Hey, glad you enjoyed it. Feel free to message me if you ever want to chat about writing.

Whatever you wish to share 🙂

That sure escalated quickly!!

Hahah, landlord is SOL!!

Hmm... A tricky question to me, which will require me to ask for a clarification on. Whether you are asking for a character we have made on a writing we are working on privately or in this subreddit?

Oh wow that went in a direction I never anticipated! Nicely done.

"Put the knife down you fool, you are not willing to use it" I spoke in a tone as close to comfort as I could manage.

"You don't know that. You dont know what I'd do!" The girl responded, trembling hand still gripping the blade. Her words were produced like smoke, fickle and quickly fading.

Slowly I reached forward with a clawed hand, closing the gap between us until it was no more. She hesitated, but conceded, allowing me to take the knife.

"Of course I know that. Because I know you El." I paused to tuck the knife away, then continued. "You forget I can see your mind."

She grew suddenly quiet. Tears welled at the corners of her eyes and choked at her throat; a moment later little shiny streams were running down her cheeks. Years ago I would've froze at this very human gesture, but at this point in my guardianship I was more than prepared. I knew what she needed.

"Come here girl. We're ok." I held out my arms. She came forth and sobbed into me, darkening my coat with her tears. She cried and cried, shook until empty.

A guardian demon. Who thought of such a foolish thing? A relationship, a real relationship, between infernal and man. It was unholy at best, sacrilegious at worst. But I had a job to do, regardless of the terms that would be used to describe our binding.

Those some three years ago when I got the call I knew it to be trouble. Micheal never called unless it was. And old friend, yes, but a friend all too good at understanding my vices.

"Leonard, I know it's been a while but" is what he'd said, how he'd started me on this path.

"No. Whatever it is Lucifer's no." I replied

"You didn't even hear me out, old friend. Can a demon and angel not get in one simple conversation? I've missed you."

"Though I cannot say the same friend. I know your games all too well. They call us the masters of deceit, yet here you call claiming to wish me a nice day yet your voice reeks of desperation-" I felt my anger growing, but was cut short by his reply.

"She's my daughter, Leonard. Not god daughter, my blood daughter. It will be three, four years at best. I just need you to watch her, you don't even have to interfere!"

There was not much to say after, only to agree to his ridiculous pact. In return he said I'd have clearance to the earth for as long as I'd watch, though I did not care much for the promise of roaming a worthless rock.

But now, now holding El in my arms, sensing her trust in me, I could not help but to feel this was the only decision to be made. I did not care if Micheal returned for her. Hells, I think I may have even preferred if he didn't. Because someone, someone needed me, and now I think I needed them too.

And the honest truth is, she would have used that knife too. She would have killed the things that wronged her, then buried her shame in a lifetime of sadness.

I was the only thing telling her not to.

You've commented 5 times.

Wow. This is exceptional. Thank you for sharing your talent with me, and everyone else who read.

Me too!

Consider the chicken farmer. He hatches the chicks, raises them into hens, breeds them with the right rooster, then expands his farm with each generation. Ten birds turn into a hundred, then a thousand, then so many chickens that the farmer loses count. Each day the farmer rises, feeds the chickens, and selects a few dozen for slaughter; he plucks them, cleans the meat, then takes them to market. His routine changes little, but it is a pleasant one; the farmer likes regularity, and the feeling of a job well done.

Then, one morning, the farmer exits his farmhouse to find that the chickens have discovered nuclear weapons. One of the hens flies a passenger jet over the wrong henhouse’s airspace and the rooster in charge shoots it down with a surface-to-air missile. An alliance of henhouses launches a retaliatory strike on a military base in Chickistan, and within a few hours the chickens are launching thermonuclear warheads at each other, annihilating almost the entire farm and massacring all but a handful of chickens. They have ruined years of the farmer’s careful efforts to grow his chicken farm, and now he has to start all over with a tiny clutch of surviving chickens in South America whom the fallout did not poison and who managed to survive the famine that killed almost every other chicken.

I don’t eat souls, so the analogy begins to break down here, but just as the farmer depends on his chickens for food, I depend on the human race for my own existence. I could explain more, but you wouldn’t get it—which is why I ordinarily make up some fable about what I actually do with the souls on the rare occasion I talk to humans. I think there’s a bit of a humorous irony in you people killing each other over what happens to you after you kill each other.

By the way, if you find that sadistic, it’s only because you think your suffering matters more than it really does. Your soul is immortal, and eventually you’ll think of it as a hilarious prank. Starting a holy war is like putting a chicken on an inner tube then pushing it into the middle of a pool. It’s funny. It doesn’t really hurt the chicken. I just want to see what it does.

But I don’t get to mess around with my chickens when I’m too busy keeping them alive. Humans will inbreed themselves out of existence if I let the population drop below a few hundred, and even that number is playing with fire. It helps that most have regressed to hunter-gatherers, since those societies have longer lifespans than agricultural ones, but the human race is only a couple of bad days away from extinction.

Did you know that after a nuclear exchange, there is a massive infestation of insects? They feed on the corpses of people and animals that die from radiation poisoning, and they spread unimaginable amounts of disease. I’ve killed trillions of these things trying to keep them away from my colonies. Flies, wasps, hornets, beetles, and especially ants. Trillions and trillions of ants. They cover the rubble in Europe like a carpet: each corpse can feed a colony for weeks. Not only have I had to keep them all away from my chickens, I even eradicated mosquitos, which had taken me millions of years to perfect. They’re just too good at killing people, and that’s the last thing I want right now.

