Challenge #00908-B177: True Love’s Kiss
http://thentheresthisspazz.tumblr.com/post/123284811011/mythological-creature-aus#notes
Pick one!
[AN: I picked “my best friend got turned into a frog and now i’m being the best wingman/woman/person ever by carrying them around to bars and getting hot people to kiss them in hopes of hooking them up with their true love” AU. I also want to do all of these so send in five more ;)]
“So… what’s with the frog?”
“Ah,” Carol sighed. “Um. Her name is Patricia, and she’s my BFF. I mean. She used to be human? And then we went trick-or-treating for a joke around the Bayou and she was wearing this Slutty Witch costume -andum- long story short? She’s been cursed and I’m helping her find true love.”
Laughter.
“No, it’s legit,” said Patricia. “True as trombones.”
The girl Carol had been talking to shrieked and vanished into the crowd of fellow lesbians.
“Damnit, Trish…“ Carol smacked her own forehead. “I told you talking freaked people out.”
“She was giving you the hairy eyeball. I had to weigh in.”
“I’ve had enough. It’s late. Try again tomorrow?”
Trish sighed. “Yeah. Tomorrow. Maybe that coffee shop with those girls with the piercings…”
Carol made sure she had her things and began the long trudge home. “You’re lucky I love you enough to do this for you.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” muttered Trish. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d have been squashed a million times by now.”
“Next time you’re human? Please say ‘yes’ to cosplay? You can’t offend magical people with cosplay.”
“Yeah I never heard of a dudebro wizard.”
They finally reached the little flat they shared. Most of Trish’s stuff had been boxed up for safekeeping. Her bed was in storage. The room it cleared was now taken over by Carol’s own researches into magic. An effort that had many rewards, so far, but nothing in relation to a counter-spell or cure.
But there was a cosy terrarium for Trish, and all the feeder crickets she could eat. And a bed for Carol to flop in once she scoured her face free of makeup.
“It’s okay,” soothed Trish. “I’m getting used to being a frog.”
“I still want to hug you and not worry about squashing you,” Carol kissed her ‘goodnight’ and parked Trish into the Terrarium. “So I’m doing this for you until I die.”
Trish watched her clean up and flop into bed. She whispered, “I love you, too.”
The magic hit like an asteroid. And just like an asteroid, there was a lot of noise and light. And an impact crater with Trish’s terrarium at ground zero.
There were scorched feeder crickets everywhere. Scattered papers and shattered glass and Patricia, wet and naked in the middle of it all.
Carol didn’t care. She got to hug her best friend in the entire world, again.
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Undeath is… occasionally inconvenient.
Sure, being a lich is incredible - I mean, cast some eldritch black ritual and be transformed into a fearsome sorcerous entity beyond the reach of the grave whose power and skill delves far past that which mortals were ever meant to know, yeah, that’s totally amazing…
…but there’s the small annoyances they don’t mention to you beforehand, like how you can’t enjoy “pleasures of the flesh” like good food or intimate contact anymore, since you’re just bones… or how aggravating it is to break the habit of thinking you still need sleep…
Not to mention the constant worry that one day, you’ll be in the middle of a rousing speech to your witless minions, or are enjoying a gloating mockery of the hero’s weaknesses… and bits of you might fall off and need to be wired back on. Totally kills the mood.
(#00907-B176)
You know the saying “The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak”? It’s true. Flesh is very, very weak.
In the grand scheme of world domination, it only lasts eighty years. Two hundred or so if you choose to mummify. But it’s brittle and tends to flake off, so why bother?
And as for bones… well… they last, it’s true. Nothing like a good coat of varnish to keep the decay out of bones. But choose the right wire. Iron and steel rust. Copper corrodes. Bauxite, though flexible, is weak and prone to tear.
Say what you like about tin, but bronze has lasting power.
It’s been a few thousand years since I last needed a wire change. The last time was embarrassing. The shiny hero got me monologuing and my jaw fell off.
Fell right off. Then and there. Right when I was about to tell all about my diabolical plan.
It’s hard to be taken seriously when one has to move one’s lower jaw with one’s hand like some carnival puppet.
Take it from someone who’s been there. Brass is best.
And it makes some pretty cool armour. I’ve even been able to fool heroes into thinking I still have fleshy parts to my mortal remains. That’s always good for a laugh.
And then there’s days like today. When the minions are particularly dense and the heroes are just too… bland… and I start to miss what the flesh once enjoyed.
Warmth. Taste. The smell of daisies. Dreams.
I can’t remember why I gave those up. Not today. Today, I envy the hero the kiss of his… bedmate. The warmth of their embraces. I watch him as he sleeps and wonder what his dreams are like.
