You have one super power: The ability to know without fail what the truth is to any asked question. You planned to help the world as a super hero. It took you six hours for the government to declare you public enemy number one and the most deadly super villain alive.

It’s called the Gift of Perfect Knowledge. Of course, this is because someone once asked me “Hey, what’s your superpower?” and the name popped right up as it always did. I wonder if that means my superpower named itself. I’ve never had the courage to ask.

Everything I've Ever Written (on Tumblr)

(under construction as of May 2024)

I have been writing online since 2016. As a result, I have quite the few short stories listed below! They're all from different parts in my writing journey and I hope you enjoy.

If you'd like to read what I currently put out, please consider supporting me on Patreon (X)

Cinderella Doesn't Believe in Fairy Tales

Destiny Universe

Heroes and Villains

The Fae:

The Chosen One

Witches

Devil Deals

Fairytale Retellings

The Gods

Sci-Fi

Misc Fantasy

Meta Stories

Ghost Stories

Misc.

((Part 2 but with most all the same categories))

Supernatural School

Heroes and Villains

The Fae

The Chosen One

Witches

Devil Deals

Fairytale Retellings

The Gods

Sci-Fi

Misc Fantasy

Meta Stories

Ghost Stories

Misc

Fanfic

(actively sobbing as I start part 3 of the monster. If these links ever break, I am going to lay on the floor and cry)

Heroes and Villains

The Fae

The Chosen One

The Gods

Witches

Devil Deals

Sci-Fi

Meta

Ghost Stories

Misc Fantasy

Misc

First Story Ever Posted:

In hell, people can choose what happens to them. They can choose literally ANYTHING. Naturally, many people try to exploit this by going for luxuries and pampering, but the devil ALWAYS has ways to torture those fools…

“So I can choose anything,” you say. The devil in front of you explained that there wouldn’t be any physical contract. This room made verbal ones just as binding. “Anything at all?”

“You could even choose to be alive again,” the devil confirms. Their form shivers around the edges as if caught in a heat mirage. You blink and they’re sitting across from you again, hands folded on the table between you, solid as can be. You still can’t make out any of their features. “Riches, good food, intimacy, anything.”

“I guess it’d be silly to choose torture,” you say slowly.

“If you’re really contrite you can,” the devil says. They don’t seem as excited by the idea for some reason. They wiggle their fingers. “Some souls choose that in order to atone. They seem to think I’m lying when I say there’s no atonement to be had here. You’re in Hell, kid. No getting out of this one.”

Kid. You rub a hand over your mouth to wipe away the smile before it forms. “I think I understand. How long do I have to decide?”

“As long as you want,” the devil says. They rest their chin in their hand. “I have an endless concept of time. I don’t mind waiting.” 

You bet they don’t. You chew your cheek. “What’s the longest it’s taken someone to decide?”

“Three months,” the devil says. They make a point of looking at the bare walls, the lack of windows, the endless grey of the perfectly laid tiles that make up the floor. There’s no light source in the room and, therefore, no shadow. There is nothing but grey. “They weren’t entirely sane by then though.”

Keep reading

The Hero and Hope

Based off a world where everyone gets a Destiny they must fulfill. Bakers and Demon Kings (x) and Villagers (X). You? You are a Hero.

----------------

You are a Hero.

Nobody at the orphanage knows. The mark sets during the worst winter in three decades, when the windows have to be barred to prevent snow spirits from ripping them to shreds and the Director takes half the reserves and runs in the middle of the night.

Sarah, the only caregiver left in the rickety building, holds as many of the kids as she can while the snow spirits scream outside. You’d love to be in the circle of her arms, but you’re holding the door shut with as much strength as your eight-year-old arms allow.

She doesn’t tell you to get away from the door.

“It’s alright,” she says, voice trembling. Her brown hair, matted from the months indoors, hides her eyes. She croons to the younger kids like a bird, so softly and gently that you have to strain to hear it over the howling demons and roaring winds. “We’ll be okay. Our land’s Lord will send a Hero, you’ll see. We’ll be okay then.”

Your arms burn as intensely as your eyes. A Hero. Your stomach aches from hunger and your fingers sting from the cold. You aren’t sure how much good you’re doing keeping the door closed, but there’s something deep inside of you that tells you you must do something. The blows from the snow spirits outside vibrate up your arms, nearly throwing you back.

Heroes, you think, only matter if they show up.

Hope is traumatic. Eight-years-old and you’ve been returned from potential families twice. Three days ago, you found the beginnings of greenery in the woods behind the orphanage. When you excitedly raced back to tell the others that winter was ending, it was only to find the Director and most of the caregivers gone with a significant portion of the rations.

Then the storm clouds rolled in.

You are the adventurer who went on an epic quest and defeated the evil king, all to gain the sacred amulet and use its one wish to revive your sister. Now everyone expects you to accept her death and use the wish to undo the damage instead. You refuse.

Blood has stopped streaming from the wound bisecting your brow, but it still stings your eyes something fierce. You take your gauntlets off, grimacing as the grime and soot from battle tries to keep the metal welded to your skin. There’d been an explosion during the final fight with the king – no, the tyrant. Explosions, maybe. Your magic’s been erratic lately, the sudden growth of your mana pool far outpacing your control. You wipe your eyes with the back of your cleaner hand.

There’s pressure in your chest you’ve never felt before. You want to laugh. No, you want to scream. Your body is too tired to jump around like you did when you were a little girl, but you find yourself bouncing in place regardless. The thrill of battle and of escaping the castle as it collapsed is thrumming through your veins. You did it. You did it.

You are so happy, so devastatingly happy, that you can feel yourself shutting down. You need—you need rest. Food. Sleep.

Then you can save her. Then you can bring her back.

“Roksala,” Prince Eloyn says. You squint past the last rays of day to see him frowning at you. The ruins of the tyrant’s castle don’t appear to interest him. His eyes narrow. “Are you ignoring me?”

You are so tired, and so far from home.

Keep reading

Love how tumblr has its own folk stories. Yeah the God of Arepo we’ve all heard the story and we all still cry about it. Yeah that one about the woman locked up for centuries finally getting free. That one about the witch who would marry anyone who could get her house key from her cat and it’s revealed she IS the cat after the narrator befriends the cat.

