Latest Posts by chaotic-scraps - Page 3

"You're a bad influence," you said with a fond smile.

"I aim to be," they agreed, matching your smile.

They reached for your hand, but you pulled back.

"I have to go," you said.

"Afraid to stay?" they challenged with a knowing glint.

The Beast (Part 1)

The crowd screamed and ran at the sight of Hero's monstrous transformation. Hero roared, a pained and animalistic sound. Their shaking hands grew to long and sharp claws. Their teeth, jagged and pointed.

Hero cautiously approached a mirror mounted on the wall, terrified by what they might find. They recoiled at the beast that stared back.

They fled, out the doors and into the crowded streets. More people screamed. Someone threw a can, and they yelped. Shots rang out.

"The beast is getting away!" Someone cried.

They darted down an alleyway, and they kept running until they felt well and truly alone.

Or, so they thought.

"Ah, so you're the one they're after," said a voice in the shadows.

Hero bristled. They knew that voice.

"Oh. Oh my," Villain whispered reverently, stepping into the light. "You're marvelous."

"It went this way!" A voice cried.

"You're not safe here," Villain said. They threw open the doors to an abandoned warehouse. "Quick, inside."

Hero scrambled into the warehouse doors, up the wall and into the ceiling rafters.

The Villain shouted, "It went the other way!"

The angry voices receded, and Hero momentarily relaxed.

Villain closed the doors and all looked around. "Well, that's not ideal."

Hero shrank back into the shadows. Villain couldn't see them.

Villain ran to an intercom mounted near the doors.

"Listen up," Villain called over the intercom. "My pet is loose somewhere in this warehouse. Whoever brings them to me unharmed receives a little bonus."

Their lackeys sprung into action, running back and forth along rows of shelving and in and out of the various shipping containers littering the warehouse. A few ran into each other in their haste.

"Where did you go?" Villain muttered, scanning the ceiling.

They locked eyes with Hero, who bristled.

"They're on the ceiling nearest the compactor," Villain announced over the intercom.

Hero jumped down and scampered across the concrete flooring. Two lackeys tried to head them off, and they ran towards a set of stairs. Two more lackeys blocked their path, and they jumped off the stairs and darted over the shelving, toppling boxes in their wake.

"Boss, they're too fast!" One of the lackeys complained.

"Get the tranqs," Villain said.

Darts whizzed by as Hero tried to shake their pursuers. They cursed themselves for seeking asylum from a villain of all people.

They dove down to a set of doors and launched at them, but they wouldn't budge. They looked for some kind of lock or obstruction, but too late.

Something hit their shoulder. They tried to wrench it out, much too late.

They snarled as Villain approached them.

"Sorry, darling, but I can't have you tearing apart my warehouse," Villain said.

Hero realized they were laying down. They tried to get up, but they suddenly felt so, so weak. Villain knelt down and pet them gently, peering into their terrified eyes. They tried to nip at the Villain's hand, but that didn't seem to deter them.

"Rest now," Villain said.

Hero whined and went limp.

Part 2

Potential

"It's so much faster," they said. "It cuts out the grunt work."

"That's not the point," you seethed. "That was never the point. You're exploiting others for your own convenience."

"I'm just ahead of the curve."

"No, you're avoiding the messiness of self expression. You can't be bothered to live."

"I'm so sick of your personal attacks," they snap. "Everyone does this. EVERYONE. You're just living in the past."

"No, I want to live in the future. I want life to be worth living in the future. Where does the need for growth and efficiency stop?"

"So you want to live without modern conveniences?"

"No. No. I just want the growth and efficiency to translate to rest, play, and creativity. It isn't. We've lost so, so much. And for what? An endless stream of banality drowning out the passion that made it possible?"

"You're not being realistic. That's not the world we live in."

"I have to be unrealistic. I can't forget the potential of the world. I know what the world could be and I'm so tired of settling for less."

"You seem remarkably dispassionate these days," they said in a low voice.

The soft creak of the floorboards was the only sound. They seemed to shift towards you, and you recoiled from the brush of their fingers.

"We're strangers," you whisper, voice cracking. "We're practically strangers now."

The rain is coming down hard and unrelenting. The roads are muddy and slick, unlit and miserably cold. You are aimlessly seeking shelter when none but your nemesis stops beside you.

"Come to gloat?" you shout over the rain.

"Always," they call back with a smile. "Looks like you need a ride."

