I stand there, my heart pounding against my rib cage. Long dark hair, soft smooth skin, brilliant brown eyes... Miku and Ai were twins?? My hand trembles as I flip the photo over. "Miku and Ai, Churaumi Aquarium, '20". This photo was taken just a year before Miku and I got married! How did I not know about this? Why would she keep this from me?

"Hiro!" I hear Miku's sweet voice behind me and I jump. "What do you have there?"

My voice sputters for a moment as my tongue remembers how to form words. "J-just a photo of you and your sister," I finally say. "Why did you not tell me you were twins?"

"Oh..." Miku's gaze drifts to the floor. "We... drifted apart. We didn't get along very well."

I show her the photo of her and Ai, together on Okinawa. "This photo was taken two years ago," I say sternly. "You look pretty close to me."

"Oh, that?" Miku looked up at the photo, slowly taking it from my hand. "This was the last time I saw her. On our way back to the hotel, I told her you had proposed to me. It was strange, she got really upset. I don't understand why. When we got back to the hotel, she left, saying she was going for a walk. I never saw her again after that."

"Hmm..." I stare at her, my brow creased with frustration, but eventually, I relax. "All right. I'm sorry I got upset."

Miku moves closer to me, places a hand upon my chest, and smiles. "Hey, it's okay, Hiro," she says sweetly. She kisses me on the lips, lingering for a moment. Her lips taste like cherry and I realize she is wearing lip gloss. I freeze. Miku never wears lip gloss. I detect a hint of strawberry emanating from her. She is wearing perfume, but Miku does not even own a bottle of perfume.

She pulls away and smiles. "Come, I've been preparing some soup for this chilly day." She takes my hand and pulls me along, tossing the picture onto her dresser. I follow, but my nerves are tingling. Something does not feel right. Her behavior has been odd since Ai's death. Is it grief? Perhaps she is trying to maintain her composure and taking extra steps to ensure she does not break down. I close my eyes and shake my head. I must be overthinking this. Still...

Miku pulls out a chair and sits me down. She takes two bowls, serves up some soup, and places one before me. It is aromatic and I feel myself begin to relax. My stomach growls and I remember I have not eaten anything today. Perhaps I am just hungry.

I take my spoon and sip the hot soup carefully. Miku sits across from me and watches me eat with great intrigue. The hot liquid glides down pleasantly, warming my shivering body. It is rich and brothy, and packed with vegetables. I detect basil, seaweed, and leeks. I melt into the flavors. Miku smiles and eats along with me. As soon as she takes her second spoonful, it hits me: Miku hates leeks.

I pause, watching her eat mouthful after mouthful of a food she had adamantly been against since we started dating. I set my spoon down and look at her hard. "Miku."

She looks up at me innocently. "Yes, Hiro?"

"You hate leeks."

"Do I?" Miku asked, scooping another spoonful. "They're not so bad."

I frown. "Miku, you loathe leeks. I stopped eating them completely because you would refuse to even kiss me if I did. You said you could taste them on my lips. So what is going on?"

"Honey, I thought I'd do something nice for you!" she said, getting upset. "I put a lot of work into this. I know how much you like leeks and you've been so accommodating with me since my sister's death. What has gotten into you?"

I narrow my eyes. "You never call me 'honey'."

"Dammit, Hiro!" Miku slammed her spoon down on the table, spilling soup onto the tablecloth. "What's your problem?!"

She stands up and walks into the kitchen. I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. It is true, I have been so focused on her recently, I have been ignoring my own stress. Perhaps I just need to relax, destress, refocus. I should see how much vacation time I have and take her somewhere fun, just the two of us.

I hear a clatter in the kitchen and open my eyes. Miku stands before me, holding a giant kitchen knife. Her long hair had suddenly become disheveled and hung over her face as she stared at the floor. My heart races and I swallow.

"Miku? What are you doing?"

She says nothing, just stands there gripping the knife tightly. Her knuckles turn white and her chest swells and falls from her heavy breathing. I slowly stand up, making no sudden movements.

"Miku, knock it off. You know the creepy horror girl look doesn't sit well with me."

She slowly looks up at me, peering at me through her hair with cold dark eyes. She steps forward and I start to back away.

"Hiro... why, Hiro? Why did you have to go poking around?" Miku whispers hoarsely.

"M-Miku... w-what are you talking about??" I raise my hands, taking another step back.

Miku tilts her head back, her eyes gleaming as a sneer spread across her face. "You couldn't leave it alone. We could have had a lovely life together... but you... you took it all away from me."

"Miku...?"

"Come on, Hiro... don't you know your own true love?" She lurches forward, knife held to her side. "I'm not Miku... I am Ai."