Might I add:

The defeat of the wizard who made people choose how they’d be to be executed

The woman who raised the changeling alongside her biological child

The human who died of radiation poisoning after repairing the spaceship

The adventures of a space roomba

Cinderella finding Araura (and falling in love)

I don’t know a snappy description but the my nemesis cynthia story certainly lives in my head

hilariously, these are almost all in my fic tag. so, a compiled list from the notes (and some extras):

I am in love with you /p

What about the one with the princess locked in a tower learning to become a wizard? That’s lived in my mind for years and I haven’t seen it in a long time

Oh, love that story, adding it to the list: 20. Princess Talia and adding a few more contenders 21. Thyme 22. The Monster under the Bed 23. A Meaningful Death 24. Humans are unstoppable…until they aren’t 25. The Monster under the Fridge 26. Antler Guy 27. Cleric slamming healing spells

Adding a few more I remembered:  28. The Frog and the Scorpion 29. HSTHETE 30. The First Witch in the World 31. Imagine that Oceans were replaced by Forests  32. A Faerie taking a Name  33. The Dragon on the Farm  34. Synovus & Menace  35. Raising the Anti-Christ  36. Aliens vs. Flora & Fauna of Earth (pretty sure there are even more additions to the original post but I had this one saved)  37. Doctors without Borders…in Space!  38. The Villain-Wrangler  39. The Last Contact  40. The 100 Parent-Point Children  41. And the Heavens Wept  42. The Night Gentleman  43. The Serpent God and their Priestess 

44. No One Showed Up for the Last Storytime

You get called over to the children’s section of your store. A father is surrounded by onlookers and is frantically asking questions and begging for help. He says to you “Look I know that my child is half human, but I’m trying to do my best. I just need the right soap and hairbrush!”

“Excuse me…pardon me…” I push through the crowd, employing a few polite shoulder taps and one less-polite elbow.

Finally, I’m in sight of the harried man. In his arms is a toddler, a little girl who beams and burbles, waving her pudgy little hands at the people around them. Her dark hair seems to be plaited into a mass of tiny thin braids, and I’m surprised that a child that age would sit still for as long as it would take to manage that.

Then one of the thin strands moves. It rears up to look at me. Several of the others follow its lead, turning toward me and flicking their forked tongues.

I stand there with my mind a perfect blank. Luckily, my customer service voice has repeated itself so many times, it can operate without conscious direction. “Can I help you find something, sir?”

“I’m not sure what I’m looking for,” he says desperately. “I think she’s got dandruff. Do you think baby shampoo would help?”

I peer at the little girl’s head. Up close, it still looks like she has animated braids, thanks to the patterns of the scales. Clinging to the shiny strands are a few papery, translucent flakes.

And then it clicks. “No, sir, you don’t want soap. These little guys are shedding! It’ll probably happen a few times a year while she’s young. Let her play around in a bathtub–don’t leave her alone, obviously, but she’ll probably want to soak her head in the water.”

His shoulders sag as some of the tension leaves them. “That’s it? We can do that. She loves bath time. She always wants to play in the bathroom after anyone showers.”

I nod. “It’s the humidity. And…hey, I’ve got an idea!” I lead him over to the adult hair-care section, to the rack with the barrettes and decorative combs. All the combs have wide, smooth teeth, but some have textured bits at the top.

I pick out one with a carved wooden pattern. “If she’ll put up with you tucking one of these into her…uh…like this, it’ll give them something to rub against.” Very, very slowly, giving the little wigglers time to move out of the way, I slide the comb into the mass atop the little girl’s head. She giggles. The tiny snakes flick their tongues at the new toy, bump it with their noses, and begin to twine around it ecstatically. Soon, we’re looking at a toddler with a sweetly elegant (if slightly wiggly) updo.

“Sold,” her father says decisively. “Dusey, say thank you.”

“Tank oo!” says the little girl happily, and we head up front to the registers.

first day as a second century warlord i have my men tie branches to their horses’ tails to stir up dust and make it look like there’s a lot of us but i forget it just rained so there isn’t any dust and the enemy can clearly see there’s like twenty of us all spread out in a line

second day as a second century warlord i bribe a bunch of kids to start singing a nursery rhyme i carefully crafted to spread misinformation and further my strategic ends but they change the lyrics to be about poop and the enemy isn’t misdirected at all

third day as a second century warlord i lure my enemy into a narrow valley and send a team of archers to shoot them from the high ground but there was a feral hog napping on the trail up to the overlook and they couldn’t decide whether to try and shoot it or just go around and by the time the hog woke up and left on its own the enemy had already passed safely below

fourth day as a second century warlord we attempt to join a battle on the side of the guy we want to ally with but he and the guy he’s fighting have really similar names and it’s finally dusty and i misread the standards and attack the wrong guy. so now we’re stuck with this total loser of a liege lord, because how the fuck do you explain that after a battle?

fifth day as a second century warlord and some sort of wizard wanders into camp, my loser liege lord wants to execute him for being a wizard but i convince him to let the wizard stay, because i want to do more weather-based strategies and i’m pretty sure having a camp wizard can help with that. after the welcome to the team banquet the wizard steals half the treasury and my liege lord’s wife and leaves

sixth day as a second century warlord my loser liege lord sends me to reinforce a city he’s taken, but in the confusion of leaving i forgot to take the token that would have gotten us into the city, so my men have to wait outside the city walls for like eight hours while i ride back to get it

seventh day as a second century warlord and my loser liege lord finally joins me in the city, it turns out he’s actually a pretty cool guy, and he isn’t even that mad at me for letting the wizard steal his wife. i decide to shoot my shot but i’m really nervous and keep on stalling because what if i mess up our relationship and by extension jeopardize the security of my men, and eventually he just says goodnight and goes back to his room, where an assassin is in the process of setting up to kill him

eighth day as a second century warlord and my loser liege lord tells me to fake defect to his rival warlord, the one i originally wanted to ally with, to find out if he was the one who sent the assassin and why. but my whole way over to the rival warlord i’m worried that this has something to do with the wizard thing or how awkward i made it last night

ninth day as a second century warlord i try to tactfully ask my fake liege lord if he sent the assassin to kill my loser liege lord and it turns out the idea of using assassins never occurred to him, but now that i’ve suggested it he’s really into it. in order to save my loser liege lord i volunteer to be the one to kill him