Your teeth are chattering. Your head is pounding. Your clothes are sopped.

"No, thanks. I love it out here," you snap.

Their smile drops. "Get in. We need to talk."

"It looks like I win."

"It does look like that, doesn't it?"

"Admit you never stood a chance."

"You sound a bit insecure, demanding my validation."

reminder

"I can't pay you."

"It appears you did not read the contract."

"Do I even have a purpose?"

"You're the reason I'm tolerating this world at all."

"I wish I wasn't so weak."

"You're not meant to carry everything alone."

You jokingly called it your little Trash Shrine.

Suspended from the window hung little earrings you'd picked up from the ground over the years.

On the sill, glass jars held marbles, seashells, buttons. A planter grew dandelions, henbit, and white clover. A little vase of blue jay, cardinal, and raven feathers. A decoupage box filled with magazine clippings and pressed flowers.

You were just adding to your little cushion full of yarn bits when you hear skittering on the kitchen floor. Something tugs at your pants leg and you flinch back. A raccoon stares up at you with unnaturally glowing eyes.

The little raccoon chatters and skitters up to the countertop. It promptly sits on top of the cushion you were just stuffing yarn bits into.

"Thank you, human," a voice says in your head.

You jolt. "Y-you're welcome?"

"I truly thought I was all but forgotten," the voice says. "Not many of your kind pay homage to the God of Discarded Treasures."

"Oh, well, I didn't know I was," you say honestly. "I mean, I would have if I did know. You seem like a cool God."

"I am the rain reclaimed from refuse," the voice says. "The rainbows left by gasoline spills. The flavor of raspberries left by castoreum--"

"I'm going to stop you there," you say. "I mean, I can't be the only person who likes to creatively use trash. What did I do differently?"

Silence.

The raccoon turnes and analyzes the shrine, and skitters over to the decoupage box. They nudge the lid off with their nose, and dumps out the little clippings that lay inside.

"It seems you invoked me accidentally," the voice concedes. "The clippings you have in this box just so happen to perfectly match the words to summon me, if left in the right order." It laid out the passage letter by letter.

"Deus Quisquiliae, exaudi orationem meam, benedic mihi thesauris abiectis."

"Well, no wonder no one summons you," you sigh, sipping your tea. "Most people don't speak Latin these days. Maybe some linguists, Catholics, or doctors. God of... I don't know that word. Hear my praises? Exaudi like, exhalted? Benedict Cumberbatch something me something something."

"There are others that would work. Discarded languages. Discarded treasures. The prayer asks that I bless you with the items that deserve a second life."

You took a picture of the Latin phrase in your phone. "Well, I could make this a daily thing. Do you show up every time?"

"Not in ways you might see, but yes."

"Well, okay. Thanks."

In the following days, you find money in the parking lot. A barista offers you a scone they couldn't sell. The persimmon trees drop their fruit as you come near. You find a discarded chair after yours falls apart. You slip down a hill and find a bed of natural clay that you form into shapes and bake in the hot sun.

Perhaps it's not what everyone would consider a blessing.

Some may even think of it as a curse.

Nevertheless, you set aside a little time each day to thank the little Trash God for their bounty.

You are a person who covers your counter space in clutter and inadvertently makes a shrine to a long forgotten god who shows up to thank you.

"That's what I keep saying!" you cry. "I'm mid at best!"

"You are," they growled.

You fidget in your seat.

"And yet," their eyes flicked at you, seething. "And yet, they chose you."

Your eyes cast downward. "Y-yeah."

"Why?"

"I was... There, I guess," you say with a shrug. "It was chance. They needed a writer, I just wanted to be part of something. I didn't know I'd be creating a whole new dimesion to save the world. I swear."

"They should have chosen me," they growled. "Do you know how long I worked for this? And they pass me up for some rando they found on the street?!"

"Y-yeah. I mean... Yeah!" You stand up. "Why would they choose me? I'm not ready for this yet! I should quit."

"Wait, wait, wait," they said, gripping your arm, looking even angrier. "Don't just quit. Do you have any idea the kind of opportunity you have right now?!"

"Wait..." You look at them, anxious and unsure. "I thought you said--"

"You can't just throw away an opportunity like this!!! Do you even know what you have?!" they pulled you back down to your seat. "You don't deserve this opportunity-- frankly, don't quit your day job. But... But you walk away, and there's no way you'll get back in."

