“P-Pardon me?” The question seemed out of place, and yet it was asked so nonchalantly that I couldn’t think it was a mistake. The lady walking in front of me was easily 70, maybe 80 years old, it felt wrong to call her out on it.

She turned as we stood in her living room, covered in all sorts of collection figures, all very clean and neatly displayed. A bit of amusement was drawn on her face. “Was this your first time visiting? Sorry, my memory is not what it used to be, but the question stands. How much “thyme” do you need?” She smirked at the word thyme, making her giggle in a rather innocent way.

This melted my heart, and at the same time made it ache for her. It worried me that she could be too old to be living on her own. I decided to play along and answer her question in a fitting manner.

“Oh, just a few days is enough, I could use those to help you meet the rest of the neighborhood and maybe mow your lawn…?” As the words drifted out of my mouth, the room felt different, everything was already still and yet it was like the air itself stopped moving. The lady looked at me a bit perplexed, the amusement replaced with confusion, and then joy, the kind of joy only a grandmother would show from seeing her grandchildren.

“You’d do that for me? Oh that sounds wonderful! No one has ever offered to help me when I gave them ‘thyme’.” Her excitement felt like a reward in and of itself, so I couldn’t bring myself to stop pretending. Maybe I wasn’t pretending? Either way, she seemed really thankful for my offer, so I propped my arm, and she held it graciously. “And how many neighbors are there? By the way, you don’t have to worry about the lawn, my children will be here tomorrow to help me with that. You can take those extra days you want all for yourself.” I almost forgot about it but after she held my arm, that stillness in the room faded, and everything somehow went back to normal. It was maybe something minuscule but it registered in my head as she and I walked out of her house, on that sunny afternoon.

Congrats u/ApocalypseOwl! I have some questions!

1. Do you have any tropes, wether reading or writing, that you are particularly drawn to?

2. What story from r/WritingPrompts are you most proud of/is your favorite?

3. How long have you been writing and what got you started?

I look forward to all your answers!

Is that a breaking bad reference? Lmao I love it

“It was surprising to say the least.” Doctor Emily said as she sat in front of the camera. She had long black hair that was peppered with white. “When we reached the stars we thought ‘maybe there was rules and that’s why they didn’t reach out.’ Hah, we were naive back then.” She sighed and patted her arm before continuing. “When we came. There was silence. Wars, plagues, famines, death was rampant. Like The end of history (note “the end of history” is the human colloquial term for the war to end history, the largest war on terra.) at a galactic level.” She stopped for a moment to think. “When I was first sent out. I was sent to Janus 13. The native species ,the Unvali as they like to be called, were quick to breed strong warriors. That made them expendable to people. But it also made them a threat. The Unvali were largely farmers on a class 8 planet. Work was hard and life was harder. But that’s besides the point now. I was sent to do surgeries to those who need them.” She stopped as she looked up. “Hundreds came the first day.. I saved maybe 30 that day.. so that day I swore to something. I would not stop working and teaching on that planet.. the Unvali are now a thriving race. Now..”

“You say that with regret. What happened.” And off screen interviewer asked, their voice disguised to hide their species.

“Maybe a year into doing that we had a number of outposts where doctors were helping people. There was around 20 species helping at that point. The Fal-axan did not like that. They were somehow profiting off the wars. So they-“ she stopped to wipe a tear away. “they bombed out outposts. We lost.. so many people. I somehow survived.. somehow..” stopping the camera rolls back, showing off the doctor’s robotic legs. “But even after that, I never gave up.” She said clenching her fist. “As it is, the Unvali make some of the best workers in the union. And it cause we were there.”

“Thank you for your time.”

“Cut.” The director said.

“Thank you. How many more are you asking for this?” Emily asked getting up.

“324 more. This is going to be about a Terran day long.”

“Wow.” Emily said shaking her head. “That’s gonna be something indeed. Now If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to begin the trip back to Nolla-0S2. My work is never done.”

