Not often I actually laugh out loud at Reddit.

This sounds like the most OP DnD character.

They say Immortality gets boring after the first couple of centuries. And yes, some things that he had enjoyed were now becoming stale. But as with everything before, when something wasn't interesting anymore, he started something new. Even if it was tedious or annoying, sooner or later, he would master a new skill and start to enjoy himself. It's what kept his life worth living, to learn new things. Selling beachfront property was more of a hobby to him now, than actual employment. If everything would have been so easy to come by as money for him, yes then life as an immortal could risk getting monotone and boring.

He cherished the interactions with the mortals around him. Even the most malicious of them looked like children to him, misguided and uneducated children that gave in to their temper tantrums way too often. Especially with his customers, he had to hide his knowing and well-meaning smile and remind himself that he was not talking to children trying their hardest to impersonate an adult. He was talking to adults. And still, he had to reign himself in, to not constantly spout unwanted fatherly advice.

When he granted himself off days from work, he enjoyed staying at his beach resort that bordered his private property where the houses he sold stood. The entire beach was his property, disguised through several companies and trusts. This was his retreat and the mortals that flocked here in large groups were his entertainment. He listened to their playful banter, their dramas, laughter, tears, and everything else. And usually, he also enjoyed their company for an evening or two. He had never gotten really attached to someone, and with the centuries going by, it had become less and less likely that he would get emotionally attached to anyone. They were children, after all, they lacked the emotional maturity that he felt he needed from someone he could bond with.

One early evening on the beach, however, things changed. He had organized a beach party that was scheduled to last the entire weekend. It was Friday evening, the sun had just set and the party was about to ramp up when he met her at the bar. She was shrouded in an atmosphere of mystery that emanated from her like a fine mist and she effortlessly drew in crowds of young horny men and women who wanted her for themselves. She mingled with the crowds and had hookups left and right but she remained with no one. Instead, she seemed to be determined to enjoy her time alone amidst hordes of strangers that treated her like a goddess. He saw her in many different groups, dancing, laughing, and enjoying herself. He could see her allure to the young ones around him, but what interested him, even more, was her aura.

When her eyes finally met his, from the other side of a sandy dance floor, the rest of the universe fell quiet. They shared a moment like this before she simply vanished. It couldn't have lasted for more than a second, but it had felt like an eternity. It had felt like magic. There had been something in the way she had looked at him. As if ... he tossed that thought aside. It couldn't be, in all his time he had never met someone like him. Someone immortal. And yet, her gaze made him question that thought. Just because he hasn't met anyone yet who was immortal like him doesn't mean that there is no one else immortal out there. There were just too many humans in this world, it was statistically impossible that he was the only one. And yet, he couldn't know and he couldn't ask her, since she left no trace.

It took him quite some time to get over this evening. In quiet lonely moments, he recalled that evening again and again. And he went over the question, again and again. He started to brainstorm ideas on how he could try to look for other immortals. But he never followed through with any of his ideas. Finally, after almost fifty years of contemplation, he accepted the fact that he would probably never know and that that evening must have been a fluke. In the end, he even cherished the heartache he had felt as something new. Although it took some self-convincing to see it that way.

He sat on the beach, a cold drink by his side, watching the waves roll in on a quiet off-season evening in the resort. Timid footsteps approached him from behind. He waited with patience that had taken him a century to cultivate until the person had settled in the sand beside him. None of them spoke and yet, there was a quiet understanding. It felt good as if it was meant to be this way.

"I shouldn't have run", she said with a somber tone in her voice.

"It just had never crossed my mind that there could be others like me. And I didn't want to get attached to someone on the off chance that they might be like me. So much time to learn and still, the first real unknown thing gets the old instincts firing like crazy."

She laughed.

"Well", he began, while a bright smile crept on his face, "What's fifty years anyway?"

They looked at each other for the first time since that first evening and shared the first of many deep laughs together.

i was thinking that, but for the dragon 😭 a lil donkey x dragon (from shrek) kind of thing aha

lmaoo i started smiling when they began threatening him 😭 poor guy has been through so much. loved this lol

Nice.

Is this taking Brendan Lee Mulligan’s Game Changer speech as inspiration? Cuz it’s almost exactly what he said.