"So..." You nibble on your lip. "What now, then?"

They give a long suffering sigh. "You're going to need my help." They pulled out a pack of red correction pens.

"So you're the so-called writer I've heard soo much about, huh" flips quickly through the pages of your drafts and scoffs "pathetic"

"It's dark. It's time to set up camp," the swordsman said.

"We lost all our gear, though. Nowhere to sleep unless we conjure something up."

The party pointedly turns to the wizard.

"...No," the wizard says. "I'm not using magic."

The party shouted in indignation. "WHY?! Come on, we're tired! Why can't you do it?!"

The wizard groaned. "Listen, I'll get us some light."

"You always use light spells! Why can't you ever conjure something useful?!"

"Because it's-- it's very hard to quality control magic!" the wizard sputtered. "Do you want tent spikes sticking out of your leg-- or, or HOLES in your tent?!"

"It's better than sleeping in the open air--," the swordsman tried.

"And then!" the wizard continued, "And then, you have to keep such an item conjured! Did we buy an emerald in the last town? Maybe a ruby? NO, I'm working off a crummy hunk of quartz! A polished quarts, maybe? REFINED QUARTZ?! NOOOOO. I have a small, dirt-stained, misshapen LUMP!"

"Why does that--"

"BECAUSE THE ROCK CONDUCTS THE MAGIC THAT KEEPS IT PERSISTING!!!" the wizard shrieked in dismay. "You need quality gemstone that can HANDLE that consistent power need! You know what happens when a gem overdraws magic energy over an extended period of time?"

"...No?..."

"You get a fire hazard! You risk breaking your gem! And if the gem gets broken, where does the magic fall?"

"I don't--"

"The WIZARD!!"

A timid scholar spoke up, "... Can't you transmogrify something?..."

"Can't I-- can't-- " the wizard laughed and gripped his head. "I'm working WITH A LUMP OF QUARTZ!!!"

"I heard of a wizard who could--"

"And Lord Agument is the best in our field! Do you think I'm the best?! With the way you pay me?!"

"But your fire spells--"

"Yes!!! Yes, because that's what I've studied!!! I am good at the section of magic I studied!!! Pardon me for wanting hobbies outside of work!!! Not EVERYONE can be Lord Agument, who mastered all forms of magic on a crummy little quartz."

"Listen-- just-- can you start the light spell," the swordsman wearily sighed.

"YES. I CAN."

Wizards have as much faith in magic as software designers have in software - none at all. A wizard is explaining to the rest of the party why they won't use magic to solve all their problems.

"I hardly sleep, and when I do, I am plagued by nightmares."

"I can help, but the price is steep."

I desperately wish to see more of this non-religious guy and his mom's prayer circle making garlic casserole and fighting vampires.

"You have misunderstood the lore, hunter. It is neither crucifix, nor rosary, nor holy water, nor any other trapping of faith, but faith ITSELF that is anathema to my kind. And yours has proven to be. . . insufficient."

The vampire wrenched away the religious bauble and tossed it aside. Their hair dripped with holy water. The hunter stumbled back, their injured leg giving out. They scrambled for any weapon left, but came up empty.

The vampire loomed over them. The hunter did their best to stand, using the wall for support. Cornered in an abandoned church. How fitting.

"A pity this should end so soon," the vampire said, tracing the hunter's jawline with a sharp nail. "You fought valiantly, my faithless little hunter."

"Quit stalling and kill me," the hunter spat, flinching from the hand and flattening themselves against the church wall.

"Ah. The faithless hunter is so quick to be martyred." The vampire laughed low at that. "Perhaps I want to make you mine. I have a weakness for the fallen."

"I won't become like you."

"Oh?"

"Your kind destroys lives with what you do." The hunter trembled. "You... You destroy homes and families. I'd rather die."

"You seek vengeance, but it will not absolve your grief," the vampire said, a shadow cast over their features. "Just as you seek death, though it will destroy your hopes for vengeance. What an exercise in futility."

"It is not futile to give others peace," the hunter bit back.

The vampire shook their head and brushed aside the hunter's hair. "Poor, faithless hunter. In the end you are still forsaken."

"I don't want to hear that from a creature who lives off stolen time," the hunter said, swatting away the hand. "How many have you killed for your miserable half-life?"

The vampire smiled wide, fangs glinting in candlelight. "Enough to survive. I live off the corrupt and self-righteous. When such prey wanders in so freely, why deny myself?"

