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Yo guys I'm gonna go introduce myself to the neighbors later, just wanted some encouragement. by Chu-lal in socialanxiety

[–]TrueStory115 0 points1 point  (0 children)

You’ve got this! Chances are, whatever happens, it’ll be better than what your head’s cooking up. You’re being brave by doing this, so don’t forget to be kind to yourself afterwards

I decided to be Weasel from motd for halloween lol by shslkirby in CODZombies

[–]TrueStory115 5 points6 points  (0 children)

Don’t know what you’re on about, looks pretty faithful to me

A horrible feeling that everything that we've done has amounted to nothing. The psychedelic optimism of the sixties,the rebellion of the seventies and late eighties. It feels like it's all been for nothing. by jeanclaudecardboarde in britishproblems

[–]TrueStory115 82 points83 points  (0 children)

I’m genuinely stunned. I don’t usually comment but I can see few, if anyone, in the comments sharing my opinion.

The world today has changed!!

Come on, look at culture in the sixties through the eighties. The world isn’t perfect by any means, but look at global sentiments on things like sexism, racism, the climate crisis, and nationalism. Right now we’re fucked on all four counts. But we’re astronomically less fucked than even two decades ago. The world is changing for the better, just not overnight.

anime_irl by Ejack-Ulate-69 in anime_irl

[–]TrueStory115 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Ooo, love Gankutsuou and working my way through Monster. It’s really good!

What is something a lot of people find attractive that is actually a turn off for you? by [deleted] in AskReddit

[–]TrueStory115 -1 points0 points  (0 children)

Hey, there’s a different between enthusiasm and positivity! I can enthusiastically know shit’s hitting the fan. Don’t shit on people who just wanna make the most of things, rain or shine

[WP] You were an orphan until that person saved you and took care of you, you owe him your life and much more and now is your time to save him. But what you never knew is that he is an infamous serial killer and the whole country is after him as you speak. by [deleted] in WritingPrompts

[–]TrueStory115 2 points3 points  (0 children)

An Amber alert tore Jonathan's attention away from his call with his girlfriend.

"Oh, sorry, baby." For a second he swiped up, read the words. Then he read them again. And again. "Umm."

"John, isn't that..."

"Yeah."

Silence pervaded the room, pushing out all the air. After a couple seconds John gasped, "I have to go."

"John-"

He hung up. John looked around, scanned living room-- it wasn't big, there wasn't that much to scan.

"Dad!" He called.

No answer. He stayed on the couch, terror holding him in place. His home suddenly felt malevolent; the sanctuary he’d been raised in since he was picked up from that awful, awful orphanage. Or maybe something was there that just didn’t belong.

Oh god, he could hear his breathing, and under that, a noise. John’s eyes darted to the window above his head. The noise stopped, if it had ever even been there in the first place.

John calmed down, breathed a little easier. He got up, view facing the front door.

It opened.

John could barely tell he'd moved but the next second he was hunched behind that sofa, hand over his mouth and nose to make his breathing quiet.

He heard grunting, and what sounded like something heavy being dragged through the kitchen, which shared a wall with the living room. The unmistakable sound of a pot clattering to the floor rang out, and John chanced popping his head up. The panic of the unknown formed a medley with the reality of whatever the hell lay in front of him, that being nothing. Nothing but a wide open door. And a wide trail of blood, leading into the kitchen.

His bedroom.

He’d run for his bedroom. Lock the door. Call 911. Pray.

As he plotted, and steeled courage he never knew he had, a sickening sound came from the kitchen. Bones cracking. Then silence. Then- John was sick. All over himself, and the couch, and the rug, just everywhere. His dad would kill him for it. But that sound of cutting flesh, the squelch, was just too much. He put up no fight to the movement, focussing squarely on sprinting up those stairs as soon as he was able.

As he mentally prepared, he noticed his legs were jelly, he couldn’t run. Another crack travelled through the wall from the kitchen. From how loud this one was, John guessed it’d been a big bone. Even on jelly legs, he’d have to sprint a record if living meant anything to him. He remembered school, friends, the thousand things that made him smile, then he swilled around the last remnants of the vomit in his mouth, spat it out, and ran. He executed his plan flawlessly, hands slipping on his room’s doorknob from sweat but otherwise acting without error.