Twist

Thank you!! Thanks for the great prompt as well :D

I don't exactly understand what's going on at the end there

A small town cop investigating a missing teenager stumbles upon evidence of a secret government program.

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Part 3 PLEASE

He cackled in delight as he threw Mary into her cell. “Now we wait for PolyChromatic Man to come save you, and, once he arrives…”

“Yes, we’ve done this before, Steven,” Mary cut in as she plopped down in her usual spot in the cell. “You have some big, bad and ‘unbeatable’ way to finally kill PCM, he’ll show up, and, after you give your villain soliloquy about how this is it for PCM, he’ll find a quick way to stop you, and we’ll all end up where we always do: you’re arrested but escape before the police can get you in the squad car, PCM is the top headline, and I’m at work trying to explain why I missed my shift again. Honestly, can we just not this time because my employer is super close to firing me over your abductions.”

“First of all, my name is Dr. Vile, and you will address me as such,” he yelled from across his twisted laboratory filled with dangerous weapons of destruction and mayhem.

She rolled her eyes and slouched down more in her chair. “It’s Steven. I know it’s Steven, and you know I know it’s Steven. I’ve known for years now, because we grew up together. For God’s sake, Steve, you and Doug were at my house last week to play boardgames.”

“That… we both agreed we wouldn’t talk about that when I’m at my day job,” Vile said as he glanced around to make sure none of his minions had heard her. “Besides, I have well earned my moniker, and you will respect it,” he demanded as he began the finishing touches on his machine to finally end PCM’s life.

“Earned it?” Mary actually guffawed. “How?!”

“How?” He stared down at her from his position in the room, incensed that she could even ask such a thing. “What do you mean ‘how’?! I’m the foremost villain in the world! The amount of death and destruction I’ve wrought is unparalleled. Whole countries have bowed to my whims over the years! I’m a…”

“An idiot,” Mary finished with a sigh. “Tell me this, Dr. Whatever. Why do you keep using me as bait for PCM?”

“You can’t be serious,” he replied, coming down from his platform to stand in front of her cell.

“You’re the perfect bait. What superhero would ever pass on saving their beloved girlfriend?”

“Look,” Mary sat up in her chair, shaking her head at him in disappointment, “I’m not his girlfriend, okay? So, if you’re looking for bait, could you not use me anymore because my job…”

“Don’t try to trick me, woman! It is clear you are, in fact, his love interest. The amount of time he spends with you is…”

“Not half as much as he spends with his ACTUAL love interest,” she cut back in, rolling her eyes and standing to walk around her cell. “You watch him so much; who does he actually spend most of his free time with? Hmm? It’s not ME; I can tell you that right now.”

Vile quietly thought it over for a moment, his mind running through the vast catalog of knowledge he had regarding the hero. “Well, outside of you, it’s me.”

She stopped pacing and turned to stare him down. “Do you know what polychromatic means?”

He balked. “Of course, I do; don’t be absurd. It means multicolored.”

“Right, multicolored, like a rainbow. You know,” she made giant hand gestures, “a rainbow? A rainbow, Steven, and,” she tapped the glass of her cell for emphasis, “has it ever occurred to you that my best friend, aka YOUR boyfriend, Doug, is the guy who spends the most time with me?”

“Well, of course he is. You’re not dating anyone right now, and you’re Doug’s best friend. Why wouldn’t you two spend a lot of time together when he’s not at work or with me?” Vile rolled his eyes at the obviousness of her observation.

“Yeah, right, EXACTLY.” Again, she shook her head at him. “And have you ever noticed anything about PCM that you find even remotely familiar?”

Again, Vile stood and really thought about. “Well, his mask hides his face pretty well, but I have noticed his eyes are the same color as Doug’s, and, now that I’m thinking about it, he’s Doug’s height as well. In fact, he walks a lot like Doug, and he sounds a lot like Doug. Actually,” Vile frowned in thought, “there’s a lot of similarities between Dough and PC… OH MY GOD, DOUG IS POLYCHROMATIC MAN.”