"Because even monsters get lonely," the hunter said with a mocking smile. "How long must a beast live alone to beg for companionship from their hunter? How many came to pity you before your hunger reminded you of what you are?"

That struck a chord. The vampire's eyes grew wide, feral with fury. "If a beast is what you seek, it's what you deserve."

They pushed the hunter onto their bad leg, who then toppled sideways. The vampire gripped a fistful of hair and drew them close. They flailed, and the vampire wrapped another arm around them to hold them firm.

Fangs grazed their neck. Their pulse fluttered.

"What are you waiting for?" the hunter hissed. "Do it."

A droplet of salt hit the vampire's tongue. A single tear streaked across the hunter's face and down their neck.

"Do it," the hunter whispered, going slack. "I have... Nothing." Their voice soft and broken, a confession.

The vampire drew back, and wiped the tear from the hunter's face.

The hunter's eyes shot open in silent betrayal.

"Kill me, you coward," the hunter growled.

"No." The vampire cradled their head and gently laid them across the floor. They knelt beside them and cupped their cheek.

The hunter lunged, or tried. The vampire caught their wrists and held them there. The hunter screamed raw and anguished.

They fought the vampire's hold until they exhausted themselves.

"I've lost my appetite," the vampire said, and stood.

Their soft steps echoed through the old church. They paused to pick up and toss back the religious bauble. The hunter caught it.

"Perhaps one day you'll find some use in that," the vampire said. "If only to remind you of the day a beast took pity on you."

And then they were gone, leaving the hunter alone with their thoughts.

Part 2

"You have misunderstood the lore, hunter. It is neither crucifix, nor rosary, nor holy water, nor any other trapping of faith, but faith ITSELF that is anathema to my kind. And yours has proven to be. . . insufficient."

A very sweet and soft story

A child goes missing late one night after investigating a light emanating from their closet. The Child's teddy bear and the monster that lives under the bed must put aside their differences and form a truce in order to rescue the child.

"I keep you safe." "No. You control me."

The man who strides in is haggard and unkempt. He looks at you with a dead-eyed expression and a look of utter despair.

"So, uh, here goes," he says. "People say you have some kind of power. And I just... I'm wondering if you can check my red string."

"Of course," you say. The request is not unusual. "I'll even tell you who's on the other side, if you like."

You find the start of the string and motion for him to follow. He trails behind you wordlessly, his eyes glued to the floor.

Outside, you can see the string disappear into the horizon.

"We'll take my car," you say.

You drive down the road in silence, following the twists and turns of the string. Sometimes you lose sight of it and have to retrace your steps. It's a bit difficult to pinpoint one string in an area full of people.

Finally you reach a residential building. The string goes straight into the walls of the third floor.

"We can stop," the man whispers. He sags in his seat and buries his head in his hands.

"You recognize this building?" you ask.

He nods quietly.

You touch his shoulder gently. "Then why--"

"It'll never work," he mutters. "My roommate, he's so... Oblivious."

You tilt your head. "Have you shared your feelings?"

He laughs. "So, so many times. He just doesn't get it. He doesn't think... Two guys..." He sighs and shakes his head in resignation. "I need to move out."

"You don't have to explain it," you say gently.

"Do you want to come in for some tea?" he asks.

You nod.

You walk up the stairs behind him. The string pulls taught as you reach his floor. You walk down the hallway, glancing at the various apartments, and pause at the door that the string leads to.

"Why are you stopped over there?" he says. "I live over here."

You blink, then follow him. He hesitates at the door. "I think he's home," he says.

"He can't be. The string leads down the hall," you say.

He opens the door. "Oh. Hey, roomie," he says.

His roommate waves back.

He gestures for you to sit.

You shake your head. "I have to tell you something," you whisper.

"Don't worry, he's got a headset on and he can't hear you right now," the man says.

"He's not your soulmate," you say.

"What?" he squawks.

You look at the string. It pulled taught straight into the wall.

"Come out to the hallway with me," you say. You knock on the door the string leads you to.

The man who answers says, "Oh no. Is your roommate being dumb again?"

Your client hesitates. He experiences a moment of realization.

"Oh. Y-yeah," he says.

"I got your favorite snacks," says the man who answered. "Also I need to share this new show with you. I know you'll love it."

Your client looks at you uncertainly. You smile.