I’m not omnipotent. I can’t control the weather. I can’t bring down bread from heaven or part the seas. My only leverage on the physical world is death. Ironically, people have started worshipping me as a life-giving deity for eliminating the creatures they don’t like, which will make for some very entertaining wars once they re-evolve into settled societies and start fighting crusades again. But for now, I have to kill the jaguars that try to ambush them in the jungle, smite the poisonous snakes before they can strike, and make sure no fighting breaks out.

That’s actually the easy part. Take Colony 11, in Argentina, who had a leader named Pablo who thought it was a good idea to make war on Colony 13. I set him on fire the second he finished his speech, and just like that, Colony 11 turned into inveterate pacifists. Their priestess, who used to be in PETA, went a little too far and started preaching it was a sin to kill animals, but those things are full of valuable calories, and the 11s needed all the calories they could get. So I set her on fire as well. Now the 11s are doing fantastic: they’re one of my best colonies, and all it took was a little bit of spontaneous combustion.

But most of the problems I’m facing right now are not so simple. I need some help, and since you people couldn’t keep your dirty little fingers off your nuclear buttons, you are going to be the ones to help me clean up the mess you created. None of you are going anywhere until I have a stable population of at least five hundred thousand for five straight millennia. You’re going to do whatever I tell you, whenever I tell you, because you really have no other choice. When the last human dies, I stop existing shortly afterwards, and any souls I fail to deliver—to wherever I deliver souls—are stuck here forever. That will include you. You will stay here until the heat-death of the universe, orbiting the burnt-out husk of the sun with your little murder buddies until you wish I had eaten your souls.

If you people feel bad about wiping out nearly the entire human race, and you want to undo your mistakes, this is your chance to atone for your sins. If you want to help me, I’ll send you to haunt one of my colonies and gather the information I need to keep your species alive. You’ll tell me what they need, how I can protect them, and who needs to be smitten to keep the civilization alive. I suspect you did not become presidents, premiers, and generals without a certain skill for logistics and an understanding of human needs, so I imagine you’ll be rather good at it. If you are, then after five thousand years, I let you go.

I’m not going to tell you what happens afterwards. Maybe there’s a God, and I can put in a good word for you. Maybe God just eats your souls, and I really am just a chicken farmer. I won’t tell you. You’re never going to know what happens, or if you’re going to heaven or hell. But the one thing you will know—and know with certainty—is that I can make a hell for you if you finish what you started and the human race goes extinct.

Are there any questions?

Glad you liked it

this is actually really good and an interesting read

Neil Gaiman! Are you trying to crowdsource Good Omens sequel?! :-D

A lot of my prompt ideas came from dreams where I accidently built a story around them like the latest one I suggested about the sweets shop

I write a prompt with an idea in mind for my own and I hope to see others interpretations unfortunately my posts never really pick up slack other than the prompt me post I did a while ago which was fun

I only really feel comfortable posting my own when I see others interacting with the prompt and if no one does is it even a decent prompt? So why try even if I have this idea stuck in my head 😓

I feel like this would make for a good one of those macho-dude-turned-babysitter movies.

Kevin Nash is

"The Guardian"

I was wondering why the story of a blue dragon sounded so familar, you're the fellow who came up with blue dragon heading down the mount.

Wonderfull to see you again, though I suppose you don't remember me

You're process behind prompt creation is interesting.

Good to know that that story is going well, good day!

Thank you!

I hope some day you can get to hate reading about him as much as I hate writing him! 🤣

That just means you made a great villain!

Oh he even have to wind it up. That’s pretty cool

You've envisioned it exactly right. The first time we see Antoine, he's at the counter of his bistro, winding up his mechanical arm for the day

Captain Troy Bauer

He has been assigned to investigate the MC, First Lieutenant Cassidy McClane, for making sex videos with her husband. His report to the battalion commander will weigh heavily on whether or not 1LT McClane will be brought to a court martial for Conduct Unbecoming an Officer and Conduct Prejudicial to Good Order and Discipline.

During his interview with her, he keeps asking her questions like, "Have you ever done this with anyone else?" and "Do you and your husband ever bring home additional partners?"

When he asks her if she denies it's her in the videos, she admits it's her and he makes a "joke" about how hard it would be for her to deny a very intimately located tattoo. Something he would only know if he had been watching the videos of her and her husband.

He concludes the interview by suggesting to her that if she thinks of anything she can do to make his report more favorable, she should reach out to him.

Never have I written a character that made me feel like I needed a shower so badly. 🤢 I f*cking hate this guy.

What's a clockwork replacement arm? I'm picturing a mechanical arm with gears like in a clock!

It's been a while since I created a genuinely new character. The last one was probably Antoine, who was created for a four-part SEUS serial in July. He was in the airship airforce until an unspecified accident took an arm and injured his torso. After getting a clockwork replacement arm, he invested the remaining money from his honorable discharge to buy a small bistro in New Marseilles, a fictional city in steampunk Quebec.

Beyond a few standards, he tries to have the menu of his bistro rotate often. Sometimes he focuses on local cuisine to attract locals, while other times he makes meals from around the empire, to try to bring in new customers by appealing to imperial sentimentality. This is especially useful at attracting personnel from the large airship base in New Marseilles, many of whom have had these dishes while their ships were deployed across the empire.