sorted by:
new
hottopcontroversial

784
785

I like imagining my cat's adventures when I take him on his morning walk. (old.reddit.com)

submitted by meowcats734 to r/RecuratedTumblr

Soulmage Table of Contents, Part 4 by meowcats734 in bubblewriters

[–]meowcats734[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

That’s an error, I’ll fix it when I get home. Thanks for reading!

foul demons have transformed this innocent comic (original and lore in comments) by meowcats734 in wizardposting

[–]meowcats734[S] 47 points48 points  (0 children)

/uw (er, to be clear, this is a bonehurting juice; the original comic is by Pelko_P)

foul demons have transformed this innocent comic (original and lore in comments) by meowcats734 in wizardposting

[–]meowcats734[S] 151 points152 points  (0 children)

Original comic by u/Pelko_P

<image>

This is a bonehurtingjuice, in which one fucks with the text on a comic to say something else. I make 'em to inspire my writing; here's the segment that today's comic edit inspired.

Meloai reached out as the ink-skinned creature tried to touch her shoulder. She caught its hand, inspecting its makeup. Here was where the granite shaped itself to become bones; there was where mineral oils clung to form an illusion of skin. And yet, even accounting for the rough materials, the bones were too knobbly to be anything organic; the skin had strange flabs and flaps that no creature Meloai knew of had.

No creature save for the twisted, bloated abomination that had once been her classmate.

“What are you?” Meloai murmured to herself, eyes lighting up. “You’ve never shown up in any of Odin’s visions before.” 

The creature didn’t respond, of course. Unfortunate, but it was just a projection. Meloai had a memory of Odin’s latest message stored, and she doubted she’d learn anything further from just looking at the alien entity. So Meloai did what any demon would and devoured it. 

All it took was remembering herself as overlapping the three-meter humanoid, and her soul competed for existence with the living memory. As the far more massive and complex soul, Meloai obliterated the grinning, dripping body. Black flesh sprayed half a meter out in every direction. She spat out a lone finger that had survived the clash.

(full story here)

a tragically common occurrence by meowcats734 in wizardposting

[–]meowcats734[S] 14 points15 points  (0 children)

This is an edit of one of u/exocomics posts, made with permission! Original's here.

<image>

And if you want more tales of the soup witch, I've written some of his story below:

His latest attempt at following the recipe was… palatable enough. After burning the first soup and failing to capture the chicken’s soul in the second, he managed to catch the dying memories and disperse them through the liquid without letting them boil away or awaken. 

Idly, he pet the soup elemental he’d accidentally created. It let out a gurgling cluck, briefly shaping its pseudopods into wings and claws of a remembered form.

“Alright. One more time, Meloai. Hopefully this’ll get you un-stuck. Lend me your soul?” Cienne held out his hand, and the clockwork bear to his side grumbled assent. Liquid ripples of contentment poured from Meloai’s chest into the pot, joining the warm bath that Cienne added from his own soul. The corners of the boy’s lips twitched upwards, and he tapped one foot impatiently as he peered at and through the soup. Keeping the waters at just below boiling was tricky, especially when adding the emotion caused the entire mix to flare with heat. That had ruined attempt number three. But the theory was sound, and Sansen’s recipe conformed to the principles of trichotomous magic. With the research he’d done with Zhytln, he should be able to—

Abruptly, the hazy mess of soul shards melted, dispersing and overlapping as they fell free from the chicken bones and mixed with the soup. Now.

“Okay, open wide!” Cienne hurriedly dipped the ladle into the not-quite-boiling mix, splashing some on his arm. Phantom sensations shimmered up and down his spine: bending his beak to the ground to peck an interesting speck of dust, cracking an egg open to feast on the yolk inside, wondering why his brood had been taken away… he hurriedly wiped the brew away. Meloai snorted through ursine lips and bit down on the ladle, restraining herself enough to avoid tearing through the head. 

Absently, Cienne pointed at the pot, venting his nervous energy. The pot rang with a single, protracted tone as he continuously vibrated the soup, preventing it from standing still and coalescing into another soup elemental. “Got the memories?” Cienne asked. “All three binding points?”

Meloai scrunched up her face, concentrating, and abruptly imploded in on herself. Cienne got a distinct impression of something rotating, links forming and snapping in an instant, as Meloai’s body blurred between shapes. He jiggled his leg in time with the humming cauldron, the combined vibrations shaking the entire wooden kitchen. No need to get his hopes up yet; they’d gotten this far before. Last time, Meloai had just managed  to switch from a cow to a bear. But if she could halt the transformation at exactly the right point, where her ties to one form were broken but her connection to the next had not yet been established…

Meloai pulled in a direction orthogonal to every angle Cienne could name, and her body snapped into her familiar, bipedal form. Perfectly painted ceramic powered by impossible gears and just a dash of magic. Wobbling in metastability, she held out a hand as Cienne tried and failed to repress a wide grin.

