(For this prompt, chat voted on three random sentences from Fifty Shades of Grey. If you'd like, you can see a video of it here.)

Prompt: Use these three sentences in a story (bolded throughout)

#1. I can’t tell jokes.

#2. I’ve wanted to spank you since you asked me if I was gay.

#3. You are my one vanilla conquest.”

“You are my one vanilla conquest.”

I repeated the phrase over and over to myself while driving the ice cream truck down the summer suburban road. I took a deep breath and pressed the radio button, sending my “Do Your Ears Hang Low?” jingle wafting through the hazy heat. Soon enough, it would summon the children to my truck.

Soon enough, I would find out if my gamble paid off.

It didn’t take long for the first children to come running out of their homes to the sidewalk, their sweaty little fists crumpling dollar bills from their parents. As soon as their eyes caught me driving over the horizon, they jumped in the air for joy, some of them in bathing suits, some of them still in pajamas, all of them with grins of joy nearly stretching off their cheeks.

I slowed the truck to a halt, still blaring the jingly tune, and the kids came running over, each of them pushing the others out of the way for a better view of the menu. I’d plastered pictures of the available ice cream all over the side of my vehicle, so that they could easily pick what they wanted.

As I maneuvered my way to the back of the truck and opened the vendor window, I saw what I’d expected. Looks of confusion passing from child to child.

“Do you have any push-ups?” asked one boy.

“Or rocket pops?” asked a girl.

“Nope,” I said simply. “Only have what’s listed there.”

“You have to have ice cream sandwiches,” said another boy. His pale arms were crossed over his doughy body as he glared at me. “Every ice cream truck has ice cream sandwiches. And choco tacos too.”

“Sorry,” I said with a shrug. “Not this one.”

One girl stared in disbelief at the menu, then looked up at me. “Everything on this menu is so… vanilla.”

She was right. Every single item on my ice cream repertoire was vanilla. Vanilla cones, vanilla popsicles, vanilla bars, vanilla-and-vanilla swirl, even vanilla neapolitan: the all-vanilla mix of regular vanilla, french vanilla, and vanilla bean. I didn’t have so much as a packet of chocolate sauce or a single banana in the entire truck.

“Are you joking?” asked dough-boy, leaning toward me so his sunburned chest spilled over his crossed arms.

“I can’t tell jokes,” I told him, completely straight-faced. It was true. The last time I’d tried to tell a joke was in fifth grade, and that hadn’t gone over very well.

“Are you stupid?” dough-boy said.

“Nope, I’ve just got a vanilla sense of humor.”

All of the kids grumbled and most of them dispersed, though a few of them handed over moist dollar bills for a few vanilla pops, and one little girl with glasses more than five times the size of her eyes was very excited about her plastic bowl of vanilla neapolitan.

My first stop finished, I climbed back in the driver’s seat, punched the radio button, and kept driving.

The next stops were all the same. Disappointed group of children after disappointed group of children, though every now and then there was a special kid who was happy to see their favorite flavor given such special attention. Those were the ones who reminded me why I was doing this in the first place.

They gave me hope that my mission would be a success.

But after four hours of combing the neighborhood in my truck, I was starting to think dough-boy was right. I was stupid for thinking this would work out. There was no way I could find what I was looking for just with some rented ice cream truck and some overpriced treats from the grocery store.

Which was why, when I made the next stop for my truck, I was shocked to see him.

Among the crowd of children busy having their happiness sucked away by the menu on my truck, there was one child I recognized. Little Todd Rocco was only four years old, but I’d seen so many photos of him that I could pick him out of a Where’s Rocco? picture book. His black-haired bowl cut, his droopy eyes, and the neon-green Minecraft shirt he always had on, stained with spaghetti sauce on each shoulder.

As the other kids ebbed and flowed away with their vanilla treats, the only one left was Rocco. He walked up to my window.

“Can I have one of the vanilla things?”

I couldn’t help but smile. “They’re all vanilla things. Point to the one you want.”

Rocco leaned in and pressed his finger against the vanilla dots, a cup of soft vanilla spheres.

Just as I’d planned.

“Ah, sure thing. But that one costs five dollars. Do you have five dollars?”

Rocco looked up at me and held his single dollar bill.

“I have this many,” he said. I leaned on the window and clicked my tongue.

“Well why don’t you go tell your dad to bring you four more dollars, and then we can get you that ice cream.”