tenth day as a second century warlord on my way back to my loser liege lord’s city i realize i won’t be able to collect my men from my fake liege lord until i bring back my loser liege lord’s head. this would have been a great thing to think of before i got myself in this situation. i go back to my loser liege lord and ask him to rescue my men, and he tells me that if he could sack my fake liege lord’s camp he already would have. that doesn’t change the fact that my men are still trapped. they’re prisoners, even. i go back to my room to sulk

eleventh day as a second century warlord i find a little caged pigeon in the rafters of my loser liege lord’s room and deduce it belonged to the assassin. without asking permission or telling my loser liege lord goodbye i let the pigeon loose and follow it north. don’t ask what i was doing in my loser liege lord’s room. it’s not important

twelfth day as a second century warlord i disguise myself as a wizard and enter the camp of the coalition leader the pigeon led me to. in the middle of my little sleight of hand performance i make eye contact with the coalition leader’s second-in-command. IT’S THE WIZARD THAT STOLE MY LOSER LIEGE LORD’S WIFE. after the banquet i corner the fake wizard and ask him what the fuck is going on and he just says “wouldn’t you like to know” and leaves. i don’t know what to say to that so i just let him go

thirteenth day as a second century warlord i’m honestly so sick of not knowing what’s going on, so i adjust my wizard costume to passably disguise myself as a woman and break into the women’s area of the camp, where sure enough my loser liege lord’s wife is. i ask her what she’s doing here and she tells me the fake wizard overheard her singing a poem she overheard on the street, not knowing it contains the coalition leader’s formation’s weaknesses. the fake wizard kidnapped her and assigned an assassin to kill her husband before they figured out the poem’s significance. she shares the first couplet with me but i’m discovered and thrown out before she can share any more. she doesn’t need to. through a bizarre coincidence of homophones, it’s the poop version of my misinformation nursery rhyme

fourteenth day as a second century warlord i go back to my loser liege lord and tell him everything, urging him to join with my fake liege lord to attack the coalition leader according to the weaknesses in the nursery rhyme. he tells me frankly that he doesn’t trust me anymore. i ask him to execute me if that’s really true, because i can’t bear to live if i can’t protect him and i can’t protect my men. he agrees to attack the coalition leader

fifteenth day as a second century warlord. due to the information in the nursery rhyme, and thanks to my loser liege lord reminding me of the weather conditions multiple times while planning our battle strategy, our alliance carries the day. my loser liege lord gets his wife back. my men tell me that our fake liege lord actually treated them really well and they’d like to stay with him if i don’t mind. i do mind, now that neither the men i love nor the man i love have any use for me, but i don’t tell them that

sixteenth day as a second century warlord i’m preparing to leave to i don’t know where, maybe to try to become a wizard for real, when my loser liege lord stops me and asks me where i’m going. he says he had hoped i would continue to work as his advisor. i was unaware i was his advisor in the first place. i agree, and he tells me he’s truly honored to have me in his service at last. he has known i am a rare and talented man with a strategic intelligence far above his ever since the day he witnessed me tying branches to my horses’ tails in six inches of mud, and could not for the life of him figure out why

As punishment for your crimes you are thrown into the Labyrinth to be a living sacrifice to the Minotaur that lives inside. However nobody seemed to put together that since he is half bull; the Minotaur is actually a vegetarian.

“What do you eat then? Down here? There’s no sun.”

“There are roots. Here, let me show you.” It would be hard to follow him in the darkness, if not for the soft clatter of his hooves. The flickering torchlight makes him seem too small, too fragile - too much like an unweaned calf taken from its mother’s milk too soon.

1000 years ago, a great king had his soul infused with the crown so he may rule eternity, taking possession of anyone who wears it. But with each new ‘successor,’ the king took his extra lives increasingly for granted, until one day…..

The crown hit the floor of the blacksmith’s forge, the heavy ringing sound of gold on packed earth echoing long after it should have faded away.

“Melt it down.”

The blacksmith choked, glad that she’d put down the horseshoe she’d been working on. “What?”

“Melt it down,” the Heir repeated patiently.

The blacksmith glanced at the Heir, then to the discarded Crown of Helgrath lying on her floor, then back at the Heir. “Why?” she asked plaintively.

“That thing ate my mother,” the Heir said grimly. “My mother died thirty-nine years ago, when she first put it on, and something else stepped into her place. It’s soaked in blood magic.”

“Magic is forbidden in this kingdom,” the blacksmith said automatically.

“Probably because any halfway competent mage would take one look at that thing and know what it was.” The Heir grinned. “Probably the one thing old Helgrath never thought about; that a royal scion would learn about magic outside the Kingdom.”

“When you stayed at other courts, on your search for a spouse,” the Blacksmith said, horrified. “That’s - that’s heresy.”

“Not for much longer, if I have anything to say about it,” the Heir said, mouth forming a thin line. “Look, it’s five pounds of gold, it’s stupidly, neck-breakingly heavy, and it could be much better used to fund a clean water supply than it would on my head. Especially since I have no intention of being possessed by some greedy bastard who likes to murder his descendants so that he can hold on to power.”

“And fire will destroy the evil magic?” the blacksmith asked.

“Should do, fire destroys most magic. If not, we’ll figure something else out.”

The blacksmith nodded. “You had me at ‘clean water supply’.” Wrapping her hands in her leather apron so that she wouldn’t come in contact with the cursed crown, she lifted it into a metal bucket and swung it onto a hook over her forge fire.

The screaming coming from the bucket was a little disturbing, but it did prove the Heir’s claims.

I was watching a ghost hunter show where the ‘ghost’ could only use the machine to say pre-recorded words. And I had an idea. We know that technology can’t always work with ectoplasm. So what if ghost speak couldn’t be heard over the phone? And to call for help, the Amity Parkers had to get creative to get ahold of the Justice League when the GIW declares all out war on all the ghosts and liminal in town.

Dead End Call

“Hello, you have reached the Justice League emergency hotline. What is the nature of your emergency?”

“Hello, hello. Emergency, hello. Justice League.” A distorted male voice answered back.

“Yes, I can hear you. Can you hear me? what is the nature of your emergency?” Green Lantern asked again.

“I can hear you, emergency. Hello Justice League. Hello emergency.”