“He’s a 10, but he doesn’t know he’s married to his own arch nemesis,” Mary snarked. “So, can you two, you know, go to couples counseling or something? I’m serious. If you abduct me one more time, I’m going to lose my job, and then I’m coming for your head. I mean it, Steven.”

Absently, Vile nodded okay as he blindly reached for the door release to Mary’s cell just as PCM busted through an exterior wall. “You won’t get away with this, Dr. Vile,” he shouted as he looked for Mary.

Stepping calmly out of her cell, Mary held up a hand, “I’m good, Doug. In fact, I’m leaving. You two can do whatever.”

“Doug!” PCM blanched at his secret identity being revealed to his mortal enemy. “I don’t know who…”

“Shut up, Doug,” Vile called out as he turned to face the flying hero. Reaching up, he unclipped his mask and pulled it from his face, revealing his own secret identity. “Just… just sit down, and I’ll grab some coffee so we can talk,” he said with defeat lacing his voice.

The last thing Mary heard as she walked out of the room was Doug’s shocked voice bellowing though the laboratory, “STEVEN?!”

A man sat in the woods, face and chest enveloped by the orange glow of the flame before him, all other sides of him in darkness. Crickets roared and owls crooned from tall trees, creating a soothing environment for the man as he unzipped his maroon-soaked knapsack and pulled out a slab of raw deer meat.

Fresh. The man had just killed it himself. The iron scent induced a comforted sigh from him as he tossed the meat into the fire, listened to its cackle and went to his knees for prayer.

"May the gods bless me with go- better fortune. Despite all the misfortune which has befallen me, I still believe. May your spirit fill the void felt by my fami-" He stopped and turned.

"I would very much prefer my food unburnt. Did you know that Isley?" A voice said. A deep voice at that, its bass resonated through Isley's molars.

Isley knew something was off before the words even greeted him. Mid-prayer, the wood behind him had started to emit a pale blue glow so intense it painted the flame in front of him a lilac color.

He couldn't have known the sight waiting behind him, the presence of a semi-transparent pre-pubescent boy fitted in an oversized t-shirt and sneakers. His attire and stature suggested youth and innocence, yet his eyes and slight tilt of the head hinted at maturity.

"Isley?" He paused. "How do you know my name is Isley?"

"I would hope one of my devout believers wouldn't be foolish or a simpleton. Take it all in. Think about it, and the answer will come to you." The boy said. With a snap of his finger, the rosy flame behind Isley dismissed itself. He extended his hand with a smile and said. "Offerings are much better when they're personally delivered anyway."

Isley froze and considered running away. Thought better of it and reached for the deer meat sitting atop the ashes, much to the boy's dismay. "No, you fool!" Too late. Isley grabbed the deer flesh and understood the warning immediately.

A scorching pain shot through his arm as the child berated him.

"I can't believe you did that! It was a joke. I didn't believe you would grab meat straight from a fire! Are you stupid? Does that brain come with a warranty?" On and on he went.

Tears stained Isley's cheeks as he listened, and a smile crept on his face. "I'm s-so glad. My wife strongly believed in you, and you sound just like her. So I guess there truly is a bit of the gods in each of us."

Yet his smile lived shorter than his tears, dying young like all good things. He doubled over as images of his family haunted his memory. His deceased family. His extinguished family, whose deaths he accidentally caused. He wept.

Eyes narrow, the boy approached his trembling body, squatted, and placed a hand under Isley's left shoulder blade.

Panic shot through Isley's spine upon the cold touch. He felt violated, as if the touch had probed his very essence. Probed and seized all his secrets. Secrets he didn't know he had and strewn them around the public forum of his mind.

Would the god know?

Would it know that his own foolishness killed his family? He never mentioned that part in his prayers.

