Writing Fresh off the Griddle

The Griddler

Mermaid and Robot Enthusiast
Rainbow Rocket Grunt
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Mar 15, 2019
Ligma, NU
PuppeteerMask, MystletainnKick
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Hey all. So I do a handful of writing things every now and then and I figured I would share my work as I do it with all of you. I've done quite a few pieces for r/writingprompts so I figured that'd be a good place to start! Here are my current works, the prompts that inspired them, and a link to the original page.

Write a video game fanfic where the reader has no idea what video game it is from until the last line.

"So you've arrived."

Your father turns around and stares you down from across the room. You've never seen this side of him before, stern and with an intensity that makes you feel genuinely uneasy. This was the man the rest of the world must've known him as. It was his "game face", so to speak. "And I see that you have defeated all of my students." You quietly nod in affirmation.

"I take it you've brought me the proof that you're ready?" You nod again, fishing out a small case and flashing its hard-earned contents at him. Your father smiles. "Well done! You've come far since the last time we met!"

"I didn't do it alone," you say. "I had help. I had friends. We made it this far together, and we're going to keep going - past you - together."

Your father laughs warmly, nodding in understanding. "Well said, my girl! Well said! I look forward to meeting your friends! But I just want you to know before we begin, no matter how this goes, I'm proud of you. You're growing into a fine young woman, and no matter how far you go, that won't change."

You resolve to hide your tears, but your smile shines through regardless. Clearly your own game face needs work. "I won't hold back, you know."

Your father's intensity returns. "Of course you won't. I was about to say the same thing."

You take a deep breath. You're ready.

Gym Leader Norman wants to battle!

Two (or more) characters have a full conversation without saying anything

Winter was always hard for the tribe. The frost killed almost all that was green, and the little that was left behind wasn't fit for eating. The season's icy chill cut deep and harsh, and even the most able bodied members of the tribe could be struck down by illness and cold. That's why hunters were so important. The game they brought back was for more than just food, the pelts were a source of warmth. Takar had listened to his father lecture him about these things for many years, even after he had become a man. Although he rolled his eyes every time he was told, he kept his father's lessons close to his heart.

It had been two weeks since his father's passing. The shamans didn't know if it was cold or hunger that stole his last breath, or if it was merely time itself. Takar had decided that it didn't matter. Whatever it was that had taken his father, Takar vowed that it wouldn't take anyone else. Not this year.

The young hunter moved swiftly through the forest, the snow crunching softly under his feet as he moved. He had been tracking a megaloceros for the past day, and he could feel deep in his heart that he was getting closer. The beast could feed his entire tribe, if he could successfully bring it down.

It was then that he saw it far ahead, trudging through the snow peacefully. The great elk was a mighty beast, but in that moment it was quiet and serene. With luck, it would die that way. Takar drew an arrow from his quiver and nocked his bow, moving quickly and quietly.

Suddenly, he heard a third set of footfalls in the snow. On the other side of the massive beast, a figure flitted from tree to frozen tree, a blur of white fur and bone that Takar could barely pick out through the falling snow. Takar froze in place, and after a moment, the hunter in the trees stopped as well. The two men looked past their quarry, and to eachother. Their eyes locked.

He was little more than a boy, Takar thought. His face was still youthful and his body spry. He couldn't have been much older than he was, when he first became a hunter. But his eyes told another story. Takar didn't see a naïve and inexperienced child in those eyes. He saw a man who understood loss, a man who understood the hunt and the way of the forest. He couldn't recognize the boy's tribe, but they must have angered the spirits or were truly desperate, to send a child out alone in this weather.

Whatever the boy saw in Takar, he did not know. But instead of trying to shoo him or send him away, he merely held up a hand in greeting - and as a sign to hold fire. Takar looked from the boy to the great elk, nodding in understanding. He was right, of course. Two hunters together stood a far greater chance of bringing down a mighty megaloceros. If they truly wanted to posture over the spoils, they could do it later. Takar took a few steps to the side, keeping a clear line of sight between his quarry and his newfound partner. He crouched down low, lining his shot up as he watched the boy make his move.

