Challenge #01033-B301: Attitude Problem
@recklessprudence - my login fluffed up so you get a fresh prompt today. Also starring Sara Louise! Yay!
(#00175)
“So… this is happening,” said the police chief. “WHY is it happening?“
"I don’t know, sir,” said her immediate underling. “I just know it’s continuing to happen…" The swirling patterns of ink on his skin became the repeated word TRUTH.
Many a near-riot had begun because of the quasi-cogniscent ink that had spread like a virus over the skins of all citizens of Bayville. Many men were very upset to find themselves indelibly branded with words like MISOGYNIST, RACIST, RAPIST or ASSHAT. Or, when they attempted to deny the ink, being branded with the word LIAR.
And they were impossible to conceal.
Also in the mix was what the CDC and the media alike were calling the Empathy Virus. Any man who thought that shaving once a day was worse than menstruation found himself not only feeling the uterine pangs of any woman within a fifty-foot radius… but uncontrollably bleeding from his genitals.
Racists who would not shut up found their skin turning a vibrant, eye-hurting green.
Pro-life men found themselves doubled over in unstoppable Braxton Hicks contractions. Pro-life women found their homes invaded by hordes of unwanted children who insisted on calling them ‘mom’.
And through the middle of Bayville, a thin, elongated being with a weird backpack was flying above the streets with a bullhorn, shouting, “Red Bull does NOT give you wings! Science does!“
Various costumed weirdoes were attempting to catch them and failing all over the landscape.
"What else could go wrong?” asked the rookie with the coffee.
As if in answer, it started raining marshmallows.
[Muse food remaining: 5 (fic war prompts, 2). Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Recycled Souls
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Reincarnation v. the Evo crew.
(#00174)
“I know it’s cheap to eat here, but god damn… who wants to eat this crap?”
“Koreans, maybe?” said Todd. “Look, jus’ try a few things a’ight? Koreans eat it an’ live.“
"I don’t eat anything I can’t identify,” said Pietro.
“I stopped listening at ‘all you can eat’,” said Freddy. He was already taking a sampler.
“Heywow… How’d they get all the little lines on this popcorn thing?” asked Todd.
Lance looked at one. “Uh. That ‘popcorn thing’ has legs, Todd…"
“Be… on… deggy…” Toad read. “I like ‘em.“
Lance almost told him, and then decided not to. What the hell. Todd ate bugs on a regular basis, anyway.
[Muse food remaining: 5 (fic war prompts, 2). Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00172: One Fine Afternoon in the Halls of Higher Education
“When I said that it was nice that you could recite the same dirty limerick in 5 different languages and have it rhyme, I was not asking for a demonstration.”
“Aaaw… but I’m almost up to Pharsi. Do you know how hard it is to rhyme ‘Calcutta’ in Pharsi?”
“No, and I don’t particularly care. We’re supposed to be working on theoretical math, not filthy poetry.”
“…aaaaawwww…”
“Fo-cusss…”
“But this isn’t as much fun.”
“Ai! Focus.”
Sara pouted. “…the Pharsi one was fun…”
“Math. Now.”
[Muse food remaining: 4 (fic war prompts, 0). Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Non Compos Mentis
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
The things I come up with when a blackout hits…
(#00168)
“Kurt, what are you doing?”
“Who? Me?” he quickly hid his hands behind his back. “Nothing much.”
“Isn’t that Todd’s locker?”
Kurt gained a sick and desperate grin. “Why would I be doing something to Todd Tolenski’s locker? It certainly has nothing to do with any interesting kind of prank war.”
Jean glared at him. “You do know you are trying to lie to a telepath…”
“It’s okay. I saw Onkel Wolf do this, once…”
After the smoke cleared, it was clear that it was not, as Kurt put it, okay.
*
“So how are we going to get out of this, smartyfuzz?” demanded Scott. They were both trapped by the robotic tentacle-guards in this particular simulation.
“I saw Onkel Wolf do this once…” he began squirming in some pretty peculiar ways. “I can get out…”
He also managed to leave his uniform behind.
*
“Elf…” Logan warned.
“I saw Onkel Wolf do this once,” he said, a bunch of herbs in each hand. “One of these makes a nice tea. Uh. The other one… um. How good is your healing power, Herr Logan?”
Logan glared at him. “That does it, kid. You’re banned from doing anything you saw your Onkel Wolf do…”
[Muse food remaining: 8 (fic war prompts, 3). Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
(#00167)
“I’munna do it!” the camera dodges through a dark interior, into the bright, snow-filled landscape.