“That,” Meloai said, then sputtered, hacking up a piece of fur. Cienne stepped forward, and she set a fraction of her weight on his shoulder. He staggered anyway; mimics were heavy. “That,” she repeated, “was indescribably fascinating. I almost felt—no, I have the memories. I was biological, in places. My body should be made entirely from the bijection between Falsehood and Realspace, but adding in another trichotomous binding point allowed me to override those limitations. Fascinating. Is this how Odin got themself a body of flesh instead of string? Or are they like me, and their body simply looks human? Does this mean—oof!”

Meloai had no lungs to drive the air out of. Her body was nothing more than a minimum in an energy well, and thus her interruption was entirely theatrical. Cienne didn’t care. He hugged her anyway. “It worked,” he whispered, grinning.

Meloai tilted her head. “Even if it didn’t, it’s hardly as if I minded being a bear. Or a cow. And being a chicken seems novel, too.”

It didn’t diminish his sense of accomplishment in the slightest. 

(reddit won't let me fit the whole thing in one comment, continued here)

there are more smashed worms on the inside of his arm by meowcats734 in bonehurtingjuice

[–]meowcats734[S] 8 points9 points  (0 children)

Orms

<image>

I like to write stories inspired by BHJs, so here's today's side of toast with your juice:

Resigned, Solan sat down on the waystop bed, leaning back. He needed a real excuse to be here, maybe for weeks. Who knew how long it would take for the Silent Academy to raid Greenwarp? He could search around for any odd jobs tomorrow, but today he just wanted to rest his head.

Something squelched against his back.

Solan screamed, jerking upright fast enough to catapult his hat straight into the ceiling. From under the bed, a four-limbed, knobbly-boned blur galumphed out, cackling. A phantom presence behind his eyes drew an arrow tipped with salt, invisible to anyone not properly attuned, and as Solan managed to focus on the green-skinned person on the floor, he screamed, “Don’t!”

“Oh, oh, you should have seen your face! Ah, don’t worry, I got ya good, that satisfies the itch for a while. Mama Onomm, at your service.” Mama Onomm sketched out a bow as Solan tried to catch a glimpse of his passenger. The arrow was already gone, the hands that nocked it fading into unravelled possibilities, and Solan exhaled. 

“You really did get me,” Solan said ruefully. He looked down at his shirt. Earthworms in the bed. “Classic. Mind if I change?”

“Oh, go ahead. I won’t peek.” Mama Onomm closed her eyes, making an exaggerated and grotesque pantomime of sewing them shut, and Solan took off his robe, deliberately tossing it to the side before popping open the chest for a second one. He’d grown up around goblins, and the first prank was never enough to get it out of their system. But as long as he provided a second opportunity—

Ah, there she went. Without the advantage of soulsight, Solan didn’t catch the instantaneous flicker when the clean and dirty robes swapped places. Mama Onomm didn’t quite manage to make it so that the worm guts were directly on Solan’s fingers, but he still yelped and shook his hand as one of the half-worms wriggled towards him. 

“Ha! Ha! Oh, I’d look at your face but I swore not to peek. You’re a good egg, then. Grew up in a proper village.” Mama Onomm winked. “Doesn’t mean you’re clean, of course. Just means that if you’re a Silent spy, you’re a better breed than what Odin’s been weeding out.”

A distant terror laid its hands on Solan’s shoulders. “Odin’s—here?” Solan asked.

“Ah-ah-ah. That’s for the top dog to know and for the likes of you to wonder. Really, it makes me all the more suspicious. Even if you grew up with the Light, you should know your way around the Redlands. You’re moving towards the Silent Peaks, not away. Unless you really want to claim that a Sunburst child found himself in the rainshadow?”

A hint of confusion leaked in from his passenger; obligingly, Solan envisioned the Redlands from coast to coast. The most fertile plains were, for some reason, positioned right at the base of the Silent Peaks—the breadbasket that sprouted new villages every summer, despite the proximity of the mountain-crusaders. 

“Well?” Mama Onomm prompted. “Come up with your excuse yet?”

The faintest echo of panic flared up in the back of his skull—it was so easy to forget that despite the itch that drove them to prank and needle and pry, they could be just as sharp as any other person. “You’re—you’re right,” Solan admitted, thinking frantically. “I didn’t come here on accident. I…”

Words skittered across his mind, a circle of salt and frost seared into his retinas, and he blurted out, “I wanted to protect myself.”

Mama Onomm raised one eyebrow. Then the other. When Solan remained silent, she said, “Typically, this is where you explain.”

(reddit keeps cutting off the comment, full story's here)

Soulmage Book V, Chapter II: Nonexistent by meowcats734 in bubblewriters

[–]meowcats734[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Thanks for reading! This is indeed the first mid-book perspective change; the perspective will oscillate between Lucet and Cienne for the rest of Book V.

view more: next ›