"Oh, you're, um, welcome to join too," the man who answered says.

"No, you two have fun," you say with a knowing smile.

Your client smiles. "Thanks."

Some say that an invisible red string is tied around the fingers of soulmates meant to be together forever. As it turns out, you can see these red strings, and have therefore created a highly successful matchmaking business.

"I have something of yours."

"I know. You can keep it."

Beads of sweat rolled off Hero's brow. She was struggling to restrain Villain, and a crowd was actively trying to pull her off.

"I stole this weapon so I can destroy the comet!" Villain said. "It's heading towards Earth!"

"He's lying! Let go of me!" Hero growled, but the crowd wouldn't budge.

"He's protecting us from a comet!" One shouted. "Put your pride aside and give him the weapon!"

"Yeah, he's actually protecting us!" another screeched. "Unlike you!"

"In this shocking turn of events, it seems Hero is actively blocking Villain from saving the planet," a news anchor said. "Those of you watching may wonder-- who is the Hero and who is the Villain? Hero can't seem to stop stealing the spotlight, even at the cost of her own planet."

Hero let go, at that. Villain glanced up. "You... You're showing me mercy?" He said. Mawkishly.

Everything inside of Hero cringed. He was playing up the pathetic anti-hero routine again, and everyone was buying it.

"Sure," Hero said. "Fine. Take it. Have at. I'm going on vacation."

Villain stared at her in surprise. He covered his mouth to hide a devious grin. The crowd gathered around him, fawning all over him, treating his little scrapes and scratches.

Hero set her jaw. She walked away. She went home, she packed her things, grabbed her cat, and booked the first flight out of the city.

Not even hours after her plane landed was her phone ringing off the hook.

"You've got to stop him!" Her supervisor shrieked.

"He's destroyed half the city! Do something!"

"He lied! There's no comet!"

Hero took a slow sip of her caramel latte, put her phone on "ignore", and went back to reading her book.

The hero is fed up with being painted as in the wrong for fighting against the villain just because the villain is more sympathatic, so they decide to take a day off. This leads to disaster as people realize just how horrible the villain really is

"Why won't you just die?!"

"And deprive myself of your disappointment?"

"You shot me! In the foot!" The god whined, curled up on the floor.

"Well, yeah," you said. "You were about to destroy the whole city."

"My foot! Do you know how long that takes to heal?! I'm going to have a limp!"

"You also killed people. I really can't feel too sorry for you."

"Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?!"

"I know exactly who I'm dealing with." You crossed the room and knelt in front of him. "Do you?"

The God raised his head to glare at you. "Some pathetic human who got lucky," he said at last.

You smiled and raised the gun to his head. "No, I was sent here," you said. "But try again."

"A couple of puny humans--"

"You're too old for this foolishness."

The God quieted, at that. His eyes went wide as something registered. He shrank a little in terror.

"You were summoned by the Gods, weren't you?" he whispered.

You stared down at him with a mixture of pity and disgust. "The Gods will give you a lighter sentence if you come with me quietly."

It was then the room shifted, or tried. You could feel him pull at the fabric of reality, but you wouldn't let it budge.

"You tried that already," you said. You placed a hand on his shoulder. "No more running."

He tried to grapple you, but his power was never in brute force.

"You chose this," you said.

You gripped his head. He shrieked, wide-eyed and terrified, clawing at you desperately. His hands shrank, now short and stubby. His shoes flopped to the ground, feet too small to hold them. The bullet wound became but a tiny birth mark. His head shrunk, his eyes more soft and wide. Soon enough, he was nothing more than a harmless human baby.

You cradled him in his shirt. He screamed and cried and babbled.

"You will live among the humans, stripped of your memories, stripped of your godhood," you said gently. "For as many lives as you have taken, you will be reborn. That is your punishment."

The baby fussed and spit up a little.

"...Lovely. Now, let's go introduce you to your parents."

You've been sent out to defeat a powerful, reality bending god. All have died horrifically trying. And here you are in front of the crying god as they complain about how you just shot them.

A powerful origin story for a sympathetic villain and the "heroes" whose lack of empathy created him

The prophecy foretold that The Great Evil would awaken 1000 years after his original defeat. As it turns out, the people took this very seriously, so when he awakened, he was met with an army of blessed knights, an evil containment system, and two dozen automated holy turrets aimed at him.