"What are you...?" I stammer on my words, my hands fumbling behind me, looking for something, anything, to defend myself with.

"You loved me," she says, moving closer. "You promised we'd be together forever. But suddenly, you left me for Miku. I knew my bitch of a sister had a thing for you, but I never thought you would actually go for that slut."

My rear bumps into our piano and I remember I keep a gun stashed underneath the bench. If I can just get down and retrieve it without her noticing...

Ai shambles closer. "But something didn't seem right," she continues. "My Hiro would never leave me. My Hiro would never behave that way. So I did some digging, and I discovered the truth."

"The truth?" My heart races faster, threatening to crack my rib cage. I slowly, carefully stoop down, my fingertips caressing the piano bench. "W-what truth?"

She raises the knife, pointing it right at me. "You know the truth... Haru."

Shit. Our eyes lock as she mutters my twin brother's name. Time seems to freeze, our gaze intertwined. Silence falls, the only sound is the pounding of my battered heart. After what feels like an eternity, our eye contact shatters and she lunges toward me. I grab the pistol from under the bench, raise it up, and pull the trigger. A single pop echoes through the house as I feel the knife plunge deep into my heart. I look up, my body wracked in agony, and see Ai's face contort in not pain, but sorrow. Her sad eyes meet mine and she slowly pulls the knife out before collapsing onto me. We fall to the floor, our blood pooling together into a crimson tide. As we lay there, our dying hearts beating against each other, her final words as the room fades to darkness caresses my ears: "I love you, Hiro."

A unit of Austro-Hungarian soldiers in 1915 find themselves isolated and cut off by Italian forces in a small town and have to fight through the night to attempt a breakthrough to avoid capture.

Great idea using "supes"

As a defense attorney, I have experienced my share of strange and dreadful cases. The latest of which—the “Big Bad Wolf” case as it has been named—was true to its name. The charges? Two counts of destruction of property, stemming from the wolf’s actions in destroying the houses of two of the three little pigs.

The courtroom was filled to the brim with spectators, both for and against my client. Most were there to see justice be done, which I kept firmly in mind as we trudged through each motion and each line of questioning. Our progress was slow but sure, until eventually, we had assembled our defense: A plea of not guilty on all counts due to diminished capacity at the time the crime occurred, due to a physicially tested mental illness.

I was hopeful that this evidence would serve in our favor against the odds stacked against us. After much deliberation and debate between myself and council representing the prosecution, we finally had a verdict: The Big Bad Wolf was declared innocent on all counts by virtue of insanity.

After being set free, my client approached me with a sinister smile on his face. Somehow sensing my wariness, he brushed a finger down my cheek and murmured “Don’t worry. I’ll behave.” With an involuntary shudder, I took a step back from him and quickly said goodbye.

I let out a sigh of relief when he walked away from me without any further interaction -- until moments later when I heard an earsplitting howl coming from behind me. I spun around to find him bearing down on me with a feral look in his eyes - my client had revealed himself to be an instrument of nature's cruelty and had transformed into something even more terrible than before.

Before I could react, the Wolf lunged at me - sinking his teeth into my skin with unyielding force, sending spirals of pain ringing through my body as he tore into me with animalistic fury, until all that remained was deathly silence in its wake.

“It’s in my nature,” he whispered.

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I sat in the chair, staring at Agent X approaching with the needle gun. He put it to my neck, and I felt a flash of pain as the giant needle broke the skin. This was the final test, most people would be nervous, but I had trained my entire life for this. When I passed, I would be the newest member of The Society. I knew it wouldn't be long before I would become one of the top assassins, and eventually I would become the leader.

As I rubbed the new bump on my neck, Agent X grabbed a hat covered with wires and put it onto my head. He typed away at the laptop it was connected to, and I started to hear the hat buzz. He set the laptop down and turned to face me.

"There is no turning back now. This machine will determine who you care about the most in the world, and then you will have 24 hours to kill this person. Fail, and your implant will automatically inject poison into your body. Succeed, and you will gain a new identity as one of the worlds top assassins."

I nodded, wondering who it would tell me to kill. Maybe my mother, although I hadn't seen her in a decade. She had never given me enough support anyways. It could have been my ex girlfriend, I still cared about her even if I realized two years ago that I was too good for her. Possibly my mentor, she was the one who taught me how to kill. I surpassed her skill in less than a year, but it still wouldn't surprise me.

The laptop let out a beep and the hat went silent. Agent X frowned at the screen and turned to me.

"Lets try that one more time."

He pushed at the laptop buttons again, and the hat started buzzing. We sat in silence as the hat did its work, then the laptop beeped again. He went to the screen, and muttered "Same results?"

