> You don't target civilians unless you're a villain. And I'm allowed to kill any villain who enters MY city without permission. No one's gonna miss you

That's such a banger quote, I love it

[removed]

The men sat down on the flight. They were handsome, these two men, in a bland way. A way that a certain type of woman would like... a certain type of TV-watching woman. But is that irrelevant, or a sign of strange things to come? No matter. They yawned tiredly. It was, after all, a red eye flight. Normally the men would fly at a more reasonable time. But this was no reasonable night. It was Christmas Eve, but there would be no jingle bells tonight as both men had suffered a Christmas tragedy. The same tragedy. Marriage is for life, they had thought, but in truth that's not so for all, or in fact at times marriage never even begins, as it was not their wives they had been dumped by, but their fiancees. Could what was once so sweet turn so sour? Yes, so it could, and did. But is fate so cruel? Perhaps a hand stronger than fate was guiding these men. Yes, it was so odd, so perfect in a way, that it could only have come from the hand of a TV writer. A Hallmark TV writer? The very same. Yes, these men were not real men at all. They were characters. Characters in Hallmark films.

I could feel the Warlock’s chains wrap harshly against my wrists as I had finished. The scene was bloody and gory and I could practically feel myself slipping. It felt as if I was an outsider looking in but feeling all the sensations around me. I could hear shouting mixed with gentle speech, but I couldn’t make out what was being said. It had been one of the things that made me useless; my ears couldn’t pick up any sound too well unless they were 3 feet away from me. I couldn’t even focus enough to try and make out what was being said but I could feel the chains shift and scratch as I struggled against them. Why was I struggling?

“Now, now, my friend, be at ease.” I could finally hear our bard say as he went over and looked at me, his eyes filled with sorrow and sympathy. “You’ve lost who you are. But we won’t stop until trying to help until you do, okay? Venessa knows your still in there, so do I.”

I couldn’t even make out what I had said in the state I was in, but it seemed to be a question. Why? Why keep me around? Why not get rid of me? What do you and our Paladin, Venessa, see? And, as if reading what I wanted to say, our bard simply smiled softly.

“We see a friend.”

I froze upon hearing the words. A friend…? I could feel something warm rolling down my cheeks and my eyes suddenly caught a burning sensation, blurring before unblurring. I couldn’t understand what was happening until Venessa walked over and cupped my cheek with a solemn smile.

“And those who have fully lost humanity do not cry such human tears,” She spoke, her voice soft and gentle as if trying to soothe me until I noticed her glance behind me and sighed softly. “But, I’m sorry. We have to put you to sleep now.”

“But we will wake you in our next stop!” The bard exclaimed cheerfully as he began to strum a clam tune on his lyre, and moments later, my eyelids drew heavy before I felt myself slump forward as drowsiness overcame me and put me to slumber.

No

House of Change by Daniel O'Brian.

Miranda liked the title, and that was the extend of it. The story itself was lackluster, fantasy aficionados wouldn't find much novelty, those looking to be afraid would miss the shiver down their spines.

That was for the literary criticism. Daniel was also her boyfriend, and he managed to become a published author, which in itself was a feat far beyond her personal appreciation of his book.

This, and more, she thought as she picked up the book to buy it from the store. The pile was rather low, she wasn't the first to buy, despite Daniel having no real reputation as writer to speak of.

"If I may, tell your boyfriend I adore his work," said the clerk, a young, somewhat sheepish looking man.

"Of course," she replied.

A few steps from the exit, she turned back and added, "how do you know my boyfriend wrote it?"

"I'm friends with him."

Odd. Daniel had never told her about him. Nor did she like the glint in his eyes. She left the store, forgetting the strange encounter once outside.

How long had it been since last time she sat on a bench to read a book? She couldn't remember. She decided to celebrate by rekindling this old habit. She found a lone bench in a park, sat down, well protected from the cold in her heavy coat. She smelled the book, just like new, and opened the first page.

She turned page after page. And didn't remember a thing.

Yet she had read several drafts, had encouraged Daniel to go for a bolder opening, had an idea of the general themes. So where was the story about adventure and polymorphism? Where were the sentences and style she knew to dislike?