Would it know he wished he had been the one to die every day, not them? Despite his best attempts to seem grateful?

Would it know... would it know he secretly cursed the gods themselves? Spiteful at their very existence?

In truth, praying had long been a tradition for him. A habit he carried out mindlessly with little belief. His wife is the believer in the family, or rather she was. But, unlike him, she'd always been strong, reliable, and intelligent. So why was she the one to die from his mistake?

Though he didn't believe, the prayers were his only repentance.

The young boy removed his hand and flopped next to him on the Earth. His eyes searched Isley's as if double-checking a room stripped bare. Finally, he spoke.

"I would like to hear your prayer more intimately this time. Please share it with me."

I feel sad for her.

Just remember--evacuate the area, then give your location.

That twist got me lmao

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With the forge coming up to temperature, Jim started laying out his equipment, the small hammer at the end of the table. He paused as his eyes came to it, still unsure while being fully drawn to it.

"Well, it's not like they're going to win anyway," Jim muttered to himself, grabbing the hammer from the table.

In a week's time, the Quartermaster pulled through town, stopping by Jim's shop and calling him out. The soldiers were tired, their demeanor befitting of those, knowing their war would soon be over. Even the Quartermaster on his horse was clearly disheveled. The man, usually groomed and looking the part of a career soldier waiting for his next promotion, was dirty, unshaved, and even failed to discipline his troops when they dropped their packs without orders.

"Good morning, sir!" Jim chimed out, more cheerily than usual.

"And to you," the Quartermaster almost growled. "Just get it loaded in the wagon. We need to be off quickly. McClellan is planning and attack and we need all the help we can get."

Jim was surprised he was being told about Union plans, but what good is keeping secrets anymore anyway. He motioned to the soldiers to grab the bundles and help him load up the equipment. It took a few minutes, but eventually the cart was full and Jim walked up to the Quartermaster and handed him the ledger.

"500 sets of horseshoes, 100 sabers, and 300 bayonets, all accounted for. And sir, if I do say so myself, this may be my best work yet" Jim said dryly, knowing he was about to lose the next few hours as the soldiers counted and recounted their order.

"Very well, here's your payment," the Quartermaster said as he signed the ledger.

Jim was taken aback, almost not even realizing the caravan had already started to depart. He realized the situation must be even worse than he realized and ran to catch up once his stupor wore off.

"Sir! Did you not have another order for me?" Jim asked breathlessly as he caught up to the wagon.

"We won't need another order if we're all dead."

Jim stopped and watched on, muttering a silent prayer for the doomed men.

A month went by with no real news on the war until eventually a newspaper from the city came through town. Somewhere out East, the Union had won a hard fought victory near a town called Antietam. Apparently, this could be a major turning point in the war, but for Jim, nothing had changed.

Jim had returned to his normal duties, but this time everything seemed... easier. His work was just better, and it wasn't nearly as difficult. He was taking a break from his work as he saw a small band crest over the hill. He could only identify them by the time he realized they were heading directly for his workshop. He recognized the Quartermaster's unmistakable sideburns and was impressed by the extra stripe he wore on his sleeve.

"Good day, Jim! I hope you enjoyed your break, but I pray you are ready to get back to work," the Quartermaster said as a smile spread across his face.

"Of course, sir. I heard the news about the battle. Congratulations on the victory!"

"The thanks should be given to you! Your equipment made all the difference. I know it may seem arbitrary, but I ensured all the shoes and sabers went to a single cavalry regiment, the same for the bayonets. Our men claim their horses sped faster than ever, their blades cut through rifles and steel, and that every bayonet struck true. I wouldn't have believed it had I not read the reports. The men we outfitted with your equipment saw the last amount of casualties and were the most effective units on the field! Whatever you do, Mr. Jim, do not put away that hammer!

His words struck Jim to the core. Jim realized that there must be something he had missed that day at Rusty's shop. Something must have been said or implied, and Rusty must know about it. He hadn't been to the shop since that day and knew he had to talk to him right away.