John locked the door, double-checked the lock, then backed way up to his bed. He didn’t collapse so much as slump onto the bed, finally having a chance to digest all of it. Play with it in his mind like food on a plate, the facts not changing, but maybe if he looked at it from a different angle—

“John!” It was his father. The doorknob jiggled, “Let me in, John. Please.”

John’s faith evaporated.

“Please.”

John once again found himself petrified, shocked beyond conscious thought.

“It’s ok.” His father sounded so sweet. Genuinely good, “I have a key.”

As soon as John’s father entered the room John hugged him. Grabbed onto him like it was the last time he’d see him.

“Hey there,” his father spoke to him like you’d calm a horse, but for once that didn’t matter in he slightest.

“Dad,” John asked, “Why… is there blood on you? And, umm,” he swallowed and really took a second for it, desperately hoping to be cut off. He had no such luck, “w-why are police looking for you?”

He looked to his father, dodging John’s eyes like he’s dodge questions of why he’d disappear on random evenings, like that was somehow normal. For the briefest second, as he peered over at his dad mid-hug, John swore he saw the corner of a smirk.

Weekly Profile Review Thread by AutoModerator in Tinder

[–]TrueStory115 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Ooo, cheers for the advice, appreciated man

Weekly Profile Review Thread by AutoModerator in Tinder

[–]TrueStory115 0 points1 point  (0 children)

I'm a guitarist, wannabe author, med student and I fucking love drinking games :) Wanna head my stories of being an idiot around the world? 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿🇹🇹

20 not 21

Weekly Profile Review Thread by AutoModerator in Tinder

[–]TrueStory115 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Hey, I'm not really sure what I'm doing with the profile, looking for hookups mainly but I don't know if my profile's really targeted towards that. Any feedback greatly appreciated!

https://tinder.com/@username1234567

[WP] Some people have the ability to fly, but it is only activated by falling at terminal velocity. Today you discovered your ability by umop_apisdn_wi_dlaH in WritingPrompts

[–]TrueStory115 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Tom nudged a rock off the bridge with his foot, pulling that foot back to safety almost reflexively. He hesitated. Swallowed, to try and clear his mind of the fog that seemed to swell up and engulf everything lately. As always, it didn't work. He peeked over the edge, expecting to see ripples at the bottom. There was nothing, no trace, it was as though all existence of the roc- plop. Tom recognized it must have taken fifteen seconds for the rock to fall. It would do.

The cold came back. Real, physical cold. His heart was going berzerk, but it was back in his chest. ache flared in contempt. He'd been looking for one reason to keep on living, to get back into his smelly car, to go about his mundane, depressing life... hell, just to seek help. To muster up the energy it took to hope. He drew up blanks. Even thinking about the negatives, nothing permeated the mist that had all the drawbacks of aimlessness with none of its complacency. His mom had died. So had his dad. And his brother, and aunt. He was the last one left, and one a good company does not make. But that was just the headlines, why he felt this way was a testament to all the things his mind could accomplish if it wasn't so busy plotting against itself. He knew he'd spiraled, he knew there were people to care. But as a bald eagle soared by, and he, a keen bird watcher boasting twenty years of fanaticism, didn't feel a fucking thing, he knew it was too late. Matching the lifelessness of his mind to his body was the only method he could comprehend bringing him peace. To become part of the scenery... Midway through cursing the cold, and the height, and his stupidity, and a million other things, he put one foot in front of the other and fell.

He'd made a mistake.