Was the world worth it? Why was I working to rule this globe of sorrows?
But I can’t let those echoes of feeling ruin me.
I made a promise. And I intend to keep it.
I’ll show them. I’ll show them all.
[Muse food remaining: 12. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00907-B176: SUO’s - Small Useful Objects
A lot of us have a “kit” stuff we cart/tote everywhere, stuff we need. Mothers carry stuff to feed,amuse and cope with the Sprogs. Crafts people carry weird stuff(well I do). So what does a Joat carry? Or pick another character/profession and add kit.
Rael could tell a newbie JOAT. It was the way their limbs trembled under the weight of the gear in their coats. And the gentle ‘ping’ of stitching giving way under the stress. He decided to take mercy on this kid.
“I have a clear bench and an Hour’s pro bono credit. I can help you.”
“I think…” grunt, “I might need it…”
He took the young saurian over to the aforementioned bench. “Let’s see what you have in there.”
It was typical noob stuff. A hammer that was only a hammer. A separate folio of screwdrivers and spanners. A multitool that could stun a pickpocket, and would prove useful only as a cosh, in the long run. Ze actually had baggies of sorted nuts, bolts and screws for any occasion.
No wonder they were struggling under the weight.
“Did any JOATs teach you, before you began?” he asked.
“Uuuuuuuh,” said the kid. “I thought I could… um… wing it?”
“First lesson: SUO’s. Small. Useful. Objects.” Habit made him line up the kid’s collection on one side of the bench before emptying his own pockets. His collections of nuts, bolts and screws were sorted by width only. His hammer concealed an array of ever-decreasing screwdrivers, stored matryoska style.
The small roll of screwdrivers he did have were for tiny work.
There was a stiff, flat card. A squashed roll of ductape. A set of hex keys. An array of paperclips, and the really efficient kind of multitool that had been made by people who wanted to work with them.
“These are the essentials. Everything else gets added on a most-needed basis.”
“But… how can anyone work with that stuff?” winced the kid.
“It’s not about make well,” said Rael. “It’s about make do.”
They spent the rest of the hour discussing the Zen of JOAT.
[Muse food remaining: 13. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00906-B175: Change of Afterlife-style
The Horned God is fed up with all these blood sacrifices. It is making such a mess in the nether realms and he has too many goat familiars now. The Horned God demands some claw maintenance and a horn buffing, and then he will listen to your petition. Puny mortal.
“Look,” said the manifestation of the Horned One, Devourer of Flesh, Imbiber of Blood, Craftsman of Nightmares. “Blood’s all well and good, but sometimes… a god craves a little something different, you know?”
The sacrifice bleated on the altar. “You… don’t want the goat?” said the hooded figure. The knife held uncertainly above their head.
“Sweetie… I have ten million goats with me in the nether-realms. Even for a goat person, that’s a lot of goats. All I’m saying is - what’s wrong with a little chat? Some chamomile tea, some chocolate cake…”
“Chocolate cake?” winced the acolytes.
“Come on, who doesn’t love chocolate cake?”
One by one, the assembled coven had to admit that The Dark One, Terror of Shadows, Torturer of the Unworthy, had a point.
The knife slowly descended into its ritual case. “Er. But. We’re supposed to sacrifice? Something?”
“Keep the damned goat. Look after her. You get milk, and maybe you can make some cheese. Or soap. I hear goats milk soap is wonderful for your skin.“
One of the acolytes raised a hand. “I think I know a place that’ll sell a decent gateau at this hour?”
“Brilliant. Let’s do this.” The physical manifestation of Evil on Earth, the Dread Lord, the Bane of Righteousness, clapped his hands. “Who’s got their mani-pedi kits?”
[Muse food remaining: 14. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00905-B174: Easter Egg
The best kept secret of the jaegermonsters
Jaegermonsters hunt in packs. That much is self-evident. Jaegermonsters are not the brightest candles in the window. That, too, is self-evident.
Lord Palinquest thought he was being clever by separating the invading Jaeger pack in disparate cells in the middle of unique booby-traps in the labyrinth under his castle. He’d even tune in when he was bored to see how they were doing.
What he didn’t know, what none but the most observant of Sparks knew… was that a Jaeger alone eventually becomes… smart.
Only one made it out of the labyrinth to kill him. And by that time, the assembled torments of the maze had honed it into something… else.
The world’s first JaegerSpark.
Fortunately for the world, Lord Gruesh the First was soon overthrown by his own rabid hunting mimmoths.
[Muse food remaining: 15. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00904-B173: Cat Day
Steven Universe - Lion’s adventure
Lion finished his patrol of the city and curled up near the house of the Scion. Soon, very soon, it would be warm in just this spot. Warm was always good. The Scion would need Lion today. Lion couldn’t tell exactly when, but he knew. He was going to be Needed.