The younger hunter was silent as he crept through the trees, a spear in hand. His expression was hard and focused, and Takar could see him plotting and scheming, looking for the right avenue and moment to attack. The older hunter raised a hand and pointed towards the branches above the megaloceros. His partner was quick to notice and follow his direction, and in a matter of seconds, the trap was laid.

The two hunters shared a gaze for a second time, each signalling the other that they were ready. The moment before the kill seemed to stretch on for an eternity, but then, the boy pounced. He leapt down from on high, plunging his spear deep into the great elk's back. The mighty beast howled in pain, raising its head high. Birds took flight and scattered at the sound, and smaller woodland creatures dashed and scurried in a frightened panic. But Takar was not a frightened rodent. He was a hunter, and he had his opening.

The older hunter's arrow flied true, embedding itself deep in the monstrous deer's eye. The beast - so recently full of life - collapsed, its blood seeping out into the snow and colouring it a harsh red.

Takar rose to his feet and strode out into the glade as the young hunter stumbled to his feet and hurried back around the beast. The two stood across from eachother, their great conquest lying between them. Now that he was closer, Takar could make out more details on the boy. His hands were shaking, and on his pelts were countless tokens and totems, carved from wood, bone and stone. Though he could not recognize all of them, he knew that they were mementos for friends and family that had passed on. He carried one himself, for his father.

The boy stepped to the side gingerly, gesturing towards the mighty beast before him and making a small, cutting motion with his hands. A peace offering, they could share the spoils evenly. Takar frowned and shook his head, pulling out his prized bone knife. Half wouldn't be good enough. He had made a promise, he would make sure that nobody died of hunger or cold this winter.

The older hunter strode around the beast and fell to one knee, pressing his knife into the confused boy's outstretched hand. Silently, the child's hand closed, and he nodded gratefully to his new friend. Takar rose back to his feet and walked back into the woods, disappearing into the falling snow.

You're a Mary Sue, you know it, and you absolutely hate it.

My name is Sunberry Eldigan Cosmopolita Moonstrider Starshine. Please, please for the love of god, just call me Sun. I know that I look normal - normal ish, okay, fine, I think I look normal - but the truth is, I'm an alien. An alien from the future, with psychic powers. I feel like I'm stressing the wrong things, but I just want to hammer home how... how stupid my life sounds to a third party.

Have you ever felt like... Like your life is some kinda joke? I feel like the things that happen to me are so over the top and absurd that there's no way my life can't be some kind of farce. Like... Like the time travel thing. I mentioned the time travel thing. You know why I came from the future? Because I need to warn my mom - my mom, by the way, is an intergalactic jpop idol singer slumming it on earth. No, I don't know why the galaxy has jpop and idol singers when Earth has precisely zero influence on anything outside the Sol system. Goddammit I'm getting off track.

I came from the future to warm my mom that her high school principal is gonna summon Satan - sorry, not Satan - daemons and take over the earth. See, I made it out okay because my mom and dad had me (Side note? Seeing my mom teen pregnant with me? Super weird.) and put me on mom's spaceship and sent me to space. So already I'm working off, like, Future Trunks, Lucina, Superman Son Goku ******** but no, that's totally fine and makes sense, right? Yeah no don't ****in' question it, it makes total sense.

But even just... ignoring all of that. I just feel like even my day to day life feels wrong. I'm not down on my looks, right? I'm pretty happy with my appearance. But like, objectively I'm just okay. Everyone has a type and I'm obviously not it. ...except I am. Literally when I'm walking down the street literally everyone wants a piece of this and I don't get it. I mean I'm flattered but I just don't ****ing get it. I can spend five minutes talking to a boy my age and all of a sudden we're destined to be together.