“Don’t fucking do it!” This speaker is the owner of a greasy mullet and wears shirtsleeves and a vest even in the middle of winter. “I swear to God, Toad…“
“I’munna DO it!” the camera pans up to find a skinny boy in a toboggan perched precariously on the roof of a three-storey house.
“How did he even get up there?” ponders a deep voice off-screen.
“Whocares?” says the voice of the cam operator. “I’mputtingitallonYouTube.”
“DON’T FUCKING DO IT!” bellows greasy-mullet.
“Do a flip!” taunts the cam-holder.
“I’m doin’ it!” yells the kid on the roof. He moves violently, as if to set the toboggan off.
Giggling as it becomes evident that the toboggan is stuck.
“For fuck’s sake, Todd!” yells greasy-mullet. “If that ain’t a sign from above…”
Todd gets off, wiggles the toboggan and seats it an apparently significant inch to the left. “Roofing nail,” he yells. “This time fo’ sure, yo!”
“Goddamn it, don’t you fucking dare—!”
“Omigod!” shrieks the bass voice off camera as the toboggan moves.
“WWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-HAAAAWWWW!” Todd yawps as the toboggan slides down the roof, off an awning, and into a deep drift of snow.
“Oh my fucking god, he’s killed himself,” mutters greasy-mullet.
“Man, thatwaspoetic…” the cam follows greasy-mullet to a pair of legs hanging out of the snow pile and observes him dragging Todd out by his feet.
“That was sick, yo!” says the skinny kid. “C’mon, lets build this pile up so’s I can do that again!”
“Dudeyou’rebleeding,” says the cam-holder.
“Aw man. Busted my nose again.”
*
“How many thousand views?”
“Wrong question, yo. It’s how many million views?” said Todd. He was currently wrapped up in half the blankets and Freddy’s very motion-inhibiting arm. The bleeding had finally slowed. “And I think its up to twelve.”
“When the hell’d we have time to upload it?” Lance demanded. “I remember seven hours in the ER.”
“Quickie did it,” said Toad. “Dude’s been suspiciously absent since yo’ called 911.”
“Did he put you up to this? We all know how you get when it’s cold.”
“Uh… Don’t remember.”
“I’munna do it! I’m gonna fuckin’ kill ‘im…”
[Muse food remaining: 8 (fic war prompts, 3). Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
(#00166)
“Hi,” said the slightly horsey androgene on the screen. “I’m Sara, but most know me online as TheTallest. I work with the indie film studio Thylacine Films. You might know us from such things as this—”
The dance of the dead hallucination scene from _Gopocalypse, Go, Go!_
“And this—”
The town destruction scene from _It Came From The Other Side_.
“And this—”
Everyone’s favourite scene from _All My Zombies_.
“I’m used to working under the red line, but for this project, Working Title, _Spreading Terra_,” a gesture pointing to above her own head. “I want to go all out. Distant locations, a cast who is not also the crew, decent special effects… the whole deal. A one hundred dollar donation will get you a test merch swag bag. Five hundred gets you the opportunity to be a background character. One thousand buys you a line. Five thousand gets you five lines. The rest is in the list to the right. I do have animated storyboards, which you can unlock with a donation as low as one dollar. Have fun, and thanks for becoming part of Thylacine Films.”
*
“HOLY SHIT!”
It was not often that Sara swore, let alone screamed while doing so. Thus, she gained a crowd.
“Two hours! They gave me everything that I asked for and then some! And they’re not stopping… I owe five hundred people a copy of my script…”
Jean, looking over her shoulder, whistled backwards. “You’re going to have to come up with some bonuses…”
“Two hours… two hours…”
[Muse food remaining: 9 (fic war prompts, 4). Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
(#00164)
There is a rule in classrooms all over the world. When it’s Show and Tell day, beware the kid with the cardboard box. Or the self-motive brown paper bag.
This time, it was Kurt ‘that weirdo’ Wagner with the cardboard box and the optimistic grin.
His record said he used to work in a circus, and you could believe it, the way he oversold all his presentations with carney-level breathless superlatives.
“Ladies and Gentlemen—”
“Let’s skip the preamble, Wagner.”
“Aaaww…” he sighed. “I humbly submit mein amazing discovery…” He opened the box and yelped.
The box had a hole in the bottom. A gnawed hole. A suspiciously large gnawed hole.
“Ah… heh. Um.” He quickly looked towards all the corners and under all the desks. “Has everyone had their shots?”
The class jock, Ray Billertyne, screamed like a little girl. It began a chain reaction of screaming and panic and a large hairy blur scurrying all through the class.
And Wagner trying to catch it bare-handed.
[Muse food remaining: 6 (fic war prompts, 1). Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]