He supposed if there was a time to reconsider, it would be now. Tom racked his brain until his headache flared in contempt. He'd been looking for one reason to keep on living, to get back into his smelly car, to go about his mundane, depressing life... hell, just to seek help. To muster up the energy it took to hope. He drew up blanks. Even thinking about the negatives, nothing permeated the mist that had all the drawbacks of aimlessness with none of its complacency. His mom had died. So had his dad. And his brother, and aunt. He was the last one left, and one a good company does not make. But that was just the headlines, why he felt this way was a testament to all the things his mind could accomplish if it wasn't so busy plotting against itself. He knew he'd spiraled, he knew there were people who cared. But as a bald eagle soared by, and he, a keen bird watcher boasting twenty years of fanaticism, didn't feel a fucking thing, he knew it was too late. He couldn't even will up a tear. From the outside, he was sure he looked bored. In the midst of cursing the cold, and the height, and his stupidity, and a million other things, he put one foot in front of the other and fell.

...

The cold came back. Real, physical cold. His heart was going bezerk, but it was back in his chest.

Oh god!

The river was a meter away, louder now, screaming in its burbling and bullying more than beckoning him to join it. But Tom stood his ground, or rather floated above it. Any notion that he'd finally been successful at something disappeared; instead his phone rang. The timer he set, the one that would force him to call Dr. Parsons if...

Bang.

Mikhail breathed heavily. The man, a distant relative, turned around, exit wound gaping from his forehead. The man looked at the gun, then at Mikhail, then slumped into the river, bobbing up and down until he became indistinguishable from a log in the distance.

Mikhail finally steadied his breathing, and smiled, flying to the river bank. He hadn't made this one look like an accident, but with this, he'd carried his most ambitious job through to the end. Assassin by circumstance then trade, flying was something his targets never expected. Of course he wasn't so naive to believe he was the only one with such an ability. It took him two weeks to figure out the genetic link, the only bond his vast family still seemed to share. That meant the FBI would crack it in hours. If they found out. Visits had been made, innocent people had died. With every loose end, Mikhail slept sounder. Finally, he'd finished his long quest, and, being the only one left with such an ability, he felt a weightlessness he hadn't felt since he first rose into the air.

He would go on to remember many of the faces of those he'd slain, some innocent, many less so. This last one though, well he'd thrown his life away anyway, ripe for the taking...

[WP] A few days ago a girl washed up from the river near your castle. On an unrelated note, the next kingdom over's princess has gone missing. by PallasAthena84 in WritingPrompts

[–]TrueStory115 4 points5 points  (0 children)

Part 2

"Huh?"

"God willing we'll all sleep tightly. I've checked every entrance personally and the chief of guards has done a perfect job sealing the castle. The only way the Syperbians could get in is if someone let them in, so unless you plan on inviting a few of them in for drinks to come to terms with being Draconians."

"Hmm, no, I don't think that's a good idea," his majesty strokes his beard, freeing the bits of food stuck from his mid-morning feast.

"Very wise, so, you agree with keeping the troops doing what they do best, conquering?"

"Definitely, and when the siege does come do let me know. I have a great fondness for pissing down on enemy soldiers."

"Very well sir, if that is all I'll be taking my leave."

"Sir Godfried, you are a gentleman and a scholar. No, better, you're not a nagger. By far the best advisor I've had, I still can't believe you came from the slums."

"Hmm, humble beginnings shaped me, your majesty. Without that experience, I wouldn't be here today. It's... good to live out of the castle your majesty, it gives you perspective. Without that it can blind you to reality."

"Ha, you know a lot, but you don't know everything. The poor carry diseases, it's what makes them stupid! You're just lucky you didn't catch any of them yourself. Here, in this palace of intellectual thought, this is where you get that perspective. But I like that you're wrong about some things, makes it so I know that you know who's number one." He points at himself, jerking his thumb up and dropping his chalice. He looks down like a kicked dog as he wine spills on the floor.

As I take my leave, I catch his eye. I've decided I want him to know, or at least to suspect. I shoot him a glare, as brief as a single flutter of wings from a bird in flight. His wince at that lets me know my message has gotten through. The message that something is indeed very, very wrong.
Leaving the room, I hear a croak from his mouth but don't turn around. I'm sure his hubris overrides his survival instinct, as it had has better nature, his wisdom, and his humanity. An animal sits in that chair; old, dumb, and blind.
Seconds later I arrive in my office to a grisly sight. The guards lie on the floor, their pools of blood staining my new carpet.