"Like, that's great and all, buddy. But could we maybe go on a couple dates first? It'll be fun, we could go to a sports bar, pig out on nachos, maybe hit an arcade so I can beat you at Blazblue, maybe watch a movie that for some reason shouldn't be showing at the local theatre but is anyways just because we're there? It'll be a great time assuming you don't ****ing die in my arms because I have enemies that inexplicably want me to suffer just for the sake of it. Do you mind if I bring some friends? Nobody super important, just the ten other guys I've met this week that I'm destined to be with."

So dating's off the table. Home and family life is ****ing weird, and my life story to date sounds like it was written by a sixteen year old huffing paint thinner after watching just a bit too much anime. (I mean I'm not condemning anime but I mean too much anime. Some of it good, most of it the kind with flubber titties.) Hey, at least there's hobbies, right. Pastimes to distract me from the train wreck?


I'm not tooting my own horn here. It doesn't matter what I do, I'm just the best at it. Sports? The best. Videogames? The best. Music? The best. One time I was singing off key in the shower and when I came out my mom was gushing about how I had even more talent than she did and that I absolutely must go pro. I was singing "I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts" (cause I do. Yeah I said it.) And I was doing the percussion on my cheeks (the ones on my face). My point is I feel like some kind of robot that just wins at everything ever and I just? Hate it? So much?

I don't know. Maybe, just maybe, this whole stupid planet is under some kinda spell. Maybe I'm the one under a spell, and once it's lifted I'll just be another face in the crowd.

A pretty, alien face in the crowd that's come from the future to protect her anime as **** parents from Kingdom Hearts But All The Names Are Changed So We Don't Get Sued (TM).

A girl can dream, I guess.

You and a friend are both college dropouts who rent a house together. Money is tight, so you both decide to enter some combat tournament to win some cash. On your first day, it turns out that all the other competitors have really angsty backstories and you seem very out of place.

The arena was awash with red smoke, and lightning cracked the sky as a deep, horrible laugh bellowed through the air. A massive figure slowly descended from the dark, fiery portal that had been cut into the air above the stage. He was a stalker of the dark, a soul whose edge had a fatal fury. He was a king of the iron fist with a killer instinct, summoned to this red earth for mortal combat.

"You show great promise to win my tournament of power, Mortal." The king of fighters spoke in a booming, powerful voice. The red mist swirled around him as two mighty wings unfurled. "Now you stand before the form of your destr- Wait. Wait a second. Who the hell are you two?" The final fighter demanded as his vision cleared and he could get a better look at his opponent.

The two "fighters" - if they could be called such - were dressed casually in contemporary wear. The taller of the two, a young blonde man with a faint goatee and long blonde hair, spread his arms wide in a friendly manner. "Greetings! Your most fighterest! I'm Steven. This is Emily."

Steven gestured towards his partner, a shorter girl wearing dark green bomber jacket and a knit cap shaped like a blue, smiling, googly eyed squid - tentacles and all. She smiled sheepishly and raised a hand in shy greeting. "Hi."

"Together we have come... to Smash." Steven announced dramatically. "Although there hasn't been any of that."

"To... smash." The calamity trigger repeated, perplexed. "How the hell... where is Silent Shadow? Where is Bloodtiger? Where the hell is Master Jian!?"

"Oh, you're talking about the ninja cosplayer, the super in-character fursuiter and the Dragonball Z fanboy, right?" Emily asked, her face lighting up. "Yeah, we saw them, right Steven? You remember when the fursuiter tried chew on your leg?"

"Yeah, yeah, I remember the thing that happened half an hour ago, Emily. I'm not blitzed." Steven replied flippantly, before leaning in close to Emily and growing a big, ****-eating grin. "Yet!"

Both fighters lit up with a loud and enthusiastic 'eyyyyyyyyyyy!!!!!' as they shot finger guns at each other and chest bumped. They shared a hearty laugh together that slowly died down into quiet, whimsical chuckling. "Yeeeeeaaaaah... we beat them."

"We beat them super hard."