And in the meantime, there was sleep.
“Is it safe to just… lie on him like that?”
Lion peeked. The human friend of Scion Steven was here again. Lion didn’t mind her. She was lighter than some of his previous burdens.
“Why not? said Steven. “This is the best spot for… lion around and reading.”
Lion tipped him off for that one. Trouble. Trouble was on the breeze. This way? That way?
“What is it? A gem attack? A monster? A monster fusion?”
The human friend dove under the decking for her sword. Good. Humans were starting to approach life with a little more sense.
There it was. One of the hidden places. Lion bowed to allow the children on his back. Then leaped. Far enough in the right direction and… roar-warp to the nearest soft place to the Trouble.
Kindergarten. Lion hated this place as much as some of the Gems. It was dead earth. Ruined for any kind of life.
Except… that kind of life.
“Oh no!”
They were screaming.
“Euw,” winced the human. “What are they?”
“I call ‘em Mooshups,” said Steven. “They’re… y’know Frankenstein?“
They were screaming and only he could hear them.
“Yeah…”
“Dead gems are shattered crystals. These are… mooshed together like the monster.”
They didn’t want to be like this any more than he wanted to face them.
Whispered, “O my God…”
“We gotta poof them before Garnet finds out.”
Lion tried his roar. The smaller Mooshups poofed instantly, but the bigger ones. Especially the biggest one… didn’t seem phased.
Fortunately, there are always claws and swords.
Lion didn’t question why they didn’t fight. Why they seemed to surrender to claw and blade. That wasn’t important. Not in comparison to protecting the Scion.
Steven bubbled all the force-fused shards. Paused on the brink of sending them to the table.
“Wait! Won’t the others see these?”
“Oh. I… I can’t let Garnet see these. She was so upset by the last batch…”
Once again, Steven stored something in Lion’s other realm. He would keep these relics safe.
He was, after all, created to serve. Either the will of his former mistress, or that of his new master.
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Challenge #00903-B172: One Thing in Common
Francoeur and Sweetie Belle
Her big sister had a really big visitor. He was immense enough to make a full-grown dragon wary. All black and sharp spikes and luminous red eyes…
…and a gentle, almost foal-like way of investigating the world with all four hands.
Sweetie Belle thought she was well-hidden until he offered her a rose and cooed, “…joli petit poney…”
“Oh, don’t be frightened, Sweetie Belle,” Rarity singsonged. “Francoeur is as gentle as a lamb. More gentle than a lamb, really… um. More like… gentler than Fluttershy.”
Sweetie came out of hiding. “That’s possible?”
Three hands started playing with her mane. Francoeur cooed and chittered, but he seemed happy.
Sweetie started humming a little tune that seemed to go with his melody. Which made the monster-sized creature sing along with her.
Words came out of him that she couldn’t understand, but it didn’t matter. They had the music between them. It was all that they needed.
Francoeur never spoke much. He preferred melody. And when he got his hands on a guitar… she could see why. Or rather, hear why.
The guitar spoke more eloquently than he ever could.
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Challenge #00902-B171: In a Shared Domicile on Amity…
Random number prompt - use a random number generator and redo a prompt from the first year of instants - do NOT read the first story before writing the new one.
[AN: The random number was 133: Anywhere in the story: “The element of surprise didn’t so much rest upon someone hearing you but registering the significance of your approach.” (I hope altering one word counts)]
There was an important lesson in here, somewhere. Living with Deathworlders taught them well. Continuing to remain alive around Deathworlders taught them fast.
It was the oddest thing. Humans would sleep soundly with K’kerik in the domicile, making small domestic noises and generally behaving as if all was normal. But the instant she consciously registered that there were sleeping predators in the vicinity, and acted accordingly… the humans would startle awake and zero in on her presence in seconds.
They could always detect her when she made an effort to move silently. And when she made no effort to disguise her footfalls, the humans startled and worried when they nearly stood on her.
In the end, she talked it over with her human friend Lu.
“Oh, that,” said the human. “Yeah. The element of surprise doesn’t so much rest upon someone hearing you but registering the significance of your approach. We evolved on a planet with some really stealthy predators. Being able to detect something being quiet is something of a survival instinct.”
“I must be utterly quiet or make significant noise to be detected?“
“That’s the bunny,” said Lu.
“You humans are very strange.”
“Thank you.”
[Muse food remaining: 14. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00901-B170: Strange Creatures
Alternate universe prompt: The X - Mares
[AN: Of course I instantly thought of MLP:FiM]
Things went very quickly bad when the entirety of Ponyville discovered that Fluttershy’s strange friend was stranger than they had believed possible.