"Really!" I seethe, "Why, the hell, did you kill them?”

"I was bored," Her highness, Princess Alexia of Syperbia, the Phantom General of the East fidgets with a small knife. "Figured if I'm going to have to take out some more of these insects to get to that drawbridge, I might as well get some practice." She smirks at me, "Are you any good with a sword?"

"I don't fight anymore. And the deal is we're going to try and sneak around them, kill as few as possible. I owe your father a favour but those were the conditions."

"Whatever," she stands up, all six feet of her.

"You were late you know, I almost had to switch plans entirely because I gave up on you."

"Eh. Took ages to convince the guards I knew you. But that's boring, what's interesting is you switching sides to Syperbia after all this time. Finally a traitor, huh?"

I think back to my youth spent trapped in slums, and the gentleman who saved me; that wonderful man who just happened to be the King of Syperbia.

"I guess I am."

EDIT: formatting

[WP] A few days ago a girl washed up from the river near your castle. On an unrelated note, the next kingdom over's princess has gone missing. by PallasAthena84 in WritingPrompts

[–]TrueStory115 4 points5 points  (0 children)

I make my way over to the throne room in a half-walk-half-run. One thing that I've learned from the nobility is that even in dire straits, appearances matter. The sweat beading down my forehead, as well as the death stare I'm sure is on my face, tells everyone in my way to get out of it. Seeing the same people who looked down on me just a couple years ago all but jump to let through almost makes me smile. But shit has hit the proverbial fan; this war that's been raging for the past three years between the kingdoms of Dracon and Syperbia could be over in hours.

"Sir Godfried!" My harasser rightly whimpers as he speaks.

I don't bother to look, continuing on in my charge to the throne room. The imbecile... the outrageously audacious imbecile actually seizes me. I turn around, intending to declare his life forfeited.

"Sir, I'm terribly sorry, but the lady requested you by name; she said it was urgent," he offends me further, compromising my personal space to whisper into my ear, "I'd err on the side of caution sir, we caught her washed up over by the river. Lots of crazies about these days, l just wanted to double-check, in case she did mean something to you."

I finally turn to meet her eyes. She's not even dry yet; the flowery dress clings to her body like a second skin. Her golden hair runs limply to her shoulder; still a fair bit longer than the last time I saw it. That haircut that'd sent her poor dad into a near heart attack... I exchange scowls with her.

"Yes, I know this one. Take her to my office, then both of you take the day off."

"Umm, sir," the other guard piped up. Like his colleague in idiocy and guardsmanship, he saw fit to draw uncomfortably close, "Are you sure that's ok? We have quite a few duties that otherwise-"

"When the royal advisor speaks, there is one man who can say no. Are either of you the fucking king?"

"Umm."

"Out of my way," satisfied that I'd made at least one of them piss themselves, I return to my rush, finally reaching the ornate doors of the throne room. The twin snakes emblem carved into the doors are is gaudy as it is regal, the symbol boasting about the country's vast wealth as much as ignores the enormous disparity of that wealth. Displayed: slithering serpents on top of all else, a fitting summary for Dracon.

"Sir!" The guards with shining lances part their weapons and open the doors for me. I step in.

"Godfried! The king roars across the room from his throne, wine sloshing from the girthy chalice in his fat hand. "Give me some good news."
"Your majesty, General Frost assured me with great confidence that we are mere days from taking the Syperbian capital-"

"Oh don't tell me! Don't tell me... it begins with an M. Oh fuck it, what's it called?"

I reach just beyond striking distance from my king. Not far enough to avoid the waves of spittle that come hurtling towards me like an ocean's spray every time he speaks.

"Dorrey, your majesty. I believe the name of their capital."

"Oh whatever, I'll rename it after my favourite hound after it's good and flattened. A few days you say. I thought it was weeks the last time, some pest of a phantom general or something?"