“Do you need help? Can you hear me?”

“Help. Help. Can you hear me? Help.” The voice distorted again to something like static.

“Prank calls aren’t funny kid. This is an emergency line.” With an exasperated sigh, Green Lantern hung up.

“What was that about?”

“It’s just a prank call. Some kid using a voice mod thing.”

“Really? That’s annoying.”

“I know. But it’s not that unusual. Kids don’t have anything better to do during the summer.”

“I guess. What are you doing on hotline duty? You’re not scheduled for refresher training for another few months, right?”

“Food fight in the cafeteria. Batman added everyone involved to additional monitor or dispatch duty twice a week for the next month.”

“Yikes. Hate to be you. Who else got caught?”

“Flash, Plasticman, Vigilante, and Shining Knight.”

Zatanna raised an eyebrow. “Can’t imagine Sir Justin getting involved in a food fight.”

Hal shrugged with a good-humored smirk, “Vig took a salad bowl to the head, Sir Justin jumped in to cover his retreat. Right in time for Bats to break up the fun.”

Zatanna giggled, “Poor Sir Justin.”

“Poor Sir Justin?” Hal Jorden gasped dramatically, “What about me? I was just an innocent bystander.”

“I’m sure you were.”

“What are you doing here anyway?”

“Unlike you. I’m just here for one shift for refresher dispatch training.”

“Good for you. Well, have at it. The active-duty roster is on the big screen with who's suited up and available.”

Zatanna looked up at the large monitor with pinging dots in various locations around the world. “Alright. A bit better than the old system of scrolling for available heroes and asking where they are.”

“Yeah, Cyborg linked everyone’s com into the system so we can tell who is where, when their com is active.”

“Sounds good. Alright, Let’s do this.” Zatanna put headset on and clicked ‘available operator’ on the screen. Immediately her phone rang. “Hello, this is the Justice League Emergency Hotline. What is the nature of your emergency?”

“Emergency. Hello, Justice League. Emergency.” A female voice came through her headset. The connection was very poor. Interference and static came through.

“Can you hear me? This is the Justice League emergency Hotline. Do you need help?” Zatanna looked over at Hal. He was fiddling with his headset cord. He looked up at her and she gestured her head to the screen. It was the same number as his prank call.

“Hear me? Help. Justice League. Emergency Help.” The feminine voice sounded vaguely familiar. Zatanna ignored it to confront the prankster.

“Kid, this isn’t a joke. This is a serious line for actual emergencies. You can’t keep calling. I’m going to hang up now. Please don’t call back.”

“Isn’t a Joke. This isn’t a Joke. Please don’t. Hang up now. Actual Emergencies. Keep calling. Hotline. Justice League. Help. For actual emergencies.” The static under the female voice sharpened. Zatanna paused. Her finger was just hovering over the button to end the call when something stopped her. The tone of voice was sharp. Irritated. Also, strangely familiar. After a second it dawned on her. Hal was still looking at her, so she waved him over to listen into the call. Once he was listening with his own muted headset, she asked “Are you…? Are you repeating what I’m saying?”

“Repeating. Help. Isn’t a Joke. What I’m saying. Emergency. Help. Hello. Help. Emergency.”

Zatanna finally recognized the voice. “Is that my voice? Are you repeating with my voice?”

“Repeating. Voice. You. Emergency. Help. Isn’t a Joke. Help. Justice League. Don’t. Hang Up.”

“You’re using my voice to talk back to me? My words. And…You can only repeat what you hear… is that right?” Zatanna shared a glance with a horrified Hal. Him, just realizing he had hung up on an actual emergency. Not a kid playing a joke.

Zatanna’s own voice echoed staticky in her ear. “Right. Right. Can repeat. Only. Talk back. Using voice. Help. Emergency help.”

“Are you in danger?” She looked over at Hal who was typing on his own computer to trace the call origin. He looked back at her and shook his head. Weirdly, they can’t find where the signal is coming from.

“Danger. Emergency. Help Justice League. Help. In danger”

“I understand. I’m going to ask you where you are. Do you understand?” Zatanna was going to have to narrow this down. She pulled up a world map onto her screen.

“Understand. Help. Emergency.” The static in the voice softened slightly. Like relief.

“OK, we need to know where you are. What continent are you on? Asia? Africa? Australia? Europe? North America? South America?”

“North America. Help. Emergency.”

Zatanna clicked on the screen to enlarge the North American Continent. “OK, you’re in North America. Are you in Canada or America?”

“America. Help.”

Another click of the mouse to focus on the USA. “OK are you in the North, Northeast, Southeast, West, Southwest, or Midwest?”

“Midwest. Midwest. Help emergency. Help. America. Midwest.”

“OK I’m going to ask your state now. Do you know it?” Zatanna clicked on the Midwest region of the map to enlarge it more. Hal was standing up now. Anticipation making his body glow faintly green. He was texting something on his phone, but Zatanna ignored it to focus on her own echoing voice on the other end of the line.

“Know it. know it.” Her voice repeated back, “Ask.”

“Are you in North Dakota? Are you in Minnesota? Are you in South Dakota? Are you in Nebraska, Kansas, Iowa, Missouri, Wisconsin, Illinois, Michigan-“

The voice interrupted her. “Illinois. Illinois, Midwest America, Illinois. Help. Emergency. Justice League Help.”

“Do you know where in Illinois you are?”

“Yes, yes. Where Illinois. Emergency. Ask.”

Zatanna enlarged the map of the state infront of her. The closest hero was in Detroit Michigan and they didn’t’ have any abilities to help them get to Illinois quickly. She gestured to Hal to look at the screen. He nodded his understanding. “Do you know where in the state you are? what region or what county?

“County. Know. County.”

“OK I’m going to name a few counties. Tell me yes or no if you are there, okay?”

“Yes, yes. Tell me.”

Zatanna listed off the counties on the map. Her tongue slightly tangling over the midwestern words. “OK, Joe Durres, Steffensen, Winnebago, Boone, McHenry, Lake, Cook, Dupage, Kane, Dekalb, Ogle, Carroll, Whiteside, Lee-“

The voice interrupted again. “ Lake. County.”

“OK you’re in Lake County. is that right?” Zatanna clicked over the county and enlarged the map.

“Right. Right, help. Emergency. In Lake County.”