"Show me who I have to kill."

He turned the screen towards me, showing... a picture of me.

Twins have the same DNA, though lol It's the fingerprints you gotta check. Even twins have wildly different prints.

I wasn't expecting "The Quickshit" lol. You caught me off guard.

Good story!

[removed]

It also reminds me of a line from a Batman cartoon... Aliens invade Gotham, and the Joker says, "Forgive my inhospitality, but terrorizing Gotham's my job!" while fighting them.

The arrangements were all set, but I had that nagging feeling I’d forgotten something. It had taken me a long time to build up the courage to propose, and tonight was going to be the night. I’d followed all the rules. The restaurant was fancy, I’d spent enough on a ring, and I was pretty confident they’d say yes. All I had to do was relax and stay calm.

My phone vibrated. My father, a spectacularly successful fortune teller and occultist, had sent me a message. I didn’t hear from him very often.

“I’m so sorry. I did everything I could,” it read.

I was a little confused, and decided that he’d meant to send it to someone else. “Wrong number?” I typed, and hit send. I turned on the television, and began to watch whatever happened to be showing just to keep my mind off tonight.

My phone buzzed again. “No. I’ll explain in hell,” came the reply from my father. I scoffed and put the phone down on the arm of the sofa, more than a little confused. I’d deal with him later. Now wasn’t the time.

The television paused, and faded to black. A beautiful and starkly androgynous human-esque figure appeared on the screen, looking straight forward. They leaned forward. Crack. To my astonishment the screen appeared to have shattered, and before my next thought the figure was stood in front of me, chuckling to itself. I thought my nerves had finally pushed me over the edge.

“I love doing that,” it said, in such a refined voice. I closed my eyes. “Keep them open or I will open them for you,” it added, as if in reply.

“Who or what are you? You aren’t real,” I cried, in a rising panic.

“Oh. Just something you probably know as the Devil. Satan. Lucifer the Lightbringer – I love that one – Beeeelzebub,” it said, with a wry smile and dark look in its perfect eyes, “we’re going somewhere to have a little chat with your father. Clever man, but not quite enough.”

Before I could blink, we were sat at a huge, shiny black triangular table, in an even larger triangular room with no door and black marble walls. My father occupied a chair, and the Devil occupied another.

“The father, the son, and the, er… unholy spirit?” joked the Devil, with a loud hearty laugh that lasted a while longer than it should have, “look at us all here, together at last!”

My father had tears in his eyes. “I’m so sor-” he started saying to me, unable to look at me directly.

“Why don’t you start by telling him why we’re all here. Welcome, by the way, to hell,” said the Devil, addressing me and cutting across my father with a clear hint of cruelty.

I looked towards my father, and he just slumped down in his chair clearly unable to speak further. The Devil laughed again, then in an instant flew into a pure rage, then became much more sedate and serious. It was unnerving watching something that appeared so beautiful act in this odd and unpredictable way.

The Devil explained the deal it had made with my father. As a much younger man, he had started developing skills in the arcane and occult, and he wanted to use it to his advantage. He had learned that if he only asked, he could bargain with the Devil over anything he could find it in his heart to desire.

His desire was to protect the love of his life, my mother, from anything that might harm her. So, he asked the Devil for a successful career. The Devil, feeling this was a common enough ask, thought no more of it, but it did not realise the consequences of this ask from someone whose career goals were to tell the future and master the occult arts.

In return, the Devil told me – to my horror – that my father had agreed to give his firstborn child over to it in exchange for this favour. Secretly, he never expected to have any children, so he felt he had cheated the Devil. My father didn’t know that the Devil’s lust would reach so far and so quickly find its way between my parents. Nine months later, I was born.

To my surprise, the Devil said my father had spent more than the next two decades continually outsmarting it with his prodigious skill in the occult and fortune telling to protect me. I felt a flash of gratitude towards my father, but I quickly snapped myself out of it. This must be a weird nervous dream, and I will wake up soon enough.

“What your father didn’t realise,” said the Devil, with a dark but perfect smile, “is that no matter how many times he tried to save you, no matter how long it took, I only had to best him once and it would be over. I am incredibly patient.”

My father exhaled and sat back in his chair, looking up at the abyssal marble ceiling above. “Is there anything we can do to make this right?” he pled, now facing the Devil.

The Devil shook its head, “You know better than that. Your son is mine, I just wanted him to know it was your fault.”

I listened silently, and dared not consider this was real. A small spark of anger lit inside me.

