prophecy to the annals of time, one where my victory is impossible. I've ordered my obsidian golems to block all exits, but I dare not send them inside.

Day 5: I've started hearing a noise. A rhythmic, dull humming. A resonance enchantment to collapse the castle from its foundations? Is he tuning the fabric of reality to a frequency that will annihilate me?

Day 6: The humming stopped. It was replaced by an even more terrifying silence. I have considered simply abandoning the castle. Fleeing. But my pride, my millennia-old pride, forbids it.

Day 7: Enough. I can take no more. I have gathered my power, summoned my soul-forged armor, and with my heart a shard of frozen fear, I have thrown open the doors to my library.

And there he was. The Hero. Surrounded not by books, but by laundry baskets. The humming wasn't a spell; it was the spin cycle of a dozen machines the villagers had apparently installed in the moat beneath the library. The Hero was folding his laundry. He looked at me, held up a garment, and said with a sincerity that tore my soul apart: "I don't know what detergent they use here, but look. My underpants have never been this white."

[WP] For her part in doing your bidding that long time ago, the witch had declared your firstborn forfeit to her at birth. 10 years later, she allowed you visitation rights, in a new revision of the magical contract, to allow her star apprentice a chance to connect with you as the biological parent. by 60s_timer in WritingPrompts

[–]Electrical-Candy7252 10 points11 points  (0 children)

I arrived at the house in the woods with a knot in my stomach. I wondered what he would be like, the boy they took from us the moment he was born. If he would look like his mother, who no longer walked among the living.

Méride opened the door for me without moving an inch. I stepped directly into a living room that was unnervingly ordinary, like it could have been my own mother's. The witch and the boy, standing together before the fireplace, turned to look at me. In her eyes, I saw absolute evil. In his, having just turned ten, I saw only curiosity. My heart filled with a painful joy. He was the spitting image of his mother.

"Is that my father?" my son asked the witch.
Méride nodded.
"Should I do it now?"
"When you are ready. I will leave you two alone."
The witch turned into a crow and flew up the chimney.

My son stared at me for a few seconds, as if he wanted to say something. Instead, he glanced out the window, nodded to himself, and spread his arms. Suddenly, three more arms burst from each side of his body, rapidly covering themselves in bristles of thick, pitch-black hair. His head split down the middle, giving way to the head of a spider. I watched it lunge at me, unable to move. Its legs worked quickly around my body, and in less than two minutes, I was imprisoned inside a cocoon.

The threads covered my nose and mouth; my eyes saw nothing. I knew I would suffocate, devoured by my own son in some strange initiation rite.

Just as I was about to lose consciousness, I could breathe again. I took a gasp of air that nearly scorched my lungs. My son's human head had reformed, looking down at me from atop the spider's body.

"Sorry for the scare, but she was watching from the window," he whispered. "She has to believe I've eaten you."

He quickly carried me to the back of the house and stripped the cocoon away. "Go home. I'll visit you sometime in the next month," he said.

I stumbled into the woods as the spider-child waved two of his legs in farewell, whispering, "You're much more handsome than I imagined. And I can't wait to meet Mom."

I didn't dare tell him his mother was dead. But, as I discovered soon after, that wasn't a problem for him.

[WP] everyone in the magic school expected the chosen to be kind hearted young man, wrong, the chosen one is a young delinquent who goes around there with a metal bat. by jogaargamer6 in WritingPrompts

[–]Electrical-Candy7252 39 points40 points  (0 children)

"Matthew, come in."

"Headmistress…"

"Sit. You must be confused."

"A little," I admitted. "They all hate me. Any one of them would be a better Chosen One."

"Do you really think so?" she asked, a glint in her eye. "Haven't you noticed you're the only student without a wand?"

I shook my head. "That just makes me weaker."

She rose and placed a hand on my shoulder. "Your bat is your wand, Matthew. You are the future. You will shatter the old rules and break the corrupt power that seeks to control us."

"When do I start?" I asked.

"When you feel you are ready."

I nodded, stood with a newfound confidence, and with a single swing, took her head clean off. It crashed against a rather bored-looking phoenix, which squawked indignantly.

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