Instead, the words flew in an alien way, she felt them worm their way under her eyes, and when she closed the book to gaze at the sky above, she still sensed how the words burrowed through her.

It was unpleasant, and incomprehensible. There was no story, she wasn't sure what she had read, only that it had an impact on her.

Passerby nodded at her, with a smile she could only describe as perfectly fake.

"Wonderful book, is it not?" said an elder woman walking with a crutch. In her bag, a copy from House of Change.

For a moment, all motion stopped in the park. Walkers and runners stood in place, gazing straight at Miranda, sporting the exact same wrong smile, carrying their copy of Daniel's book.

She rubbed her eyes. When she opened them again, movement had resumed, as if nothing had happened.

She was sick, had to be.

Against her better judgement, she opened the book again.

The words slipped down her spine, tickled her ribs, swelled her heart. The words played in her flesh like a mad spark ready to create chaos, and through the chaos, make her anew.

A gasp, someone stripped the book from her hands. She had stopped breathing, nearly passed out.

"Don't read too much into it," said the voice of the man who had taken the book.

She looked up.

"Daniel?"

No noise, no motion. They were all looking at them, without a smile, but with that glint in their eyes.

"What is this?" she asked with a trembling voice.

"It isn't a story," Daniel explained, "it's more of a guide. As a human you are both sculptor and sculpture, but I never liked the rudimentary ways we have to practice our art. So I devised... new methods."

Miranda would have told him to knock it off already. But the words still squirmed underneath her skin, eager to break free.

A young boy approached them. As he walked, his shadow distended, the audible crack of breaking bone was heard. His legs got longer with each step, muscles tearing to accommodate the new architecture, spine creaking, pulling on the nerves.

"Oh god," she whispered, as the looming child's frame hid the sun from her.

She passed out.

When she awoke, she was in bed.

What a nightmare it had been. What pleasure it was to wake up under a warm blanket, secure and cozy.

Miranda rubbed her eyes, gasped when she saw House of Change on the nightstand.

With a trembling hand, she reached for the book.

"Not you," said Daniel as he put his own hand on the book to keep it closed.

"Why not?"

"I don't want you to change."

Miranda shook her head, was about to scream, kept it in through sheer willpower.

"Enough. It's a bad joke. I'm just sick, that's all."

"You're not sick."

"I said enough," it was both an order and a plea.

Daniel sighed, and rose. She heard the already familiar crack, saw the bone splinters poke through the flesh and clothes, dragged the blanket to her as a feeble attempt to protect herself as a new set of bloody, spidery limbs protruded from Daniel's torn back.

There he stood, still, smiling, bloody, and bloodily happy.

Out of wits, Miranda asked:

"Why don't you want me to change?"

"Few things are precious enough to be kept as they are. You are one of them."

Daniel left the room with his book.

This is a writing focused subReddit. The assumption is that people want to improve their writing.

If it was not useful to you, that's fine. Other writers may appreciate the tip, and still others may disagree.

All advice is offered without warranty and without obligation. Ignore it with my blessing.

I mean, you know how people don't see when thrir crush has a crush on them? Maybe they also don't see when their crush is trying to kill them on a regular basis?

A major issue with using King James badly is that it is using King James badly.

There is no internal logic to do so...no reason that an immortal being would use language like that poorly or ironically. When Deadpool does it, it's funny, because you know he knows they know he knows.

[Author's Note: I'd have happily played along with this as if I WERE Jaques, but I already did an 'edit' where I worked things out with my spouse, so...]

Really? One of my own did that? Jaques... if I knew who he was, I'd so go over and beat him up on your behalf! That sounds so abusive! I'm so sorry you went through that!

As I said in my edit, I had talked it out with my fiancé, I'm not a manipulative bastard. I truly and genuinely love her. I want what's best for her, and we'll do what we can to make the marriage work.

What really disgusts me is how tradition was used to keep you 'in line'. That's genuinely messed up. The reason I brought up tradition at all is, in my family, tradition is sacred, but I'd NEVER use it to CONTROL someone. I hope you find someone better, and please don't hate all our kind over one moronic psychopath.

Wish you luck!