Very cute flop and roll. Lovely animation.

silly werewolf transformation

Oh goodness, I'm here for these vibes and would love a part 2.

Prompt #82

By @writingpromptsworld

The villain swore they could smell the hero's very prominent cologne in the dark office, and they had to resist the urge and not take every little thing away with them.

But no, they were on a mission. And they needed to focus, or else the supervillain would-

"You're the recruit, aren't you?" Someone spoke up, the voice was deep and smooth. They sounded amused.

The vilian froze, in the process of sniffing the hero's coat that hung on the chair behind their desk. They look up, alerted. And take out their gun. The person walked closer, and their face glowed under the moonlight. The village's eyes widened when they saw who it was.

The hero grinned. "Relax. I'm in no mood to fight."

The villain’s heart beat wildly in their chest. They didn't lower the gun, scared and in awe at the same time. The hero was even more good-looking in person as if that was possible. They gulped, and when the hero didn't come closer, they lowered the gun slowly.

The hero's grin only broadened. "Care to tell me why you were sniffing around my coat?" The villain's face immediately went scarlet, their heart dropping in their stomach. '

"Uhh…" They started. "I was searching…for potential information about your- next mission?" They really hadn't meant for it to come out as a question, but it did anyway and they cursed under their breath.

"And what is this crucial information you would find in there?" The hero played along, cocking their head to the side.

The villain opened their mouth and closed it, not sure how to tell the hero they were…curious. Well, curious is putting it lightly, they were obsessed, really. "Good question." They said, a second later.

The hero looked more entertained by the minute. They took a few more steps that brought them right in front of the villain, meeting their eyes. The hero's eyes were gray, like the moon, and glowing with mirth.

The villain checked out the hero before they could stop themself, their mouth drying at the sight.

The hero chuckled, "You're terrible at keeping a blank face. A really bad quality for a vilian if I say so myself."

Okay. That's it. Everything they had read about the hero was wrong. The hero wasn't stoic and ruthless as listed in their 'bio', they were something worse: flirty and dangerously good-looking.

The audience roared, the energy electrifying.

"And there he is, folks! The Scarlet Fist! Our reigning champion remains undefeated!"

Jay panted from the center of the amphitheater, slick with sweat and blood. He smiled and licked the blood from his knuckles, eyes wild.

"What's this? A new challenger approaches! It's none other than the Sandstorm! He is the reigning regional champion two years running, but does he stand a chance against our all-time champion?!"

A sand mage sauntered into the ring. Powerful, cocky. A showboater. Jay let him demonstrate his power, twisting and forming the sand into a dragon. He flew atop the dragon and spewed balls of sand that blew craters into the ground and boundary walls. The audience cheered.

Jay rolled his shoulders. The sand mage had fans in the crowd. He should play around a bit and make it look like a challenge. One of the sand balls flew in his direction and he dodged. Then another, and another.

A snake made of sand came into form and coiled around Jay, stopping him from evading. Jay pretended to struggle in the snake's grip. The audience loved drama. He punched through the snake's body and the sand crumbled where he touched.

Spikes emerged from the ground, and Jay managed to evade mostly. He didn't think the audience noticed a bit of the spike crumbled away before it could pierce his foot.

Half of the snake struck again, and Jay yet again dodged. The snake hit the floor and burst into a mound of sand.

The mage swooped down with his sand dragon. A fatal mistake. Jay leapt on top of the dragon, and it crumbled mid-flight. They both tumbled and rolled onto the ring.

The mage stumbled back, exposed.

"Y-you must be cheating!" The mage shrieked. Jay laughed, because of course he was. This mage was woefully green. Jay tried to prolongue the fight a bit longer before punching out the unfortunate young fighter.

"Who else wants a piece?" Jay taunted.

--

It was a good day in the ring, and Jay had full pockets. He took his win to the local bar and was enjoying the open tab from his latest admirer. He was downing a pint when a young man slid into the chair beside him. The young man hardly looked the type for fighting rings, too nervous and too bookish, but Jay had seen all types. Possibly with coin.

"Business or pleasure?" Jay asked with a crooked smile.

"I-I know your secret," the young man stammered.

For a moment, Jay's smile flickered. "Oh, you think so?"

"You're no mage," the young man said, adjusting his glasses. "You're a walking power dampener. An, um, impressively powerful one, at that." He shrunk a little at the wild look in Jay's eye.

Jay's eyes darted around, and he grabbed the young man by his scruff.

