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I'm in. Hit me with a wikihow, please.
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Mar 8, 2021 18:46
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| # ¿ May 16, 2024 18:32 |
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My boyfriend lied about not being a dark magician but I had to violate his privacy to prove it. 830 words I (25F) met my boyfriend (27M) about a year ago through some mutual friends at a bar crawl. I was immediately taken in by him; he had that tall, dark and handsome thing going on, and he always dressed so smartly. We hit it off right away and started seeing each other regularly afterward. A bit of background on me: I consider myself to be a very open-minded person, but I expect my partners to be up front with me when I ask them if they practice magic or any magical arts. Which is fine, I just want to know what I’m getting myself into when I start dating someone. So on my third date with this guy, I asked if he had any interest in magic. He said no and insisted that he’d take up taxidermy before he pursued magic. I believed him. We’d been dating for about six months when we decided we were ready to move in together. At first, everything was great. Our living habits seemed really similar. He was enthusiastic about decorating the place. We both love antiques, so that’s the aesthetic we went with in the apartment. It quickly became apparent though that we had very different tastes in antiques. He only owned old books. So many old books. I asked if he’d consider keeping some in storage since our apartment wasn’t very big, but he insisted they were too delicate to survive in some offsite facility. So we just put floor to ceiling bookshelves on every inch of wall to accommodate them. He said I shouldn’t touch them or they might fall apart. They didn’t bother me until I walked into the living room one morning and found that some of his books were leaking. I found trails of tacky, dark brown ooze all over the carpet. I asked him about it and he said that’s normal for books that old. I told him I’d never seen an old book leak before, and he said that’s because I’d never been to Moldova. A couple of weeks ago, he said he wanted to have some friends over, which I said was fine with me. I took maybe a fifteen minute nap, but when I woke up and asked him when his friends were dropping by, he said they’d already come and gone. As he was telling me this, I noticed he was absolutely filthy. Just covered in gunk. There was a really big stain on his shirt that he said was jam, but I’m pretty sure it was blood. The apartment smelled like rotting fish, my best skillet was covered in some strange white powder, and the package of novelty birthday candles I kept in a drawer in the kitchen were gone. From that day forward, I regularly woke up in the middle of the night to a sound like an army of rats skittering in the walls. I asked him about that noise one afternoon and he said I was eating too much gluten, and that I should try moon bathing to help me with my paranoid delusions. After that, things got really intense. Whenever he was home, the mood in the apartment was just inexplicably foreboding. Towers of boxes started appearing at our front door. Boxes from places like “Yoccult Boyz” and “Dark Stuff Inc.” He said he’d just ordered some capes. But then I logged into Amazon and saw he’d bought a black stone obelisk on the account we share and returned it because it “wasn’t charged with dark energy and thought it would be 12 feet tall, not 12 inches.” At that point, I was pretty sure he was a dark wizard and lying to me about it. I’m not proud of what I did next. I was at my wit’s end and I needed proof that he couldn’t refute. Yesterday, I logged into his email account and, sure enough, I found dozens of threads from different dark magic groups, animal sacrifice clubs, and some guy named Ron trying to sell my boyfriend a “certified fresh satyr wang.” I confronted him last night after he got home from work and told him what I’d found. He got so upset with me. He said it was a gross violation of his privacy, that I’d totally broken his trust. I said he’d done the same to me by lying in the first place about being a wizard. I told him I don’t care if he’s into magic poo poo, I just want him to be up front about it. Then he unhinged his jaw and a bunch of spiders crawled out of his mouth, which felt really passive aggressive to me. At this point, I don’t think our relationship is salvageable, but AITA for looking at my BF’s emails to prove he’s a wizard? EDIT: I’m going to be slow to reply to comments for a while since I only have my phone now. He turned my laptop into a bag of snakes.
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Mar 13, 2021 18:26
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In, flash pls.
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Mar 29, 2021 19:22
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https://thunderdome.cc/?story=9691&title=Don%27t+Go+Chasing+Space+Refrigerators
Beezus fucked around with this message at 20:48 on Jan 3, 2022 |
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Apr 5, 2021 07:38
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I volunteer to read the words as co-judge.
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Apr 6, 2021 00:19
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Yeah ok I'm in.