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"You! Angel!"

Destiel took a break from her reading to look behind her. Standing behind the gate to Heaven was a man in grey and white robes. Destiel sighed as she said, "Yes, Cameron? Is something wrong?"

"There's nothing here!"

Destiel rolled her eyes. "Sir, I've been here far longer than you have, I think I'd notice if Heaven was empty--"

"You know what I mean!" Cameron held up a red apple as he continued, "Look at this, this is a wax fruit! The buildings here are flat cutouts, I can't even talk to anyone else, and the streets aren't even painted in gold! I dedicated my life to eradicating all that dared to defy the will of God, and this is my eternal reward?!"

"Okay, you're upset, I understand. But I have something here that you might want to see." Destiel pulled a scroll out of her pocket and opened it up facing Cameron. "Would you like to see how Sister Pariah's doing in Hell?"

A wicked grin spread across Cameron's face. "Oh, most certainly. Show me how that damnable nun suffers."

The scroll rippled and wavered as the parchment changed to display footage from the depths of Hell. The scroll showed off a very opulent home, with fine rugs and a bed that was like a throne for the god of dreams. Sitting atop the bed was a group of about twelve to thirteen demon women, with pointed tails and horns accessorizing their sinful figures. And buried under all of them was Sister Pariah, sleeping peacefully with a smile on her face and her habit hastily tossed to the side.

Destiel abruptly closed the scroll and remarked, "You'll recall that I said you might want to see it."

Cameron looked like he was on the verge of ripping his head off as he yelled, "What the hell was that?!"

"That, sir, is the grand truth of Heaven and Hell: it's not about faith, but intent. Why you do something will always outweigh what you do. Do you know why she called herself Sister Pariah? It's because the possibility she would go to Hell for defying you was ever present in the back of her head, but she pressed on regardless. In death, she had no regrets and accepted her fate--and so she earned her reward."

"WHAT?! That's not fair! Send me to Hell! Why should that heathen be rewarded for it and not me?!"

Destiel sighed and responded, "Oh, Cameron, that reaction is precisely why you'll never leave Heaven. Your life's work wasn't some noble crusade. It was a pathetic attempt at brute forcing your way into paradise, a spiritual intimidation campaign. One you have proven you'd abandon the fruits of the minute you didn't get what you wanted. So you got this: the facetious man's Heaven. Hope you can learn to enjoy the taste of wax."

Destiel then willed the clouds to bury the gate within them as Cameron screamed and banged on the gates to no avail.

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Good job.

In case anybody missed it or wasn’t familiar with the long-form pun…

>! Why was Six afraid of Seven? Because Seven Eight (“ate”) Nine. <!

This was written exclusively for math majors, some physicist, and a sect of dedicated computer scientists

REMARKABLE

I was genuinely expecting this to end with, "Actually, my wife's a yeti, and they don't cause transformations by biting, if you catch my drift..."

Buck's Pawn was the place you could find about anything. I mean, I usually went in once a month or so to see who had sold their dreams of rock stardom in exchange for rent money, food, or much more likely, meth. Saturday was a day that while trying to decide if I could part with my hard earned $200 and change for that undervalued Tama drum set, I heard something an isle over that totally changed my life.

"... I threw my back out and I have to sell these until my disability checks start." I could hear the sob story but not see the owner of the voice. It was a story I had heard on more than on visit to the store. Buck was a good businessman and a better human. So he generally figured out how to give more than fair prices on some items and still turn enough profit to support his family.

"I can give you this much for the lot of them. Maybe your back will get better, so I won't put them out for sale for 90 days. I know you're a hard worker and won't want to sit on your ass for long, so I'm only gonna charge you 8% for the vig." I heard the cash register open and Buck counting out some money. I waited until his customer exited the store before walking around to see him. It was often embarrassing for those who were selling their dreams just to survive.

"I'll be with you in a moment." Buck called out as he carried the tools to his back room. I turned around and pretended to be interested in the hand tools on the shelf behind me. That's when I saw it.