“OK I’m going to name off some cities in Lake County. Are you in a city? yes or no”

“City no. name cities. Yes.”

Zatanna paused for a second. “Do you mean you are not in a city, but you can name the closest one to you? yes or no?”

“Yes. Name. Closet one. Name. Closest. City. Emergency.”

“Okay. I understand. Are you in Gurney? are you in Libertyville, Grayslake, round lake, or round lake beach? Are you in Lake Forest, Zion, Vernon Hills, Highland Park, or north Chicago-“

The voice cut her off again. “Park.”

“Are you in Highland Park?”

“No. Park. In Park. Park. Park. Park. Emergency. In Park.” The tone of the voice did’t change but the words came faster, almost overlapping over themselves.

“OK calm down. Let me understand. Are you in a park or in a place called park?”

“In a place called Park. Help emergency. In place called park.”

Zatanna scanned the list of Illinois cities called ‘Park’ in the county. “OK are you in Round Lake Park or Beach Park, Deerfield Park, Park City, or Deer Park.”

“No. Place called Park. No city. place called park.”

“So you’re in a place called Park but it’s not a city is that right?”

“ Right. Place call park. Emergency. not city. Help.”

“OK, let's go down the list. Brook Park, Mill Park, Park Barrington, River Park, Park Township, VernonPark Hills, West Keegan Park, West Deerfield Park, Amity Park, Wheeling Park-“

“Amity. Amity Park. Emergency in Amity Park. Emergency in Amity Park. emergency help help emergency.”

“OK you're an Amity Park. Is that right?”

“Right. Right. In Amity Park”

Zatanna nodded to Hal who was still texting on his phone. He nodded back to her.

“OK, I know where you are now. Now we need to know what kind of emergency is it a natural disaster? is it a villain? is it an alien?”

“Villain. Emergency. villain villain villain.” The words came fast. Static was almost overwhelming.

“OK, calm down. I'm right here. Does the villain have powers or not.”

“Villian have. No. Powers. I'm here. Powers. Help. Natural- powers. Help. I'm. kind of. Natural. Help. Powers. We. Need help. OK?”

Zatanna paused. The sentences didn’t make sense. The villain did not have powers? But the caller said “I’m. Kind of. Natural.” She shared a look to Hal. Hal typed on his computer and a message appeared on her screen.

“I txted Flash. He can be there, but he needs to know what kind of situation he’s running into.” Zatanna read the message and nodded.

“OK. You need to give me more information. There are villains but they don’t have powers? Can you tell me what kind of natural powers you mean? Are they metagene powers? Are they magic? Are there weapons?”

“Magic. Weapons. Powers magic. I. powers. magic. Help. Can you help. Me?”

Zatanna felt a rush of fear. Magic powers. ‘Villains no powers. Weapons’ must mean that the villains don’t have any powers, but they have weapons that can affect the magic user who is calling. She looked over at Hal. He nodded. “Okay. I have magic too. I am going to Amity Park to help you. Can you tell me how many villains there are? Are there more than five or less than five?

“More than five. Villains. I have magic too. Villains. Weapons. more than we. I am going too. yes. Yes going. Help.”

So, the caller definitely needed magic backup. Zatanna gestured to Hal who began to send an all-notice message to any Magic using League hero. “Are the villains after your powers? is that right? the villains are attacking you for your powers?”

“Right. Right villains attacking for powers. Help emergency. More than me. Powers. Villains attacking. We need help. Amity park. Needs help.”

Zatanna froze. ‘We need help.’ More than me…powers. We need help. Oh god. “Is there more than one of you with magic? There’s a group of you with powers that the villains are attacking?” Zatanna asked. A group of magic users fighting villains? Maybe sending more magic users isn’t the best idea. They might need some heavy hitters for this.

“Group. with powers. Magic. Amity Park. Magic. Villains attacking. Disaster. Emergency help. Villains have. More than one of you. Of you. We. villains have. More than one. Of We.”

It took Zatanna only a second. By now she was standing up out of her chair. “Do The villains have hostages? With magic powers? How many?”

Hal had linked in the call with multiple coms. On the large monitor Zatanna could see multiple heroes dots shift slightly. All in the direction of Illinois. She was grateful to see Wonder Woman, Flash, and Captain Marvel all headed in that direction. “We’ve got hero’s coming your way. They will be there soon to help you and rescue the hostages.”

“Many hostages. Many magic in Amity Park. Weapons. Villains have. Weapons. We have. Magic. Villains have Hostages. Villains have. Soon. Powers. We need help. Heroes coming. Justice league. Help. Not villains. We not. Villains. Help we.”

Zatanna felt sick as she understood that message. ‘The villains have hostages and weapons. The caller and the others have powers. But then… villains have…soon…powers. Did that mean that the villains were taking powers away from whoever was calling? She paused at that last sentence. “You’re not the villains. what do you mean by that?

“We. Not. the Villains. Villains have hostages. Villains have weapons. Isn’t a joke. Isn’t. Isn’t Right. We. Not Villains. We Natural. We not weapons. We not villains. Help. Rescue hostages. Rescue. Me. Help Me. Help we have Powers. Help.”

“You’re not the villains, I know. You say you are natural. Do you mean that when the heroes get there, they might think you are the villains and get confused?” Zatanna knew that multiple heroes were silently listening to the call.

“We not the villains. Heroes might think. Powers. Are the. Weapons. We Amity Park. We need help. Justice league get here. Rescue Hostages.”

Hal messaged her again on her screen. Zatanna read off the message.

“We’ve alerted the Illinois National Guard as well. They’ll be there soon to help.”

“No. No. No. National Guard. No help. Villains. Guard villains. Help we. Help Amity Park.”

Zatanna looked confused. “What? No the national guard is coming there to help.”

“National Guard. The.Villains. They guard. The villains. No help. They’ll. Weapon. Amity Park. Powers. Justice League Rescue Amity Park. Help. Help. Help.” The static became so prevalent that Zatanna had to fight the impulse to rip the headset off. She tried to decipher the words.

“Okay. Okay we’ll help you. But we need to be able to find you. Are you in a house or a building? Can you get to a rooftop?”

“Building Rooftop. Heroes Find Me.”

“How can we find you? Can you wave a flag or give us a sign. Are you a woman or a man? What do you look like.”