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Apr 22, 2021 17:48
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Chicken Bandit 994 Words “Right. Yes. That’s what I said. No, the other thing. Yeah, you got it. You’re an idiot, but you got it. Alright I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Chief McMaster slammed the phone on the receiver. He already had a cigarette halfway out of the carton before the last word left his mouth. The man looked like a Christmas ham stuffed inside a collared shirt and suspenders. McMaster glanced up at the detectives sitting across from him as he flipped open his lighter and fixed himself another smoke. “Hope you boys didn’t want anything from Subway,” he said. Detectives Carlisle and Gordon shook their heads in unison. Carlisle was still working his way through a bag of Chex Mix, crunching loudly. “Good. Carlisle, get Gordon caught up on the Van Poole case while I’m out. When I come back, I want leads. Show this kid how we get things done around here.” “You got it, chief,” Carlisle pulled on his fedora and stood up. Gordon quickly followed suit, nearly knocking his chair over in his eagerness. “We won’t let you down sir,” Gordon nodded emphatically. The chief made a sound that was part garbage disposal, part wheeze. “Go get ’em, tiger.” Carlisle grabbed a handful of fun-size Snickers from the reception desk on his way out. —- “Is it true?” Gordon piped up after over half an hour of pouring over crime scene photos. “That you solved the Moople murder in 12 minutes?” Carlisle hadn’t said a word since they left the Chief’s office; his mouth was either full of Snickers or Pringles, and Gordon had no idea where either were coming from. Now they stood in a windowless room down in the basement, absorbing all the grisly details of their latest case: a body, the third one that month, found in a dumpster. “Yes, now focus. What have we got here?” Carlisle said quickly as he shoved another stack of chips in his mouth. “Our vic was covered in Cheeto dust,” Gordon read allowed as he leafed through the mountain of papers in front of him. “And dumped behind a bakery. Coroner’s report says he had tiny chocolate paw prints all over him.” Gordon looked up. “What do you make of it all, Carlisle?” Carlisle turned to look at the board they’d pieced together. Dozens of notes and photographs were all connected by a web of soft thread and thumbtacks. Carlisle made a strange noise. “Our killer isn’t human.” “Say that again?” “Our killer,” Carlisle said again, but slower this time. “... isn’t human.” Gordon stared at the senior detective. “You’re kidding, right? Or is that a euphemism? I heard you had a whole system of codewords you use to catch the Teriyaki Terror, but is this-“ “Kid, I’ve been doing this for a long time. There are a lot of sickos out there and a whole lot of people who don’t know just how close they come every day to getting murdered. But this is different.“ “Every day?“ “This is the face of...” Carlisle spun toward the board again and produced a photograph seemingly out of thin air. He slapped it right to the middle of the corkboard, sending a flurry of rainbow post-it notes fluttering to the ground. A black and white photo of an open-mouthed raccoon stared back at them. “... A murderer.” Gordon stared at the wall. A couple of empty Snickers wrappers fell out of Carlisle’s pocket. Neither spoke for a moment. Carlisle appeared to be awaiting Gordon’s reaction. “Is this a joke? Are you hazing me?” Carlisle heaved an exasperated sigh and talked through a fresh mouthful of chips. “Do you think I would joke about murder?” “Yes? Maybe?” “Serial killers are no laughing matter, kid. Open your eyes; this case has raccoon stripes all over it. Food waste, unusually small handprint-sized lesions, and each body got dumped within a block of a racoon tree.” “What’s a racoon tree?” Carlisle sighed. “Raccoon tree: a tree full of raccoons. It’s like a raccoon high rise. Prime real estate. Keep up, kid. What do they even teach you newbies in school anymore?” “Okay, but why would a racoon murder humans? Can racoons even do that? Aren’t they just like fat little trash cats?” Carlisle fixed Gordon with a grave look. “Raccoons are fully capable of murder.” ”Ok but how?! Do they even have thumbs?!” Carlisle looked down at his watch and frowned. A few crumbs fell from the corners of his mouth onto the face of his Rolex. “I don’t have time to explain, kid. Sunset was an hour ago, which means our killer’s about to strike again.” Gordon pressed the pads of his fingers to his temples as he tried to wrap his head around the situation. “This is insane. I’m calling the Chief; I think you might be due for some personal leave or something.” “Put the phone down. We don’t have time for that.” “Look!” Gordon shouted, his face flush with confusion and fury. “I might be new, but I’m not stupid, and I know for a fact that racoons. Don’t. loving. Kill...” “Trust me, kid,” Carlisle’s mouth set in a thin, grim line. “They do.” Whatever Gordon planned on saying next died somewhere on the way from his brain to his mouth. Everything in that moment narrowed to the man in front of him. The man who suddenly unzipped himself from his face to his torso, revealing a sight Gordon’s rational mind refused to comprehend despite the relatively simple explanation of what he now saw before him. The detective’s trench coat lay on the ground in a heap. Where Carlisle once stood were now three hefty raccoons balanced on each other’s furry little shoulders. The one that operated as Carlisle’s face opened its tiny raccoon mouth and snarled. “It takes one to know one,” Raccoon Carlisle said as the middle raccoon snapped into a Slim Jim. “Now bring the car around; I’ll explain everything on the way.”
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Apr 26, 2021 06:42
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Yeah I'm in.
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Aug 18, 2021 16:59
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https://thunderdome.cc/?story=9972&title=Creep
Beezus fucked around with this message at 20:53 on Jan 3, 2022 |
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Aug 22, 2021 07:01
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You got me, I'm in.