The god among us watched his two opponents with slowly growing horror. Clearly, these two imbeciles were far greater threats than he could've ever anticipated.

Every Tuesday is Taco Tuesday... for extremely serious reasons.

Dr. Young was always at her desk at this time of day. Agent 3 didn't mind at all, though. Everyone in the Agency had their habits, and it made the good doctor all the easier to find. Agent 3 sidled up behind the doctor, leaning over her shoulder and folding his arms around her. "Faith." He whispered in greeting, smiling warmly at their reflection in the doctor's computer screen.

Dr. Young returned the smile, reaching up and squeezing her companion's calloused hand. "Klein." She replied. They had gone past codenames and surnames a long time ago. "And what brings a strapping young man like yourself here?" The doctor asked, brushing her slowly greying locks aside.

"Oh, you know me, Doc." Klein scoffed at the woman's feigned ignorance. "I saw a sweet old lady sitting around in a top secret facility and assumed she was lost."

"Old- well, now you can take your arms off me." Faith rolled her eyes and pushed Klein's arms away in mock offense. She certainly didn't live up to her name anymore, but she was still a mature, elegant woman, hardly a wrinkled, hunched over granny. The doctor turned in her swivel chair, one long leg hooked over the other as she looked up at Klein. "Now what are you really here for, handsome?"

"Dinner." Klein replied, slicking back his hair and putting on his most winning smile. "You and me, out on the town, eating the finest Italian dining I can-" The agent faltered as he saw Faith's eyes lower and her lips thin. "Well, okay... maybe just Olive Garden, but... c'mon, Faith. You and me."

"I..." Faith's head lowered as she sighed in defeat. "I'm sorry, Klein. I'd love to, but I can't."

"Why not?" Klein asked. "If it's work, I could talk to some-"

"It's not a job that I can just put off for tomorrow, Klein." Faith insisted. "It's..." Another sigh. "It's Tuesday. Taco Tuesday. My daughter and I have tacos every Tuesday, she needs me there."

Klein froze, perplexed. He had known that Faith had a daughter, of course. Everyone at the Agency knew. The others had warned him that he'd never be able to compete with Cierra Young in the contest for the Doctor's heart. Still, he had tried anyways, certain that there was surely enough room for both of them.

"Couldn't you call her and reschedule?" He asked, looking over at the picture of Cierra on the doctor's desk. She appeared to be in her late teens, with a small, timid smile and a piercing gaze. Klein had never met the girl in person, but she seemed so serene in Faith's pictures, immaculate and fragile like a doll. "She looks old enough to understand."

"It's more complicated than that." Faith's reply was quick, and in that moment the single mother seemed like a frightened schoolgirl. "...I need to show you something." The doctor turned around and started to type, her keys tapping away in a frantic staccato.

"Is this... going to explain why Taco Tuesday is so important?" Klein asked, skeptical but nonetheless wary enough to humour the Doctor's request. At this point in his life, he was ready to believe anything.

"With luck, yes." Dr. Young pushed her chair aside, giving Klein room to read. The doctor's screen was full of schematics and blueprints that made Klein's head spin and eyes sore. He wasn't a scientist, but he had picked up enough through osmosis to tell that he wasn't looking at any ordinary machine. In fact, the more he looked, the more the designs looked like...

"A person." Klein whispered. "That's a... those are the blueprints for a person."

"An Android." Dr. Young corrected, nodding slightly. "After I lost my husband, I... I started work on this. I had hoped that maybe, I could bring him back. But his consciousness... I couldn't salvage the necessary materials."

Klein looked from the screen to Faith, awestruck. "I... I'm sorry, but what does this have to do with-"

Dr. Young raised a hand, silently asking Klein to stop. "Some years later... I found a new need for that design. A living... a living volunteer. She would've died otherwise... my new design was successful, but high maintenance. Even the subject's diet had to be planned out - the perfect portions at the perfect time, no variance, no substitutions. The Agency noticed my work, and they've been funding me in exchange for my service. With luck I can refine and improve the design, but for now..."