There was a long pause. “I can. Wave. Kid. Kid. Woman. Kid woman.”

Zatanna wondered for a long moment where the word ‘kid’ came from before remembering when she first accused the caller of prank calling. She said ‘Kid, this isn’t a joke.’ The she felt bile flood her throat as she understood what they meant. “Are…are you a child?”

Zatanna’s own voice answered back. “Child. Kid. Woman child. Rooftop. Help Justice League. Find. Me. Help Hostages. Help. Amity Park.”

Flashes voice came over the com line. Muted from the call but clear in Zatanna’s other ear. “Oh my god. I’m here. It’s a war zone. There’s…We’re going to need back up. Medical units. There are tanks and fires everywhere. There’s been some kind of artillery shot at different buildings. It’s a war zone.”

There was a silent horrified moment as all the heroes listening absorbed the information. “I think I see our caller. It’s a little girl. Maybe eight or ten. White hair. She’s floating. She’s on the library roof with a giant phone. I think she sees me.”

In Zatanna’s other ear her own voice repeated. “Heroes find me. Rooftop. Help.”

“The man in red is called Flash. He’s there to help.”

“He’s there. Man In Red. Help. Flash. Find me.”

“I’m on my way too. Just stay with Flash and tell him what you need, okay sweetie?” Zatanna’s voice was infinitely softer now that she knew it was a child on the phone.

“Okay. Stay with Flash. Help. On. You. Way.”

The line shut off and Zatanna flinch at the sudden silence in her ear. She glanced over at Hal. “I’m going to Zeta down to Amity.”

“I’m right behind you. Flash said a war zone. I…I need to be there.”

Zatanna nodded at his guilty expression. “Right. Let’s hurry and get to Amity Park.”

So, I'm playing the new map on Medieval Dynasty as a woman (because they finally decided to let you play as a woman), and I was curious how the pregnancy dynamic was going to work because historically, in the game, when your wife gets pregnant, she goes on an 18-year maternity leave until your kid is grown, and I was like, well I'm the main character, so what's going to happen?

Am I just not going to be able to work or complete quests while I run around after my kiddo? Surely not. That'd be ludicrous. I wonder how they'll handle this...

Well, they handled it. They handled it by making my husband pregnant.

My beloved lumberjack husband, Teodoryk, is with child and very happy about it.

This game went from "you can't play as a woman because it's historically inaccurate" to "we're not going to fix the ridiculous game dynamic of an 18-year maternity leave, but we will make it so you can get your husband pregnant instead."

Incredible. Fully headcanoning this as a t4t marriage in 11th century Poland. I can't wait to meet our beautiful child. I will, however, be hiring a new lumberjack because I am not cutting down trees for the next 18 years. Fuck that. I've got wolves to fist-fight in the woods.

Also, I just want to clarify in case the tone of the post wasn't clear: men being pregnant isn't the funny part. That's normal.

The funny part is that this game was so heavily cis and heteronormative and vaguely misogynistic, but when faced with correcting a glaring oversight in the game mechanic that people have been complaining about for years, they decided to accidentally say "trans rights" instead because it was easier than correcting the 18-year maternity leave.

Anyway. I need someone to mod this so you can have same-sex partners. I want to build the first literal gay village in history. And then we're going to kill the King.

Announcing our beautiful baby, Wolfram, born on the first day of Autumn. Both father and baby are doing well.

I'm gonna go fight a bear that's harassing some beehives to celebrate, as is traditional.

You’re a retired S-tier supervillain. After you retired, you married a B-tier hero. You are forced back onto the stage when an A-tier villain attempts to kill your spouse.

Whether the Weather

The sound of shattering glass didn’t bother Jenny. Aoife’s old hero name might have been ‘Lightfoot’, but her powers had no effect on her clumsiness. At least, Jenny thought fondly, she didn’t have to worry about Aoife hurting herself on the shattered shards. The way she could hover above any surface meant that she could stay above any broken glassware.

The sound of her wife screaming did bother Jenny.

Jenny catapulted herself into the kitchen, her powers straining for whatever available moisture was in the vicinity. Aoife lay on the floor, awake but dazed, and two figures in heavy combat gear loomed over her with rifles in hand. One looked up, a mask blocking their face, and Jenny’s felt a surge of the same rage that had once destroyed buildings and livelihoods. Nobody hurt her wife.

Water gushed out of the sink, bottles burst as they gave up their contents, and the laundry was abruptly drier than long-buried bones. Water didn’t need much space to get in, to get around or under, and it all leapt to her command.

Part of it splashed against their masks, soaking through air filters and blinding them. Some darted down the barrels of their guns, and it might not make them unusable but it would make them hesitate to fire. A tiny wave washed under their feet, their boots sliding on the frictionless surface as she held their boot soles away from the floor, and Aoife slammed one foot towards them from where she lay forgotten on the floor. It didn’t connect; it didn’t have to. Bodies were also a surface, and Aoife could kick like a shire horse with or without her powers.

One of them thumped against the countertop by the broken kitchen window, and Jenny encouraged the assassin back outside with a focused burst of water to the torso. She could hear him screaming as he dropped three storeys, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. If he was lucky, he’d land in old Mr de Luca’s flowerbeds.

She knelt by the second attacker, ripping his mask off with a little liquid assistance. “Who sent you?” she demanded.

The young man—a boy, almost—swallowed as he met her furious gaze, his eyes wide and his lower lip between his teeth.

Jenny leaned in a little, water creeping up the side of her face to mimic the closed-faced helmet she’d once worn as the supervillain Hurricane. “Who. Sent. You?” she snarled.

The boy swallowed. “Immateria,” he squeaked. “She wants to make a statement, show everyone that no hero is safe from her reach.”

There was a shuffling noise behind her, and Aoife hooked her chin over Jenny’s shoulder. Jenny’s water-formed helmet shifted aside to make room, moulding lovingly against her wife’s face. “A-rank villain,” Aoife provided. “I tangled with her once or twice while I was working with Lancer, but I’m not in her league.”