At the bar in Eppley Airfield, Ash pulled up the Wainwright file on his iPad to go over it one more time. He’d been working on this takeover bid for months. Every i was dotted, every t was crossed. All that was left to do was to change the date back to where he’d originally set it: December 25th. Then he emailed it to his assistant. “Change of plans. Let’s ruin Christmas after all.”

“Ouch.”

At first Ash worried the man sitting down next to him had read over his shoulder, but he was gesturing at the bartop, where Ash had been absent-mindedly spinning Briana’s engagement ring.

“She said no? On Christmas eve? I’m sorry, man.”

“Probably for the best,” Ash said. He spun the ring again. “At least I don’t need to wear the matching pajamas with her family tomorrow morning.”

“I hear you,” the other man said. He gestured to the bartender, pointing to Ash’s scotch and holding up two fingers, and then slapped his hand down on the bartop like he was laying down a winning poker hand. Under it was another engagement ring. “It still hurts, though.”

Ash made a sympathetic wince. “What are the odds?”

“When your good-hearted girlfriend decides she misses her tiny hometown right before Christmas? I’d say the odds are pretty high.”

“The city isn’t for everyone,” Ash raised his glass.

“You get it,” the other man clinked his tumbler against Ash’s and took a long drink. “Anyway, you know what they say. They travel the fastest-”

“-who travel alone,” Ash finished the quote. “Kipling. A man of taste, I see.”

“Wealth and taste,” his new friend smirked. “Lucas Wainwright,” he offered his hand.

Ash took it. “Not the Wainwright Group?”

Lucas’s grip was tight. “The very same.”

“Ashton Jones,” he introduced himself. “I’m at Cerebellum Capital.”

He watched recognition dawn on Lucas’s face. “No shit?”

“No shit,” Ash lifted his glass again in a salute. “I think we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other.”

“Let’s see, your investors don’t have the stomach for what it’s going to take, your reputation is already in the gutter, and oh yeah, we’re fighting to save the insurance company my grandad built from nothing. You’re going to lose, my man,” Lucas clapped him too hard on the shoulder, but his arm stayed there when he was done. “But until then,” he added. “I wouldn’t mind it.”

This was perfection.

Took me to my youth, to the battles and wars fought at home and "abroad" (playgrounds and parks)...

"Linda? Linda? Liiiinda?"

Linda pulled her bifocals down just enough to pinch the bridge of her nose. She knew that warbling, tittering call. It was her neighbor, Mrs. Briggleham. Judging by the strength of the call and the movement of its tone as it closed in, Linda surmised that the old woman was approaching from the front door.

"Linda, dear, are you in?" Three knocks on the old wood, "Linda?"

"In the kitchen!"

There was a huff, and a shamble, and the sound not unlike a distant bellows working a furnace, then Mrs. Briggleham waddled in the back door. She squeezed through, panting and holding a hand to her chest. It was exactly sixty-one steps from her house to Linda's. The journey winded her each time.

"I have news!" The old woman trumpeted.

For all her feelings about her neighbor, Linda appreciated the visits. Nothing ever happened anymore. Nothing except more doctors and more medications. The kids didn't call, the husband was dead, and she was allergic to everything but the cleanest of goldfish. Life had petered out for her.

She closed her crossword, "Grab us a drink then tell us all about it."

Mrs. Briggleham nodded and waddled over to the cabinet. She knew where to find the bottle, the cups, and the corkscrew. She thumped them down on the red, plastic tablecloth, then collapsed into the chair opposite Linda.

"It's about Old Frank Curman."

Linda pulled a face, "Then I doubt I want to hear it."

"No, no, my girl. Listen, listen." Mrs. Briggleham performed the cork-popping ritual with practiced ease, "You remember how he sent all them angry letters to the nice couple down the lane? All because they had one of those yippy dogs?"

"Of course I remember." Linda took the bottle and poured for both of them, "Frank Curman is a bitter, nasty, stupid old bully. He was after me last year over my sunflowers. Kept screamin' about how they were 'too tall' and 'unsightly.' What sense is there in that? Flowers being unsightly? They're flowers, fer christsake! Ridiculous."

Mrs. Briggleham smiled over her cup, sipped and said, "Oh, and don't forget the whole affair with the parked car. You remember? The- Oh, what was their name? Family with the beanpole teens?"

"The Hadleys."