Klein looked at Faith, her hair greyed from age and stress, her hands shaking slightly from nerves. He looked at the blueprints, so eerily like a human's inner workings meshed with silicone and steel. And then he looked at the picture of Cierra, the demure, doll-like girl. In that moment he remembered Dr. Young's codename, the name he had long since abandoned for her real one.


"So..." Klein murmured. "...Taco Tuesday, huh?" Slowly but surely, the agent gave Faith a tentative, reassuring smile. "You know... now that I think of it, Italian dinner dates are kind of overdone. I could go for some homemade Mexican. That is, if you could, Doc."

Faith looked up, surprised. After a moment of shocked silence, she returned the smile, tears forming in her eyes. "I suppose it is high time you actually met my daughter... I'm sure you'll like her Klein, she's really a sweet girl..."

Magic exists, however with a catch. Everyone can only use magic the way they expect magic to function. Harry Potter fans MUST do weird wand waving while Call of Cthulhu players all end up going insane. Write an interaction or duel between two vastly different magic users.

Detective Pendragon had chafed under the idea of getting a new partner. It had been three months since his dear companion had been snuffed out by a Maximized Quickened Double Disintegrate, and being turned to dust was something even his best Esuna spell couldn't cure. He didn't even have the chance to say goodbye to him. The Chief had been patient with him, but he was losing some of that patience.

"Dammit Uther, I've got Death Eaters, demon ****ers and R'lyeh gibberers out there on the streets that need bringing in!" He had said, sucking down coffee in between outbursts of enraged, caffeine laced shouting. The Chief swore by his coffee, said it restored Mana like nothing else, gave his Vigors an extra kick. Mostly it just made him jumpy and irritable. "I'm assigning you a new partner. She lives on the corner of Fifth and Confirmed. Go pick her up and check out the alchemy case downtown."

Fifth and Confirmed was in a part of town Uther dared not go if he could avoid it. Things were always... weird, there. But he was dedicated to his job, so if he had to work with one of those... bizarre types, he'd do it. Making his way to the address was fairly effortless. Folks were strong supporters of flying brooms, flying cars, teleportation, and all sorts of magical chicanery but Uther had always been a firm believer in the practicality and usefulness of a Haste spell and a brisk, casual walking speed. By the time he had reached the home of his new partner, his MP had already regenerated back to full.

The home Uther found himself at seemed innocent enough. It was a small but cozy little house tucked away in between a giant leather boot and a haphazard recreation of The Burrow. Uther silently thanked the Crystals, maybe his partner would be normal after all.

All that hope went out the window when Uther knocked on the door and was answered with a low, ominous rumbling of thunder. He could've swore he had heard something, somewhere, shouting "Gan Gan Gan Gan Gan Gan Gan" in the distance as he waited for someone to answer. When the door opened, Uther looked down to see a woman - no, a girl. She couldn't have been older than thirty. She was wearing a loose red t-shirt with faded yellow print and imagery on it - some sort of fluffy fox creature and big block letters stating ORDER IS PROGRESS, all fashioned like Communist propaganda - and a pair of sleep shorts. A bag of grapes was in one arm, and her free hand was popping them into her mouth like an addict popping pills.

"Look, I'm sorry." She started, cutting Uther off as his mouth hung open. "It's not that I didn't like the books or anything, but Potterism just isn't for me, sorry." With that, the door started to close again. How was she closing it with both of her hands in use? Was the door enchanted? Was she using Mage Hand? Now that Uther thought of it, The Chief never said what kind of practitioner this girl was.

"Wait a second!" Uther stuck his foot in the doorway, silently cursing under his breath as the door closed on it with far more force than he was expecting. "My name... is Detective Uther Pendragon of the Kingston Magical Crimes Division." He said, reaching into his Inventory and taking out his badge. "I'm looking for Glenna Grenwich. I've been assigned as her partner."