His glowing eyes almost bugged out of his head. He smiled with sharp, sharp teeth. He vanished in a puff of sulphur. He didn’t have hooves. He had paws. And his tail… was more like a dragon’s than a pony’s.
And everywhere he ran, he caused panic. Running and screaming. Most of it away from him. He bounced off things like Pinkie Pie. But he was not as fast as Rainbow Dash.
Not… all the time.
He was half-concussed when Applejack finally lassoed him. And… crying?
Fluttershy couldn’t be heard about the many voices raised in fear and anger. Things were looking very bad for the monster in their midst.
_Stop!_
It was a command obeyed by muscle more than mind. Nightcrawler squirmed in his rope prison like his insect namesake before the pony responsible appeared. He was a unicorn, and his hindquarters were supported by a wheeled device. “There’s no need for violence,” soothed the bald stranger. “Nightcrawler is more scared of you than you are of him.”
“Thank you,” breathed Fluttershy. The only one besides Nightcrawler who still had the power to move. “That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell everyone since this mess started.“
Nightcrawler, meanwhile, struggled free of his bonds. “Dankeschoen…” he tried to hide where he was standing and failed immensely. “If I may ask… who are you?”
“My students,” he nodded towards the ponies on either side of him, “Call me Professor X. Phoenix, Cyclops, Icemare, Beast and Wolverine… all call themselves the X-mares.” A quirk of a smile. “I find it a little ridiculous, but they do have a snappy turn of phrase.”
Nightcrawler couldn’t help but notice that almost all of these ponies looked… normal.
“I can teach you how to use your gifts, Nightcrawler. How to make them your own.”
“Would you teach me… to be normal?”
“That’s… a little beyond my abilities.”
“Good,” said Nightcrawler. “I’ve seen what normal can do in bad circumstances. I’d much rather be all me.”
That earned him big grins from the X-mares.
“Will he be safe?” asked Fluttershy.
“I can’t promise safety, either,” said Professor X. “I can promise that he will be well-prepared for danger.”
“It… seems to find us,” allowed Cyclops.
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Challenge #00900-B169: Mama Bear
Murphy’s law of Babies 2: Toddler gone? It’s with the humans.
Nita almost didn’t notice the curious little Numidid until she nearly stepped on the poor child. She was big for a human, and this little scrap of pinfeathers barely cleared her boot.
“Whoops,” she said. “Hello, little peep. Where did you come from?”
Alas, the tiny child was still talking Scribble. Multilingual Scribble, but still Scribble. It varied between Numidid, Amity English, and Galstand. She sounded irritated, and paused occasionally to peck at one of Nita’s trailing aglets.
Ah. The chase-and-find-out stage. She must be driving her mothers to moulting. “That’s not nutritious or delicious, little peep.” Nita bent to scoop the keet into her hands. Both to elevate the child out of danger and bring her into Nita’s range of focus.
No locator bracelets… but a fine shower of dust indicated that this baby had been cleaned recently. Either she hadn’t been fitted, yet, or was part of the transient population. Or, using a combination of Occam’s Razor and the soft flannel onesie, mother had taken the locator off for bathing.
Some cheaper models had trouble with bathing materials.
On one hand, mother was probably fretting herself into a quick trip to Medical. On the other hand, forcing Security to deal with an unfed baby was worse than unfair. And there was an Unsuitable Food kiosk nearby.
“We don’t cook baby cogniscents,” said the Gyiik at the counter.
“I was going to ask for some baby food,” growled Nita. “I know she’s a child.” She put the keet into a handily empty bowl and used the Gyiik’s towel as an impromptu cover.
The keet was definitely trying to Scribble an enquiring “Mama?” or “Nomnom?” in three languages. Unfortunately for Nita’s detective work, the name on the kid’s clothing was written in Numidid chicken-scratch. And it was so blurred from multiple washings, that her translator apps couldn’t fathom it.
And while she was online… Nita sent a quick text and some footage to Security. Heavens forfend that she be found irresponsible.
*
Security turned up with an anxiously piebald mama Numidid riding her shoulder.
Nita heard “BABY!” and then an incomprehensible gabble of Numidid chirping and squawking. She wisely backed off, because even a Havenworlder mama would take on a Level Six Deathworlder to protect her child.
“It’s okay,” said Nita. “The instant I realised she was following me, I picked her up and took her to get fed. Then I sent a message to Security.”
“And…” Officer Marken consulted her eyepiece. “Threatened a Gorgonite with his own fork?”
“Ze was planning to eat little peep, here.”
Marken gave her the understanding, Fair Enough nod.
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