"Keep your voice down," he growled. "Who sent you?"

"No one," the young man said. "I... I need your services."

"Business, then."

Jay released his hold. The young man smoothed out the wrinkles in his shirt.

"Uh, well, m-my name is Lucas," the young man stammered. "I... I'm a student at Wingcrest University, and I'm studying for my Greater Healing degree with a concentration in Healing Ethics. Particularly, my thesis sheds light on the misuse and abuse of healing magic, as well as dangerous magic practices that are unfortunately commonplace."

He shifted. "Most healing centers deal with surface injuries and cosmetic healing and neglect internal injuries or cause clots from dangerously rapid healing. This is common knowledge among Healers, but it's largely considered a necessary evil that occasionally we'll lose some patients. I wanted to argue for stricter policies and show that such tragedies are, in fact, avoidable." He fiddled with a loose thread on his sleeve and bit his lip.

Jay rolled his eyes and groaned. He was going to get this kid's life story. He wasn't really interested in the inner workings of Healing Magic, and an attractive patron across the way was exchanging flirtatious glances at him.

"Sorry, I, uh, tend to ramble," Lucas mumbled. "S-so, um. During my research I stumbled upon a dangerous conspiracy. Depreciating healing magics."

"Where do I come in?" Jay asked, patience thin, eyes elsewhere."

"Oh. Yes." Lucas pulled back the collar of his shirt. "I-I may not look it, but I've, uh, been afflicted with a Wasting Curse. Are you familiar?"

Jay glanced over the sunken black and purple handprint, a hallmark of the Wasting Curse. "I've seen it in the ring. You need a Disenchanter," he said. "You should have no problem paying, being a student of Wingcrest. Get it treated sooner rather than later. It's not something to ignore."

"I-I've been," Lucas said. "To several."

"Well, yeah. It takes a few days to reverse." Jay said. "You need to be patient and follow your healer's advice."

"You don't understand," Lucas grit. "I've been to three different Disenchanters who claimed they can help me. But... The curse was custom-made, a variant they could have never possibly encountered before. It uses a form of malicious regeneration interlocked with my healing magic. A fitting punishment for my meddling."

Jay passed his glass back to the bartender for a refill. "So what does that mean?"

"Trying to remove the Wasting makes it spread," Lucas explained. "Each Disenchantment brings the curse closer to my heart."

"Listen, kid, that's awful," Jay said, "That really is. But what do you want me to do about it? You need a professional."

"I need a bodyguard, first of all," Lucas said. "Someone unaffected by magics."

Jay fixed him with a long, tired stare. "I'm not a body guard. Check the guild nearby."

Jay moved to slip away from the booth, but Lucas grabbed his arm. "I also need a strong power dampener. Someone who can block my magic and slow the spread of the curse."

"They sell power dampeners everywhere nowadays," Jay said dismissively.

"Yours is extremely, exceptionally powerful," Lucas said with a note of desperation. "I could fill an entire amphitheater with power dampeners to achieve a fraction of what you are. Whoever cast it on you was a master of the craft."

The flirtatious patron cast a final glance before leaving. Jay flopped back to his chair with a sullen expression.

"Listen, I know this isn't... How you want to spend your evening," Lucas worded tactfully. "But this is life or death for me, and I am willing to pay you very, very handsomely. Name your price."

"Give it a rest, kid," Jay sighed. "Just... I'm not a bodyguard. I have shows scheduled. I can't just walk out in the middle of a season."

"But I--"

He drained another pint. "And you're right, you do ramble," Jay grumbled. "You give me a headache." He patted him on the back and shoved past. "Good luck, kid."

"I'll tell," Lucas said.

Jay stopped in his tracks. "...What?"

"I'll tell everyone your secret."

Jay set his jaw, and turned with a raw fury. He grabbed the young man and pushed him back into the bar counter.

"You want to die tonight?" Jay hissed.

"You left me no choice," Lucas hissed back.

They stared each other down. Lucas shivered.

"You... You might as well," Lucas whispered, his voice cracking. "I'll be dead soon anyway." His lip quivered. "I'll be dead by morning."

Jay's anger faded. He took a deep breath and righted the young man, and smoothed out his rumpled shirt.

"Don't cry," Jay said. "Don't..." He shushed him.

Lucas made a good effort, trying to hold it in. This wasn't exactly the place for tears. He choked a bit and a sob escaped.