The transformation on the girl's face was sudden and dramatic. Her eyes lit up - figuratively, that was an important distinction nowadays - and her mouth widened into a cheery smile. "I knew it! I knew that the MCD would have to recognize my abilities eventually!" She said, ecstatic. "Wait right here, I need to get dressed!"

Uther opened his mouth to protest, to ask if he could come inside, to confirm that this girl was Glenna Grenwich, to anything, really. But before he could say a thing, he was interrupted by a horrid, bass boosted sound that sounded like pitch shifted cogs coming to a halt. And then, not even a second later, the door opened again.

Glenna stood there, this time fully dressed in the most garish suit Uther had ever seen outside of Hockey Night In Canada. The young woman was wearing a full suit and tie ensemble with lavender pants and jacket, a seafoam green dress shirt with gold stripes, and a dark blue tie with purple and gold accents and skulls. She was still beaming from ear to ear as she stepped outside, adjusting her tie and sighing contentedly. "I promise you, detective. You, me and「THE WORLD」, nothing will stop us from uncovering the truth!"

Uther paused at that bizarre syntax. "Don't you mean... you and me against the world?" Glenna merely looked back at him and smiled knowingly.

You're a supervillain who left his lair to go grocery shopping. While wearing your usual disguise of a ball cap and sunglasses you see someone familiar. It's your nemesis in the diary isle wearing the exact same disguise.

Sometimes I have to wonder if I'm getting too old for this ****. I'm not a young woman anymore, that wild eyed girl with dreams of world domination through scientific supremacy was gone. Now there was just me, nearly thirty years old and not even a single nation to my name.

Oh, sure, there's the secret base and the private tropical island, but any two bit rube with a death ray had one of those. It wasn't something you could brag about, certainly not something you can bring up at Thanksgiving when Mom goes "so Karen, we've heard so much from your sister, how's YOUR career going?" Why the hell do I even still show up for those? Aunt Silvia's apple pie might be better than what I'm told sex is like but it's definitely not worth the hassle.

Maybe it's because of the kids. I think my niece and nephew are the only ones who actually take me seriously anymore. When they see me they light up like Christmas trees! All of a sudden it's no longer a constant stream of "when are you gonna get a REAL job?", it's all these questions about my gadgets and powers and if they can see my lair... it's great. It makes me feel like that young woman again. They see me as credible. They see me as valid. I wish more people would.

But, I have to admit, there's small benefits to not being seen as a credible threat. Every week, I can waltz into the supermarket in full regalia and a pair of John Lennon glasses and nobody bats an eye. I can be in a bloodstained lab coat, a full super suit, just about anything you can imagine and nobody knows it's me. Honestly it's... it's kind of peaceful. I didn't used to think about it all that much. That is... well... until I saw her.

I could recognize that tacky pink cape anywhere, and I'd be lying if I said that I hadn't stared at the rest of her suit a little more than is polite whenever we fought. I know my first arch nemesis when I see her. Or at least, I do when the only thing hiding her identity is a pair of aviators. I had to wonder why one would even bother wearing sunglasses over a domino mask, but then I remembered that I was wearing sunglasses over a Phantom of the Opera styled one. I'll admit, I've always had a problem with being a bit hypocritical.

But then I thought to myself... she's doing the same **** I am. Walking around in public, fully dressed for work... getting ignored. So I started watching her, and sure enough, every week I'd find her at the same supermarket, in the same routine. Hell, she even seems to have the same tastes as me, more often than not her basket would be full of the stuff I'd be on my way to get.

I can't get her out of my mind. She had such a promising career, she was, well, my equal. Even as I moved on I remembered her as one of the best. So why was she so ignored now? What happened to her that made her seem so... sad?

Was she alone, like I was? Had the world moved on without her? Was she in the same, miserable rut that I was in?

I don't know when the thought occurred to me, but last week, when I was handing my groceries to my robot henchmen to put, I thought... could the two of us... be friends?