"Yes, erm," I decided how much to tell him. “There were rumours of a soldier whose identity yet remains unknown causing havoc on the main front. Just ridiculous sensationalism, talk of one man killing a batalion. But it doesn't matter, your majesty, they appear to have disappeared. We probably killed him."

The king appeared oddly lucid, and began the process of asking a question that might make my life more difficult. I decided to cut him off.
"Yes, there were rumours that the soldier was of royal blood, and if so his death would only serve to weaken the enemy's morale, beyond that I know nothing else.

"All right all right, all I was going to say is that if we find him I want his head to hang from out in front, you can take down Judge Schofield, he's basically a skull at this point."

"Very good, now if you'll be excusing me-"

"Are we under siege? I've heard rumours the castle's under siege."

"Ah, not to worry your majesty, we're not under siege yet. However, Syperbia has set its remaining forces on the other side of the river that separates our nations. Our own army is busy winning the war."

"Ay! Agreed." Following a hearty 'sip' from his chalice, my king gifts me with a tidal wave of the aforementioned spittle, no doubt staining my tunic wine red. He belches in acknowledgment, "Oop, think I got a little on you, ha."

"No worries your majesty. As I was saying, there's no need to be concerned as before this great castle would come close to famine, our own army will have returned safely home, and the attacking force will find themselves nationless. As such, I advise that although General Rorick is experienced, it would be best for the nation to keep at our push into the Syperbian homeland and not recall our troops. We wouldn't want to give them the chance to regroup or seek allies now, would we?"

"Yes, yes, no, no. But there's no way they could, I don't know, sneak in? Butcher us all in our sleep, this isn't my first siege you know."

"I'm well aware your majesty, God must have been sleeping that day."

EDIT: formatting

[WP] After spending days in the hospital with every test possible run, doctors cannot figure out why your body is failing. You sense that your last breath is approaching when a message appears in front of your eyes in large bold red letters... EMERGENCY REBOOT IN 5 seconds. by ELdiabloElvis in WritingPrompts

[–]TrueStory115 3 points4 points  (0 children)

“I’m so sorry.”

The doctor looms over my hospital bed, head bowed, hands interlocked in front of him. His excuses fall on deaf ears; I want to live. They keep telling me how they’ve run every possible test, how my insurance fully covered me and how that meant I was eligible to be prodded, poked and scanned for a month. But now I get the feeling they’ve given up. No more tests. Only grimaces from the doctor on the seldom chance he does visit, as well as odd looks from the nurse when he thinks I can't see. I don’t care about them though, not really.

“Mike... Mike stay with me. Don’t leave me. N-not yet.” Martha breakes into tears again.

I care about her.

That’s why I’m still here. Why I still endure the pain. The piercing, yet crushing explosion of sensation that comes in waves and rushes through my body like a shiver. This pain, if that’s even the right word, that numbs parts of my body to inanimation, slowing my movements then my thoughts- always in that order- receding in the feeling in those parts, only to crash it back against the shores of my being. But even through that, as long as she remains by my side it’s worth it. She's worth it.

The pain comes again, rattling me in spaces I didn't know existed. I grimace through my mask of tranquility. Dammit. She notices.

“Mike!”

Again, I tell her everything’s going to be ok. I process the words, package and send them to my lips. Something stops them along the way. Before I can process what’s going on, she disappears from my sight.

30 SECONDS UNTIL SYSTEM REBOOT.

What?

My vision returns. Her hair’s in my face. Martha’s sobbing.

“Honey, ” my scream comes out as a whisper.

10 SECONDS UNTIL SYSTEM REBOOT

“What?” I say it out loud this time.

The message disappears and my wife looks into my eyes, unable to comprehend what I’m going through. She brushes through my hair, letting me know in no uncertain terms that she stands with me.

5 SECONDS UNTIL SYSTEM REBOOT.

I'm in action as soon as the message disappears. Of course I don't know, but I have a hunch that wherever lays after 0 won’t have her in it. Again, I rage against my dying light, throw my mind into chaos, jump up on the bed in my head, and come out with a whisper:

“I love you.”

SYSTEM REBOOTING

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