A small, vicious smile sliced across Jenny’s face. “Unfortunately for Immateria? She’s not in mine.” She leaned closer to the boy, close enough to smell him sweating. “Go back to your mistress, and tell her that retired Powers are off limits. Tell her that if she thinks that those in their fifties and sixties are easy targets, to think again. Tell her that old Powers are the ones who survived.” She grinned, showing the false teeth she’d had implanted after one too many battles. “And tell her that Hurricane will be very unhappy if she has to make that point again.”

I want to write a movie that is sort of the flip side of a Hallmark holiday movie. Not an anti-Hallmark movie, just like the other side of the same coin.

It starts with a well-dressed professional woman driving a convertible along a country road, autumn foliage in the background, terribly scenic. She turns onto a dirt road/long driveway, and stops next to a field of Christmas trees, all growing in neat, ordered rows, perfectly trimmed and pruned to form. She steps out of the car--no, she's not wearing high-heels, give her some sense!--and knocks on the door of a worn but nice-looking farmhouse. An older woman, late fifties maybe, answers the door, looking a bit puzzled. The younger woman asks if she can buy a Christmas tree now, today. The older woman says they don't do retail sales--and the younger woman breaks down crying.

Cut to the two women sitting at the kitchen table with cups of tea. The young woman (Michelle), no longer actively crying, explains that her mother loves Christmas more than anything, but is in the hospital with end-stage cancer. Her doctors don't think she'll live to see December, let alone Christmas. Nobody is selling Christmas trees in September, so could the older woman please make an exception, just this once? The older woman (Helen) regretfully explains that they have a contract to sell their trees that forbids outside sales. The younger woman nods, starts to stand up, but the older woman stops her with a hand and asks her what hospital her mother is in. After she answers the older woman says that "my Joe" will deliver a tree the next day. "Contract says I can't sell you a tree, but nothing says I can't give you one."

Next day "Joe" shows up at the hospital in flannel and jeans, with a smallish tree over her shoulder. Oh, whoops, that's Jo, Helen's daughter, short for Joanna, not Joe. Jo sets up the tree and even pulls out a box of lights and ornaments. Mother watches from hospital bed with a big smile as Jo and Michelle decorate the tree. Cue "end of movie" type sappiness as nurses and other patients gather in the doorway, smiling at the tree.

Cut to Michelle sitting in her dark apartment, clutching a mug of tea, staring out at the falling snow and the Christmas lights outside. Her apartment has no tree, no decorations, nothing. She starts at a knock on the door, goes to open it. Jo is standing there, again holding a tree over her shoulder.

Plot develops: the second tree is a gift, because Michelle might as well get it as the bank. The contract for the tree sales was an /option/ contract, which prevents them from selling to anyone else, but doesn't guarantee the sale. The corporation with the option isn't going to buy the trees, but Helen and Jo can't sell them anywhere else, and basically they get nothing. They'll lose the farm without the year's income. Michelle asks to see the contract and Jo promises to email it to her.

Next day at a very upscale law firm, Michelle asks at the end of a staff meeting if anyone in contract law still needs pro bono hours for the year. No one does, but a senior partner (Abe) takes her to his office and asks about it. She says the contract looks hinky to her ("Is that a legal term?" "Yes.") but contract law's not her thing. He raises an eyebrow and she grins and pulls a sheaf of paper out of her bag and hands it over. He reads it over, then looks up at her. "They signed this?"

More plot develops. Abe calls in underlings--interns, paralegals, whatever--and the contract is examined, dissected, and ultimately shredded (metaphorically). It's worse even than it looks--on January 1st Helen and Jo will have to repay the advanced they received at signing. The corporation has bought up a suspicious number of Christmas tree farms in previous years after foreclosure, etc.

Cut to Abe explaining all this to Helen and Jo while sitting with them and Michelle in a very swanky conference room. The firm is willing to take on the case pro bono, hopefully as a class's action suit for other farmers trapped by the contract--but there's no way it can go to court before January. Which will be too late to save the farm's income for the year. They might get enough in damages to tide them over, but….

After Michelle sees Helen and Jo out, she comes back and asks Abe if there's anything they can do immediately. Abe looks thoughtful for a long moment, then gets a really shark-like grin on his face. "Maybe…."

Cut to Helen wearing a bathrobe, coming into her kitchen in the morning. She looks out the window…and there's a food truck stopped in her driveway. She pulls a coat on over her robe and goes out--two more trucks have pulled up while she does this. Driver of the first truck asks her where they park. Another truck pulls up behind the others. Behind that is a black BMW--Abe rolls down the window and waves. Helen directs the trucks to the empty field/yard next to the house. Abe pulls up next to Helen's car and Jo's truck and parks. He and Michelle get out--Abe wearing a total power suit, Michelle in weekend casual.

The case will be easier if the corporation initially sues them for violating the (uninforcible!) contract, rather than them suing to corporation (damn if I know, but it's movie logic). So they're going to sell the trees now, and rounded up some food trucks and whatnot to draw people in.

Cue montage of Jo and Michelle running around helping people set up while Abe and Helen watch from the kitchen table. The table starts out covered in file folders…and slowly gains coffee cups and plates of cinnamon rolls. It becomes increasingly clear here that Abe and Helen are becoming as close as Jo and Michelle.

Everything gets set up and a very urban, very motley crowd appears--tats and studs and multiracial couples and LGBTQ parents and everything--and everyone is having a wonderful time eating funnel cake and choosing their tree so Jo and a bunch of rainbow-haired elves can cut it for them. At which point someone shows up from the corporation (maybe with a sheriff's deputy?) and starts yelling at Helen, who's running checkout. And suddenly Abe appears from the house and you realize why he's wearing that suit on a Saturday….

Cue confrontation and corporate flunky running off with their tail between their legs, blustering about suing. Cue Jo kissing Michelle. Cue Helen walking over and putting a hand on Abe's shoulder and smiling at her.

I want the lawyers to be the heroes because they are lawyers and know the law. I want a lesbian who lives in the country with her mother. I want urbanites to turn out as a community to help someone who isn't even part of their community. I want Michelle to keep working at her high-power job, loving Christmas and grieving her mother.

This was riveting

Hold the fuck on…😟

Took “stranger in my house” literally huh

transcription: four screenshots from r/nosleep in reddit

"My missing husband came home, but I just know it isn't him

My husband went missing six months ago. Just... went out to work one day and never came home. It was a horrible shock to the whole neighbourhood, because things like that just didn't happen in our little slice of white-picket-fence suburbia. The police launched an investigation, and the neighbourhood watch sent out search parties, but no one ever found any evidence to indicate what had happened to him. Our families were devastated. Recently, the missing posters have been taken down or papered over. The updates from the police became less frequent and dwindled away. I accepted that, hard as it was to admit, my Rick wasn't coming back.