I don't know if I can answer that. But as a scientist, it's my duty to unravel the secrets of the world wherever I can. So tonight... tonight I'm going to approach her. I'm going to speak to her. Maybe it'll start a conversation, maybe it'll start a fight.

But hopefully, it'll let her know that somebody hasn't forgotten her.


Rainbow Rocket Grunt
Account Disabled
Join Date
Nov 2, 2018
I read your first three stories and I liked them a lot! I loved the story with hunters, and would love to ser more about Takar and his kindness. And yeah, the first one was a bit obvious but that didn't stop me from enjoying it. Going to read the rest, but wanted to complement the ones I did read.


Veteran Ditz
Rainbow Rocket Grunt
Join Date
Nov 2, 2018
God your sense of humour is on POINT in some of these. I'm really receptive to deadpan/ ridiculous situation humour and the way you write it really translated well to me.

Personal favourite had to be "God I love Tacos" since I think I got more than a little freaked out when I heard her old code name, like actual chills. I mean the start to the story was kind of weak, but it caught me off guard at the end so well played.

I am furious at you implying their was coffee in the wizarding world!!!!! NEVER. Still liked it though. Unless it was magic coffee since I doubt normal coffee gives you the ability to shoot lightning bolts as if you went too far cosplaying Zeus. That MP thing though made it feel like it was more like a video game and you were going ahead to get someone to add to your party. Probably a weird observation

Overall I really liked all your stories! I hope to get to see more of what you've written


have they found the One Piece yet
Rainbow Rocket Grunt
Join Date
Nov 2, 2018
Whiterun, probably
Switch FC
Dragonite, usually
"Oh, you're talking about the ninja cosplayer, the super in-character fursuiter and the Dragonball Z fanboy, right?" Emily asked, her face lighting up. "Yeah, we saw them, right Steven? You remember when the fursuiter tried chew on your leg?"

"Yeah, yeah, I remember the thing that happened half an hour ago, Emily. I'm not blitzed." Steven replied flippantly, before leaning in close to Emily and growing a big, ****-eating grin. "Yet!"

Both fighters lit up with a loud and enthusiastic 'eyyyyyyyyyyy!!!!!' as they shot finger guns at each other and chest bumped. They shared a hearty laugh together that slowly died down into quiet, whimsical chuckling. "Yeeeeeaaaaah... we beat them."
This one especially made my day. Good job (๑•͈ᴗ•͈)b

The Griddler

Mermaid and Robot Enthusiast
Rainbow Rocket Grunt
Join Date
Mar 15, 2019
Ligma, NU
PuppeteerMask, MystletainnKick
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I didn't want to throw up a reply to everything until I had more writing to add. Now, I do! YEET

A Murder Mystery at the Mansion from the Killer's perspective.

"I'm sure you're all wondering why I've gathered you here." Reginald Blackthorn had always had an imperceptible talent for stating the obvious. He looked awfully pleased with himself, brushing his spruce moustache as he paced around the master bedroom. He had obviously rehearsed this little speech he was preparing. "I have called you here..." he intoned oh-so-dramatically, pausing for effect. "Because one of us... is a murderer."

There was a collective gasp around the room as thunder crashed outside. There was absolutely at least one "oh my heavens, no!", possibly multiple "oh my goodness"es. Duchess Cordelia Whitestone gasped and fainted straight away.

"Uh... yeah. No ****." I said, taking out a handkerchief from my tattered leather jacket to wipe the blood off my machete. "We all saw the corpse in the dining room, Reggie. And in the ballroom, and the kitchen, and the billiards room..."

"And that murderer!" Reginald interrupted me, nothing was gonna shut him up now. "Is in! This! Room!" Another thunderclap. How the hell was he doing that? Everyone was like, mad shook or whatever. Honestly when you sit through these things for long enough it all starts to bleed together. I just sorta checked out and started loading my gun.

By the time I started paying attention again Reginald was standing in front of the window. With the way the lightning lit up the sky behind him, he was an ominous, black silhouette. "And so, by means of deduction, I have concluded that the killer is-!"