The Devil began laughing, “Bet you didn’t see that coming eh? Fortune teller? Don’t worry, I’ll make it all look like an accident. Enjoy the rest of your career,” it said, and my father's seat was suddenly empty.

The Devil’s eyes turned black as it faced me. I went cold.

Alright, I’ll keep it in mind!

Please for the love of god write a series

A vase whizzed past my head, causing me to jump in shock.

"WHO ARE YOU?!" roared my husband, rushing up to pin me between his massive arms. I shrunk against the wall, terrified.

"What are you talking about? I'm your wife!" I cried, seeing fear and rage in his eyes, and something else. Something... unhinged.

"Are you? Because you changed after we got married. After your sister died. Y'know, I always thought it was weird that you didn't want me to meet her. But now, finding the picture? It all makes sense. You replaced her. You killed my Natalie, and you took her place." He removed one of his arms and dug around in his back pocket, pulling out a picture of my twin sister and I when we were teenagers; hugging, smiling, wearing intentionally ugly matching outfits.

"You... you think I'm Helen?" I gasped, my voice quivering and my knees shaking as I reached for the photo. I held it lovingly, anger growing in me as I knew he'd found the photo by rummaging through my things.

"I know you're Helen. Our daughter doesn't look at you the same way she used to. You don't smell the same way you used to. You stand different, walk different. You don't like your favorite foods anymore. Trauma can change a person a lot, Helen, but it can't do that." he was raving, ranting, beginning to pace throughout our living room.

"My sister, my Helen, died in another state, James! I wasn't anywhere near her that night! I was here, with you, planning OUR WEDDING DAY. Remember that? Lovely ceremony, about 3 years ago? And you're right, I have changed! And it's not just trauma!" I said, opening the hallway closet to grab a broom for the vase shards, "I wanted to do something, anything to keep my sister alive. So I started using her favorite beauty products, hence the smell change. I salvaged some of her favorite clothes and heels from the donation piles, thus my posture change. You walk different in stilettos than you do in flats, James. Corsets make you stand straighter, James. I've changed intentionally, to be more like Helen, to keep her alive in me."

I could see the gears turning in his head; logic was winning out. "But what about Ava?"

"She's SIX, James! She doesn't want to be glued at her mother's hip all day anymore! She wants to play with dolls and run around the backyard and eat fuckin' lip gloss!" I filled the dustpan and emptied out the shards into the trash, heartbeat racing.

Somewhere above us, I heard a shuffling and a thud. "Great, she was eavesdropping. I'll go soothe her while you sit down and think about what the hell you just said to me." I said, wiping my hands on my apron and walking upstairs.

"Ava, honey? Are you all right?" I said, knocking on her open door.

"Mommy, why is daddy so scary lately?" she hugged my waist, hiding herself in the folds of my skirt, "Is it because of the accident?"

"Yes, baby. It's because of the accident." I said, smoothing down her hair.

James used to ride a motorcycle every day. Used to. One day last year, he got t-boned by one of those little ice-cube shaped mini-cars. Flew 30 feet. The phone call I got from the hospital filled me with the kind of dread I'd only ever felt once before; when I was informed by my parents that my twin sister had been found shot in her local park while jogging, a casualty of a gang's civil war.

He was in a coma with severe brain swelling for a full month. And when he woke up, he was different. More aggressive, more paranoid. Gaps in his memory. The doctors said it was a miracle he survived. As I held my sobbing daughter in my arms, and faintly heard my husband booking a session with his therapist downstairs, I wondered if it was any miracle at all.

Let’s hope

This is an insanely strong power. While you aren't omega level, you can turn omega level mutants into soup. Turn walls into soup. Bad guys. Meteors. Documents. Bamk vaults. Cash registers. Restraints.

Perfectly cooked also means you can control the temperature. Stop guys like iceman ny making hot soup. Stop guys like human torch by making cold soup.

This feels like the plot to A Simple Favor

Unfortunately I only have the hard copy

Given the forum and the audience, erring on the side of brevity is rarely going to be the wrong move here. So don't worry about it too much, just keep it in mind for other contexts.

And I'm happy to help! I posted my first WP response a couple weeks ago and I found myself wishing there were more action items in the comments I got, so I figured others might feel the same.

well perfectly cooked soup has to be edible afterwards. Can't be edible after slamming into Earth at that kind of speed.

you forgot to factor air resistance and the effect on a liquid mass rather than a solid, also the thermal effect of surronding air currents now being able to affect the liquid mass. Its more than just velocity.

scp?

Thank you so much! It's only my second attempt at writing, so I'm glad you enjoyed it.

Beautifully written. Lovely twist.

She had Betty Davis eyes?

​

{I reference a song and a movie simultaneously!}