"Right, right. The one son saved for months to buy that car, then has the misfortune of parking it in front of Frank's house. Old turtle had the thing towed! No warning!"

"Heard the impound fine cost more than then the whole car," Linda said.

"Bastard."

They drank.

"Right bastard." Linda nodded, trying to remember where the conversation had started from, "You said you had news?"

"Oh, yes. I did. Frank passed last Sunday: heart attack."

"Well!" Linda stared down at her glass, shook her head and announced, "I think that deserves a better bottle! Fetch the champagne, dear. I'll break out the good crystal."

That's Victorian Flower Language to you! (I guess)

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Not a fate power, but Larry Niven's Ringworld series has a character who is the result of a genetic breeding program to create luck, and she is in fact extremely lucky. Unfortunately, what's lucky for her isn't always what's lucky for the people around her...

Can't detail why, but "But justice isn't fast." made me giddy.

And +1 for the Fuck You Bouquet. XD

Oooh...

now what?

"Oh they've done it this time," I clench my fist in anger.

Ever since that night, I've never liked those who act as if they're so self-righteous, but I never really cared for this whole system up until today. It's all over the news, the almighty hero, Grandis, raided a suspected corrupt business.

"There has always been something suspicious about this business, sadly, I didn't get to meet the boss," Grandis said on the news. With that, I left the scene.

I barge into the supervillain headquarters and fill up my gears. Never having trained in the magic sector, I'm well-versed when it comes to physical fights.

"Never thought these nullifiers would come in use," I mumble to myself as I load them in.

Before leaving, I went to the archive and pull out a map under the sector "Grandis." It's a map of his whole headquarter. I take a picture of it and upload it into my watch.

"Ey, where are ya goin Dolofonos?" a fellow colleague asks as I head out.

"Grandis's headquarters," I answer shortly before leaving. I heard that same colleague trying to stop me, but by that point, the door was already closed and I have gone into the shadows.

I never take myself seriously and will mess up on purpose, but this time, I don't have any room to be my usual playful self that messes up in missions.

​

Slipping into the headquarters, I take out a janitor and change into his uniform. I scan his face with my watch and replace mine with his, that way, no one will suspect me. I push the now out-of-it janitor's tools and act natural, it will only be a matter of time until someone finds his body or until he wakes up, until then I need to create chaos.

Suddenly, everything becomes a big commotion and staffs gets busy...ah yes, it should be about time when Grandis walks into the headquarters. I quickly bring myself upstairs and using the janitor's card I made through most of the security. Once I've gotten far enough, I abandon the tools and change back into my assassin uniform. While all of this happen, a commotion suddenly erupted in the floor below.

"Geez," I roll my eyes, putting up my mask. I look into the hallway, which is the one that can get me into Grandis's office. Just as I thought, CCTVs and motion detectors, but I don't see any traps surprisingly.

"Quite the confident hero," I tell myself as I shoot a bug into the CCTVs, causing it to malfunction long enough for me to get through.

Hacking my way through the door isn't all that difficult and once it's opened, I made my presence known.

"Well hello there," I say nonchalantly, playing around with my hand gun.

I saw one of the staff try to call the emergency button but I shot at his hand, causing him to move his hand back. I saw another one reaching for a gun then proceed to point it at me. I look at her with and shot her using a non-lethal bullet twice on the shoulder and on the head, causing her to pass out.

Then one by one, the staffs gather their weapons and point them at me.

"I was going to ask you all to just leave, but it seems like you decide to do this the hard way."

​

"Grandis, you have another patrol in three hours but until then, please rest up in your office," the manager say as she looks at her tablet.

"Got it, I'll see you later then," Grandis waves goodbye to his manager. "These damned supervillains, causing so much trouble for heroes, bah."

Opening his office's door, he sees an unwelcomed guest.

"Why hello there, I don't remember inviting a supervillain into my office," Grandis nonchalantly says, "nor do I remember my staffs all passed out when I left."

By that point, I have finished knocking out his staffs. Normally, they would be killed but I don't have a grudge against them, it's Grandis.

"Well perhaps you should've attach more security to avoid getting uninvited guests," I twirl my dagger around, not even giving Grandis a glance.