Right across at eye level was a hammer like I had seen the blacksmiths use at the county fair as they demonstrated a craft that had been long since taken over by the industrial revolution, or so I believed. The wooden handle was seasoned by the heat of years of use. There was a leather wrap around the lower third of the handle. I reached out before I even realized I was doing it, and picked it up. I began to study the head of the hammer. It had a slight mushroom shape at the end where you knew it had shaped tons of metal over it's lifetime. The wedge at the other side had a few nicks in it, but mostly it was just smooth. For some reason, holding this in my hand and studying it, I knew I was not buying a drum set today.

"Hey Buck, Do you really want..." I looked at the price tag taped to the bottom of the handle, "... $50 dollars for this thing?"

Buck reappeared from the back and was amazed to see me holding the hammer. "Why would you want an old blacksmith's hammer? I thought you were taking that drum set off my hands today?" The look on his face seemed to suggest he was actually worried more about what I would do with the hammer than him not offloading some drums in his inventory that had been there too long.

"I don't know, it kind of called out to me. It's old, right?"

"You have no idea. I didn't even want to take it from the guy who sold it to me. He kept insisting that I would find the next person who needed it to earn a living. Complained that people didn't make things any more and his craft was dying out." Buck studied me for a moment. "What would YOU do with it? If you are going to say anything dumb like mount it in a shadowbox and display it on the wall, I'll kick your ass right out of here."

I laughed a moment at that comment. Not that he couldn't kick my ass, but I did consider displaying the hammer. I didn't know why I wanted it, but now, it felt like maybe it, and I needed each other. "Hey, I just... Maybe this starts my new hobby. One that can make me a little money instead of annoying my parents with a drum set. Do you still have that portable forge?"

"Yes I do. It's in my warehouse. Too big for in here sometimes, so I leave it in the back. I tell you what. I will sell you the Hammer and the forge for $200 together. You don't know the beating I will be taking on this deal, but I want to see what you make with it, okay?"

I silently handed over the $200. Buck helped me load the portable forge in my car and even gave me the tongs and a small anvil that were part of the forge set. He told me I could try to use lump charcoal, but I would probably want to find a source for actual coal to get the heat I needed, or I could cheat and get a gas furnace source. Away I went.

"Now what?" I said to the hammer. Imagine my surprise when in my mind I heard an old voice respond.

"Now, you learn from the best."

> “Once people start thinking negative they'll try to find the root cause. Then it gets complicated."

I see what you did there, and I love it.

More please! :)

Turns into machine gun

Modern robotics can make a robot body that's indistinguishable from a human, but AI is still far, far, away from being believable.

The obvious solution: human brains in robot bodies.

That was great!

"I told you it wasn't me. It just wasn't. I blacked out. Then I woke up."

The detective's fly-lens eyecaps swiveled around to size up your expression through what must've been 40 different perception OS. Then he burst out laughing.

He only spoke after he got ahold of himself, incredulous at your gall to present such an outrageous story.

"Do you know how many times a day I hear those exact words? You might be good at punching up low-lifes on the street, but clearly nobody was hiring you for your storytelling ability. Now let me cut to the ch--"

"Sir? Mr. Callbrook sir?"

A small female technician scuttled up behind the many-eyed man and tapped him on the shoulder repeatedly, prompting a groan and an admittedly fascinating display of 80+ sensors simultaneously sliding back and forth, as of a sort of technologically-perverted eye roll. They mumbled a few sentences back and forth thar you couldn't decipher, before the detective slammed his arm down onto the control panel of the console at which they were gathered. The various screens displayed complex technological diagrams, and graphs which were steadily starting to peak all at the same time.

It was time to get a closer look.

The measly handcuffs weren't built to withstand even simple electromagnetism. The implants in your fists and forearms afforded you for a variety of offensive and utilitarian functions, not the least of which was the ability to crush just about anything between them like a tin can in a hydraulic press.

The detective and his technician only jumped back when they heard the loud CRAAAAK sound of the handcuffs being demolished. Before any pleas could be made, you were already taking their place at the console, casting them both aside with force that slammed them both against the back wall of the room.

The graphs and diagrams were of your own body. Your chip sockets to be precise. And there was something seriously wrong with one of them. Not only was the slot with the AI program's chip locked up and closed of, but the chip itself was shattered and fragmented within it's casing. Worse yet, some parts were still...

Active?

Remarkable. Regenerative. Abilities.

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