"I'm going to die, and so, so many people are going to die, because it's more profitable to keep them sick," he whispered. "They don't want my research getting out, and I'm not going to be able to save anyone."

"Oh... Shoot." Lucas's knees gave out, and Jay caught him just barely. He could feel his shirt get moist, and he gently patted his head. "Shoot, kid."

"All good, Jay?" The bartender called out.

"Yeah," Jay called back.

"Something for the kid?"

"I'm 27 years old," Lucas grumbled, wiping his eyes. "I'm not a kid."

"Yeah, grab one for the..." Jay paused for a double-take. "Wow, really? 27?" He eased the young man into a chair.

"I mean, I'm in graduate school," Lucas muttered. "...Was."

"Okay, yeah." Jay scratched his chin. "Listen, fine, I'll help you out. I'll tell my manager I have an injury from the last match and take the flack. In return, I need half up front."

"R-really?" Lucas lit up.

They discussed the amount and terms of payment over drinks.

"I appreciate your cooperation," Lucas said.

"And one more thing," Jay said, very somber. "This is very, very important."

Lucas nodded.

"Don't tell anyone about the whole... Power thing," Jay said. "I mean it."

Lucas frowned. "I will uphold my end if you uphold yours. I am a man of my word."

"... Fine, I'll take that," Jay said.

You are a gladiator that can win fight after fight against even the most powerful wizards. Your secret? You were cursed as a kid to nullify any magic that came close to you.

Long ago, Pierre had been thought a sorcerer. His mastery of the automaton was second to none. He created little birds that twittered and sang, and ladies that danced and spun yarn.

Then the famine hit. He was accused of bargaining with the Devil. Mobs came and destroyed his beloved creations, and he was forced to flee for his life.

For years Pierre hid away in an abandoned castle on the western shore, isolated from all but his own creations. Year after year he sought to improve his craft. He never forgot nor forgave the people who both revered and reviled him.

When the armies finally came, he was old, weak, and tired of running. Though, to his credit, he hardly needed to. He had given the automatons life, or life as best he could. Now they loyally served him.

When armies crossed the drawbridge, mechanical archers shot spring-loaded arrows. When soldiers ascended the stairs, a dragon made of iron opened its maw and spewed fire ignited by sparks and oil reservoirs. Suits of armor would spring to life and heave their axes down. Even the castle itself would move, shifting passages and narrowing halls, shifting floors and collapsing staircases.

It was all cogs set off by pressure plates. All precisely measured engineering. Cold metal and sharp angles. Pierre looked over his creations with both pride and profound regret. He broke his back making the castle what it was, and no one dared to take it.

He had abandoned his joyful creations for the sake of peace from his enemies.

Pierre no longer had the advantages of youth, but he had the experience brought by years of craftsmanship. His hands were gnarled and his shaky. Even as the castle was under siege, he worked tirelessly to create a spark of joy.

The resulting automaton was his finest creation. He poured into it his heart and soul.

The automaton was small and frail, hardly the size of a child. In its hands was a small wooden harp, lovingly carved. Its eyes were made of pearls, and its hair, chords of dried seaweed. He pulled the counterweight that set the automaton in motion, and it played a soft, sweet melody.

Some days the harp would drown out the screams and cries of those outside who wished his destruction.

Kingdoms rose and fell. The armies that sought his blood deemed the castle a lost cause.

It took years for a single explorer to reach the center of the castle. By then the old tinkerer was long gone. Only the child of metal and seaside treasures remained, still poised to give a moment of joy to the shunned.

“It is one man, by himself, in a castle on a hill. How does an ENTIRE ARMY fail to take it???”

utterly beautiful

I don’t care if this world breaks me, cause I was already a wreck in the making, so I will love you gently, hold your hand to help you up, come in to volunteer for a friend, show up to artistic events to celebrate other’s achievements, take the pictures for that evening, then fade into the background as silent as an echo on a blank canvass. I will unbury your skeletons, take note of the world’s diseases, pull those weeds, and plant the seeds so you can live to see hope blooming, and feel a soft breeze as you finally walk free from every tragedy that was haunting your psyche. I will write a world of compassion and beauty and disappear before you can even remember seeing me.

-2024

You're a murder victim haunting an old apartment building. The newest tenant's apartment is full of teenagers trying to perform a seance. You're doing your best to be as disruptive as possible because they keep almost summoning your murderer.