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Nov 10, 2021 03:20
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I: THE MOON 1014 words Broken rule: your piece must have a protagonist that interacts with others and/or the world There are a few things you must know about the Adjacent; only two of its three moons are visible at night -- no one has been able to determine where the third one goes during the dark hours -- and ideas rarely remain abstract for long. This is what makes free thought so dangerous. Free and unregulated thought is what brought the knife into the Adjacent. It assumed a shape that appeared harmless enough at first. It took the form of a butter knife, and for a while none knew of its existence. But it seemed dissatisfied with its anonymity and eventually became something else. Something that both was and was not a knife. It started with the dreams. Dreams of a butter knife were not exactly unusual, but after a week or so, people started to talk. When they discussed the strange occurrence with their neighbors, the presence of a phenomenon became evident; everyone was dreaming about a butter knife. A very specific butter knife, in fact. One with a rounded handle ending in a fleur-de-lis pattern, a slightly marred serration on one side, and a manufacturer’s mark that said simply: “Regarde la lune.” The third thing you must know about the Adjacent is that visitors must not talk about the Adjacent. To talk about the Adjacent, one must acknowledge its existence, separate and unique, and the more one entertains such ideas, the more concrete they become. And, as all residents of the Adjacent know, separation and difference lead only to conflict. That was why the dreams of the knife were such a problem. “Regarde la lune.” People began to speculate on what it meant. And as they pondered its existence, conjuring up their own explanations for its widespread yet seemingly innocuous existence, it changed -- as did their dreams. It grew to the size of a meat cleaver, though the hilt retained its gentle curve and the fleur-de-lis. All within the Adjacent who dreamt of it were in agreement that it was the very same knife, but stories of its appearance began to vary. Some dreamt of a blade forged of opal; an instrument far too precious to be relegated to scraping butter. Others insisted that it was immaterial, a phantasm that could not be wielded, much less utilized for dressing toast. These disagreements gave rise to division. Division gave way to distrust and secrecy. Secrets seemed to feed the knife, and again it changed. But its mark endured, “Regarde la lune.” By now the landscape of the Adjacent had begun to change. A vast canyon yawned to life deep in the ocean, causing crashing waves and grasping undercurrents. The sun was ringed with flickering halos at all hours of the day, and the two visible moons seemed to wink in and out of existence throughout the night. The knife began to make appearances during waking hours as well, slicing patterns into the clouds, or reflecting the lights of the city as it sailed through the dark hours. Its forms were always varied, but it was instantly recognizable. The words on the blade, as always, remained unchanging. “Regarde la lune.” The people of the Adjacent were good people. Obedient people. It seemed to many that the solution to the problem of the knife was, naturally, to obey. And so they looked at the moons. When the purple-grey clouds that fill the Adjacent’s upper atmosphere parted during the day they would rise from their workbenches and come out, to gaze up at their tripartite lunar bodies, but at night-- Ah, at night. No one knew where the third moon went during the dark hours. In the Adjacent, questions must have answers, lest speculation lead to free thought. In the Adjacent, ideas do not remain abstract for long. In people’s dreams, the knife gleamed in the light of the missing moon. Then one day, the knife vanished. People were confused; things once manifested in the Adjacent, didn’t just disappear unless something supplanted it, and the knife was still on the people’s minds. In fact, with the knife’s sudden absence, the people of the Adjacent were thinking about it more than ever. A month passed with no sign of the knife, three moons waxing and waning in the daytime, three in the night - two in the sky and one in the people’s dreams. And then, exactly one month and one day after it had disappeared, the knife came back. But it did not come back alone. The woman’s skin was pure silver, metal joints glinting in the light of the moon as she moved. She carried the knife - or no, for nothing moved the knife, but she moved with it, a partner in an intricate dance. Her smile was beguiling, and all who dreamed of her fell instantly in love. Love is a very dangerous emotion in the Adjacent, and so much of such a dangerous emotion could lead to nothing but disaster. Love destroyed nations. Love emptied the seas. But when the knife returned with its silver goddess, the catastrophe became apparent. So widespread and all-consuming was the adoration for her that they failed to consider the knife or its message. “Regarde la lune.” But when the goddess spoke, they listened and adored. They called her ‘infinite.’ She called them ‘hers.’ The people argued over what that meant. Some did not know how to share her love. The division spread like skyfire. The knife remained silent, no longer the subject of so many dreams. Even as the Adjacent itself and its rules began to fade, its people never looked away from their goddess. Not once. Not for the knife, nor the quakes that carved new scars into the world’s surface each day. Nor for the ideas that ran rampant across the landscape, twisting into shapes befitting nightmares never before seen by the once-dutiful, good people of the Adjacent. Nor for the lost third moon that reappeared one dark hour. Though the moon returned, dawn never did for the people of the Adjacent.
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Nov 15, 2021 06:34
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In for horbz week.
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Nov 30, 2021 01:42
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https://thunderdome.cc/?story=10185&title=Help
Beezus fucked around with this message at 20:51 on Jan 3, 2022 |
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Dec 6, 2021 07:39
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In with "Madilyn Jenson’s blood type was O-positive (the tastiest for vampires), but to the dismay of Jake and his vampire friends, she guarded it like a prized possession."
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Dec 29, 2021 18:44
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| # ¿ May 16, 2024 18:32 |
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https://thunderdome.cc/?story=10259&title=Not+My+Type
Beezus fucked around with this message at 17:48 on Jan 6, 2022 |
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Jan 3, 2022 01:03
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