The screams started right at the first shot, between the gunfire, the thunder and everyone's panic, my migraine was really starting to act up. "Oh noooooo." I made sure to wait for everyone to quiet down before speaking. "The killer must have killed him so he couldn't reveal his identityyyyy...." Slowly, very slowly, I brought the barrel of the gun to my lips and blew the smoke away.

I actually have it from very good sources that Reginald wasn't going to name the killer. He was going to say it was Mrs. Buttersworth, the elderly widow seeking to cover up her dealings with the Soviet Union during the sixties. I keep telling these people that Communism is just a red herring, but it never sinks in.

"Oh heavens, is he dead!?" Young miss Penelope Browngate - ever the font of insight, that one - wailed as she made a token effort to un-bury her head from Tank Greenfield's pecs.

"Yeah probably." I shrug as I toss the gun onto the floor. Nobody picks it up or inspects it. If they did they'd probably see my initials etched into the handle. "I'm not Dr. Bluestaff - y'know, cause he's dead too - but I think getting shot six times will do that to a man. Unless you're, like, 50 Cent or something."

"For god's sake, Mr. Redflag, a man has just died!" Mrs. Butterworth sighed in exasperation. "Show some respect!"

"Several men, actually." I took off my hockey mask so that I could give the old bag a hard look. "And several more if you, IIIIIIIII MEEEEEEEEAN, WEEEEEEE,don't find out who it is! So I suggest you quit *****ing and step it the **** up!" You gotta know how to talk to these people. To this day I still don't know how. God I wish I knew how.

"Well, I think we should split up and look for clues!" Tank Greenfield - that moron - spoke up with that stupid idea that's only been done a hundred times before. There was a chorus of agreement.

"Oh for ****'s sake," I pulled my mask back down and stormed out of the room. "I AM GOING TO GO OFF ON MY OWN NOW, WITH NOBODY TO ACCOUNT FOR MY ACTIONS IN THE NEAR TO DISTANT FUTURE!" I shout back.

Hundreds of times. Hundreds of times I have murdered these people. Hundreds of times I've watched them try and fail to figure out it was me. Hundreds of times I've been forced to repeat this night until one of them, any of them solves the 'mystery' of their death. I have been making it more and more obvious for them every night, but still, I keep killing them all. Whoever made this loop made it so that I can't just tell them I'm the killer... but at this rate, I feel like that's the only way I'll get the point across.

God, I just want to be free.

And now that I've gotten that out of my system, onto the replies!

@Mystical I'm very glad that you enjoyed the story with Takar, as it was particularly challenging for me and I worried a lot about being able to convey the kind of tension I was looking for. And then I found out about a month later that the main character of Far Cry Primal was a caveman hunter named Takar, OOPS. I don't know if he's a character I'll return to for the aforementioned reason and because I mostly do these things as drabbles and one-offs, but knowing that someone would like to hear more is encouraging.

@Moxie I agree with your assessment of the Taco story's opening, I do feel like I could have did it better, but I am extremely happy that you like the story so much because it's definitely one of my favourites and Dr. Young and her daughter are actually characters that I've used in writing with my wife, so they have a really important place in my heart as opposed to most of my other little one-offs. If I could, the coffee in the wizard story was meant to be a reference to Bioshock Infinite, where the characters use potions called "vigors" to give themselves magic powers, which are powered by "salts". The healing items used to refill your Salts were typically drinks or tobacco. The "going to pick up a party member" vibe was also a deliberate thing I was going for, since Detective Pendragon's magic was based on Final Fantasy rules (using spells like Esuna and Haste.) I liked the concept that the prompt brought up, so I tried to expand it to other forms of magic like the kinds found in videogames and anime.

@Dragonite Steven and Emily are loosely based on an amalgamation of me and all my friends in college, we were super into fighting games and that was the kind of rapport most of us had. So, I'm happy reading about those two bozos made your day, cause there's definitely some of me in there, lol