After a short period of it, I end up looking at him, who by the way is glaring at me. I sigh and slid my dagger back into it's socket.

"Okay, I get it, you want to know why I'm here, yes?" I give him a cold look, "Long story short, you decided to raid my business and injure my innocent employees. I may be a villain, but I care about them."

"Aha! So you admit that the business is indeed corrupted," Grandis points out.

"Just because a supervillain owns it, doesn't mean it's corrupted," I sigh, "you heroes are so annoying sometimes."

Grandis hears just about enough and tries to power up, but at that moment, I raise my tranquilizer at him and shoots a nullifier, hitting him at the right spot. With that, his magic dies down.

"Wh- what...." Grandis looks at his hands confused of what just happened. I take this chance and leap across the room to smack him in the face and kick him down.

Now Grandis might be quite dependent on his magic, but he's still physically strong. Easily throwing me off, he charges at me. Although....his big and muscular body does make it easy for me to predict his movement which allows me to easily tackle him to the ground.

"You're powerless against me, Grandis," I mock him, "you're too dependent on magic that when it's taken away from you, you become pathetic."

That enrages Grandis and he gets back up to try and push me to the ground. I got out of the way and pull the trigger, causing live-ammo to pass right through his right thigh. I then proceed to pin him down and inject a paralyzer.

"I hope this becomes a lesson you'll remember Grandis," I lean down to whisper to him, "don't fuck around other people's business without launching a proper investigation."

"If you mess with my employees or colleagues, you mess with me. Remember that."

YTA, but so is she.

See, this is something you two should have discussed before getting engaged. By expecting her to just go along with your traditions without objection, instead of discussing it with her, you are officially the asshole. Open conversation is what makes relationships of all kinds work. Expectations only lead to disappointment and conflict, neither of what you want in a marriage.

At the same time, however, she's the asshole for disregarding your traditions. It is clear she failed to read your book, which should have been obvious is important to you. After all, it's a book about your culture and traditions. If she was serious about the relationship, she would have at a minimum read the book. She then should have brought up her questions and concerns so you two could have a serious discussion about what you two are seeking from this union and how to best please each other. Compromise is how to make marriages work.

In my honest opinion, this sounds more like a marriage of lust rather than love. Should you go through with the marriage as is, I would be surprised if it lasted more than a couple years. My advice is to sit down with her and have a long and serious discussion to work things out. Should you two come to an agreement and go through with the wedding, then may I have an invitation? I'd love to be there to... erm, witness the special occasion. Thanks, and I wish you both the best!

Sincerely,

Blade

r/openRPs might like this too

A friend of mine just sent me this and asked me if it's about me, and sure seems like it.

Jaques T., is this you? I can't believe you would try and get validation from the internet of all things, do you realize how pathetic this all is?

I talked to your ex-spouses. All three of them. That I didn't even knew EXISTED until YESTERDAY! They told me everything about your little secrets, every bit of it, and you can bet your ass it's all over between us.

To the curious people here on reddit, what happened is this fanged fuck-up has been using "tradition" as a convenient way to keep brides tied up with him, isolating and gaslighting them, all the while fucking around as he wanted.

And because the Vampire Divorce Court was ridiculously slow and antiquated, they couldn't get divorced easily, but that changed recently. Thank god your ex-spouses are much better people than you could ever hope to be, and they are helping me out.

I feel like an idiot to have wasted all this time with you, but 4 years is nothing compared to what could have been. Thinking back, the love-bombing was obvious. And the controling attitude, and everything else... I'm just realizing just how toxic this whole relationship was. The age difference was just the cherry on top (he's 400 years older than he told me!!).

So yeah, we are over. Your things are on the curb outside and I might have sprinkled garlic all over it. Now I'm going on a vacation with my new friends.

A little message from them:

Grace-Marie wishes your day to be as pleasant as you are.

Gustav says "Va te faire foutre."

Caterina wanted you ro remember that the prenup is still valid, and that she will see you in court very soon.

And from me, from the bottom of my heart: Fuck you, Jaques.

Aw crap. Is it too late to change that. LOL

I agree on bows being quiet argument. Could be an advantage in some situations.

Oh! I always assumed ESH is Everybody Some Hole. Now that I think about it, it doesn't make sense.