"I'm sorry sir, I have an urgent matter to attend to. You can discuss the details with my assistant, and I will be back with you as soon as I can," Jim stammered out.

Jim could feel the eyes on him as he ran toward the town, but he couldn't care less as he was driven by a singular purpose. Breathlessly, he burst through the door and locked eyes with Rusty. He could see the initial burst of anger dissipate, and a sly smile came over Rusty's face.

"What can I do you for Jim?" Rusty asked as he leaned back in his chair.

"I'm keeping the hammer," Jim blurted out, realizing he hadn't planned on what else to say.

"I'm glad you like it."

"What do you know about it? You must know something?" Jim was almost hyperventilating at this point, the need to understand consuming him.

Rusty stares at Jim for a few moments, contemplating his next move. He seems to make a decision and walks up to Jim. Jim recoils but realizes that Rusty is putting his arm over his shoulder. Rusty motions to the back room, and they walk in together.

The room is extremely dark, save for one corner lit up by a small candle. Amidst the dancing shadows, Jim can make out what looks to be a decent sized forge and a small book placed on top. Rusty grabs the book and hands it to Jim, the pages filled with a language he had never seen. Jim looks awestruck through the pages and around the room and is pulled from his reverie once Rusty begins to speak.

"What do you know of Hephaestus?"

Pushing through the double doors, Jim pulls out the tattered handkerchief to wipe the sweat pouring through his brow. The shade of the dusty shop provides only meager respite as the heat of the noonday sun radiates the stale air. It's not the best shop in town by a long shot, hell, most of the citizens hardly call it a shop.

There have always been rumors about the owner, Rusty McTavish. He's the sort to keep away from, the kind of man who always seems to have an empty seat next to him at the saloon. No one has ever overtly accused him of a crime, but it always seems to happen that anytime a train or stagecoach is robbed, his shop is filled with new wares.

Jim knew all of this, of course. If it were up to him He'd be trading over at Haggarty's or even the General Store, but the war had put a stop to all of that. If it were normal times, Jim would be making a comfortable living shoeing horses, mending pots, and all the duties of the town Blacksmith. Now, the Union Quartermaster has him pumping out swords, bayonets, horseshoes, and all manner of equipment needed to supply an army on its last legs. They took his good steel and his bad steel, leaving him with old nails and fittings to cobble up what he could.

Of course, he gets paid, but only enough for Rusty's shop.

Most people who enter grab their items, pay, and leave quickly to avoid any conversation. Whether he was a braver man than most or just too tired, Jim just didn't care. Rusty was just a man, flesh and blood like everyone else.

"Mornin' Rusty," he said through the damp handkerchief.

"It's afternoon," came a low voice from the back of the shop.

"I suppose it is," said Jim as he peered through the window. "You have any tools come through lately? My hammers busted and I could use some new blocks and oil if you have it."

Rusty waved him over and walked toward the shelves on the back wall.

"Lucky for you, I've got a full stock of everything you could need, most of it brand new," he said, a slight grin on his face. Everyone knew a military convoy had been nearby a few days ago and stripped of their equipment, but these days no one seemed to care.

Jim walked over, unhappy about the prospect of spending more money, but there were orders to fill. Despite that, he was pleased with the available stock. At least he would be able to get back to his craft quickly. He had lost half the day already.

"I'll take these two, the can of oil over there and..." his voice trailed off.

Jim leaned down and rummaged through a pile of rusted and rotten equipment while Rusty looked on curiously. At the bottom of the pile, Jim pulled out a plain hammer. It was unassuming, not falling apart, but definitely old.

Jim couldn't wrap his mind around the thoughts in his head. The hammer reminded him of the first hammer his father had handed to him as he was learning the family trade. It wasn't completely that, though. There was something else about it. Something that made him want to work.

"... and this," Jim said, not taking his eyes from the hammer.