Until he did.

A week ago, I was in the back garden watering my petunias when I heard the garden gate creak open. I jerked my head in that direction and- there he was. Exactly the same as he was the day he disappeared. Same windswept blond hair and bright blue eyes, same curl to his pink lips. I was in shock. Our families had mourned for him, and yet there he was, standing in our garden like he had just popped out for milk or something. When I asked where he had been, he said he didn't know. He couldn’t remember anything about the last six months.

All our family and friends are beside themselves with joy. They almost can't believe it. But that's just the thing: I don't believe it.

Look, I understand how crazy this all sounds, I do. Our families would never believe me, and I can’t go to the police unless I want to end up in a straightjacket. But I just know that the man sleeping next to me isn't my husband. I don't know what to do. I know I should be happy, but I'm not. I'm terrified. I don’t know much about anything supernatural or paranormal, I don't even like watching horror movies. But something about this whole situation makes my skin crawl.

Just let me explain why I'm so sure. Once I've done that, hopefully one of you will believe me, and you'll be able to tell me what to do.

The morning after "Rick" came home, I made him a cup of tea. When I handed it to him, he gave me the brightest smile. Then he took a sugar cube from the dish on the table and dropped it into the cup. Our house was in chaos with his return, and I was still in shock, so I didn't think much of it at the time, but its been replaying in my mind ever since. I know it doesn't sound very significant, but my husband never put sugar in his tea. He was always adamant that it ruined the taste, and he'd get so frustrated if I ever put sugar in his cup by accident. And yet, this man had sugar.

Then it was the golf. A few days ago, when he was out visiting his mom, I recorded a golf tournament that was showing on the TV. It was one of Rick's favourite golfers that was competing, and he never missed it. Once, he even skipped out on an anniversary dinner just to watch a championship. Only, when he came home from his parents' and I told him what I'd done, he just seemed... unbothered? Like, he said thanks and everything, and then he asked if I wanted to get dinner. He didn't even watch it, and that’s just so out of character for him.

Then one night I woke up around 2 a.m. to see Rick's face inches from mine just... looking at me with these blank eyes. I kinda gave this nervous laugh and asked "Baby, what are you doing?" And he didn't answer. For like a solid thirty seconds. He just stared, almost like he was looking right through me. Then he suddenly smiled and said, "Sorry, honey. Sometimes I just can’t believe this is real". Then he just rolled over and went to sleep. I didn’t get much sleep after that, myself.

Yesterday, about a week after he came home, the neighbourhood threw a street party to celebrate his return. Everyone from our street and the streets on either side turned up to see him and tell him how happy they are that he's alright. When he wasn't standing with his arm around my waist, he was milling around chatting amicably to each and every one of our neighbours, even the little kids. Jackson, our next-door neighbour Sally's toddler, wanted to play peek-a-boo, and Rick happily played along with a smile on his face. Now, my husband never did that. Rick always said he didn't like kids - that's why we never had any - and so he never wanted to play with any of the neighbourhood children. Especially not Jackson: Rick all but avoided him. Before he disappeared, I had started to suspect it was so I wouldn't see them together and notice the subtle but unmistakable similarities.

The final nail in the coffin, proverbially speaking, was Sally. Just this morning, she came knocking on our door. Her excuse was the tray of brownies she carried, but I think she just wanted to push her way into our morning so that she could see for herself what the situation was. After she left, I called her a nosy busybody. Rick laughed, kissed my head, and agreed with me. That was when I knew for sure that it couldn't really be him. Rick always used to get so mad whenever I insulted Sally, like I didn't have any right to hate her even though she'd been fucking my husband for years. But today there was none of that. He didn’t even try to defend her.

I know what you must be thinking. If he was in an accident or something, he might’ve had some kind of traumatic brain injury that caused him to forget some things about his life, maybe even change his personality. And that's a valid, reasonable explanation. I have no doubt it's what the police would tell me if I reported all this.

But you know why I'm dead certain that man isn't my husband? He doesn't have a scar. If he was really Rick, he'd have a scar on the side of his forehead shaped like the golf club I hit him with. But there's nothing. Not a mark. Honestly, I'm this close to going out tonight and digging up my petunias just to make sure he's still under there.

I don't know what I'm sharing a bed with, but I know it's not my husband. So what the hell am I going to do?"

You’ve been sentenced to 400 years for multiple murders. It’s been 399 years and your jailers are starting to get nervous.

I was twenty… twenty-five, I think?… when I was sentenced. Four hundred years was a length of time I couldn’t even imagine. It was a length of time I don’t think anyone could imagine, even the judge. It was just a big showy number that let everyone know I’d never see the light of day again. The mages who cast the spells were dramatic about it, practically shouting the part about ‘until death claims you, or four hundred years hath passed, forsooth, thou shalt be imprisoned here’. They don’t waste that kind of magic on most prisoners, but I was special.

The Slayer, they called me then. The Monster of Sentan. I’d killed nineteen people… I remember that number because I was so furious that they stopped me so close to my goal of twenty-one. And I didn’t just kill ordinary people, no, but the Chosen of the Gods. The Great and Good. They were terrified of me. So they locked me away, to die forgotten.

It had been a little less than a hundred years when the king died without heir, and a civil war tore the country apart. When the fighting was all over, the losers were dragged down to the deepest cells under the castle, and the new king and his soldiers stopped and stared at me. “Who… who is this?” he asked, frowning. “Some victim of the usurper?”

People like cooks and jailers and scrubbers don’t change as easily as kings. The same man who’d been bringing me my meals since there was still brown in his hair and beard shuffled forward, hunched and grey now. “No, yer majesty,” he said humbly. “That be a special prisoner, from before the old king died.”

“Special? Special how?” He frowned, moving closer to my cell. “The old king died more than ten years ago. This woman must have been a child then. What could she have done to - “

“Don’t get too close, yer majesty,” the old man said sharply. “That’s the Monster of Sentan… an’ she bites.”

That was true. I do bite.

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