"Why in the hell would you want that?" Rusty asked, brow still furrowed inquisitively.

"Does that really matter? I can tell this has been sitting for a while. You should be happy I'm willing to take it off your hands," Jim spat out. He was surprised with himself at the tone of his voice. He had never been one quick to anger, but he could feel his blood rising at the thought of not going home with the hammer.

Rusty's expression changed from curiosity to amusement as he walked away from the wall back to the front of the store.

"I tell you what, you can have the hammer."

Jim looked up quickly at him, inhaling quickly as he could feel his excitement rising.

"There's a catch, though. I want you to make your next order with it, and if you don't like it, you have to give it back," Rusty said," almost as a challenge.

Jim wasn't very pleased with this outcome. Sure, he would get it for free, but there's no way this old, average hammer would be able to keep up with his rate of work. Despite his reservations, Jim agreed and quickly paid, eager to get home.

Edit: This is literally my first time to write for fun, so constructive criticism is appreciated!

Another normal night was in the works. Cooking over the campfire has been my nightly ritual since I started squatting in these woods three months ago. The people in the nearest village warned me not to come here; they say it's home to a trickster spirit, but I've never been superstitious so I paid their warnings no mind. I still can't decide if that was a good idea or not.

I stirred my chopped veggies as they sizzled in the cast iron skillet. Food is never scarce in a forest when you know what to look for. The smell of my impending meal reached my nostrils: sunchokes, wild onions, and fennel. I plucked the skillet from the fire and very tenderly scraped a bit out onto the glowing coals for whoever shares this forest with me, as has been my habit since the first week here. It seemed to calm the smoke, and more importantly, it usually made me feel less alone. It was then that I heard something that I hadn't heard in weeks: a voice.

"You know, I would very much prefer my food unburnt," it said from somewhere behind me, in an accent that belonged in a Shakspearian parody. Startled, I slung the food from my skillet and prepared to hit whoever approached.

"Well you didn't have to throw it on the ground,” muttered my uninvited guest, scrambling from the shadows to pick up my dinner and shovel it into his oddly gaping mouth. Though it had a human form, its skin was the color of ash and its eyes looked like glowing coals. As I moved forward, armed with a skillet, its scalp ignited into flowing hair made of flames. It cowered back as I screamed, its hair extinguishing with a sizzle.

“Who are you? WHAT are you?!” I bellowed into the empty night, certain that this one would be my last.

“I am the Fritz, and I’ve decided I like you. Put down the weapon, lest I decide I do not”.

Stepping backwards, I lowered the skillet. The Fritz continued eating, ignoring my presence and my frantically muttered questions. When it finished, it turned to me, its eyes no longer glowing but instead black as virgin coal. “I am the Fritz. I am the Fire and the Forests burnt long before this one sprouted. I have always been, and I always will be. And while I appreciate your offerings, I prefer my vegetables raw as they cook from my touch”.

This was no hallucination. As The Fritz approached, I could feel heat radiating from its body from yards away despite its small stature. It reached directly into my fire and grabbed a small, glowing chunk of log. Finally processing the creature’s request, I quickly ran to my modest, hand dug root cellar for some fresh sunchokes. When I returned, all that remained of it was a series of small, charred footprints in the grass and a large, raw, glowing diamond carefully placed in my skillet.

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My pleasure, and thank you for the compliment. Didn't know where to go when it started but I like the result.

Thank you, sir <3

I thought about writing one but with the ending (being that the Zybrex come back to take over earth but never shutting down the ORBYT program and gaining knowledge of all of these species) I wasn’t sure if I could go anywhere with it. I could do a dialogue with Jymnxis and make something out of that but I’m not sure yet. If I do make one I will post it soon though!

I'm usually just a silent reader. But dang man - this was exceptional! What an amazing piece of writing! Really hope you flesh this one out.. please?

I love how they are just focused on the s'mores. Me too man, me too