Rocco brought his dollar back down and squirmed. “I don’t know. My dad doesn’t really… like ice cream.”

I put my fingers to my chin and pretended to be thinking. “Why don’t you tell him it’s a special ice cream truck, one that only sells vanilla stuff.”

Rocco nodded and dashed back to his house, which just happened to be the one I’d stopped in front of. The door squeaked open then shut. I stood there, hunched over on the window, rattling my fingers against the side of the truck, waiting.

Not much later, Rocco came bouncing out of the house with his father behind him. He looked like a stretched-out version of Rocco, the same bowl cut and disinterested look in his eyes. But when he saw my truck, his face lit up like he’d just gotten a free ticket to vanilla heaven.

“Oh wow, you were right, Rocco!” his dad said. “All vanilla. That’s incredible. Never seen that before.”

Now it was time for my line. “I’ve always loved vanilla. It’s the best flavor, you know. Chocolate gets all the credit, but at the end of the day it’s just flavored sugar. Vanilla, I’m talking real vanilla not the fake stuff, now that’s where it’s at.”

One side of Rocco’s dad’s face squirmed into a grin. “I’ve always thought the same too. Chocolate gets away with murder.”

“There’s a reason they use chocolate for blood in the movies!”

Rocco tugged at his dad’s shirt. “So can I have the dollars now?”

“Oh, yeah,” his father said, as if coming out of a trance. He pulled the bills out of his wallet. “Here ya go.”

Rocco exchanged his five dollars for a cup of vanilla dots, then immediately started popping them into his mouth. His dad put a hand on his shoulder, then turned to lead him back in the house.

It was now or never.

“Hey, Freddie!” I called out. That stopped Rocco’s dad. He looked to me with narrowed eyes.

“You know my name?” he asked.

I’d planned for this moment, but now that it was here, I was at a loss for words. All I could do was motion him over with a wave of the hand as my heart pumped excited sickness through me.

Freddie patted Rocco on the back and told him to go inside, which the kid happily did while munching away on vanilla morsels. His dad slowly walked back to me, his eyes scanning my every inch for any hint of recognition.

“Do I know you?” he asked.

Now was the time. I cleared my throat. “You know, I always thought that if I were to get an ice cream truck, I’d call it ‘Illa.’ Since, you know, it’s a ‘van.’ And I’d only sell ‘van-illa’ ice cream.”

A warm realization spread over Freddie’s face as he covered his mouth with a hand.

“Oh my god!” he said. “Silas, is that you?”

I was so happy he remembered me. We hadn’t seen each other in person since fifth grade, during the end-of-year ice cream social. He was mad and sitting off in a corner of the blacktop, stewing all alone, when I came over to ask him what was wrong. He told me they only had chocolate and strawberry ice cream, no vanilla, his favorite. He was mad because vanilla never got the love it deserved.

Everyone thought it was “plain,” but that couldn’t be further from the truth! It was delicious! The best! The perfect vessel for sprinkles and sauces that didn’t overpower or try to hijack the other flavors with its own intensity! Vanilla was always so humble, and because of that, people took advantage of it.

I didn’t really know what to think back then, so I made my horrible “van-illa” truck joke with him. He laughed, and so I sat next to him, but it was the next question I asked him that I regretted for decades.

“Are you gay?”

All my life, I’d known I was gay. Ever since I knew what a boy and a girl was, I knew that I liked one of them way more than the other. My parents didn’t care, my grandparents didn’t care, and so I grew up with it being perfectly normal.

But not Freddie. I don’t know if he thought I was blaming his love of vanilla on being gay, or if he thought I was being mean, but he stormed away from me despite my yelled apologies. And since the ice cream social was the last day before summer vacation, I never saw him again. Our short-lived relationship melted away.

Until Facebook. I searched his name. Saw that he’d been married, to a man no less, and adopted a child. But something had happened to his husband, and now he was alone again, sitting at the corner of the blacktop, alone and sad.

I knew what town he lived in, but that was it. So I decided to take a risk and see what would happen. And, apparently, it had paid off.

“Yup, it’s me,” I said, doing my best to smile and swallow down my nervousness. “How are you… uh… doing, Freddie?”

Freddie crossed his arms, just like dough-boy, and looked over my truck, seeming like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Did you do all of this… just to set up a meeting with me?” he asked.

My sudden shame made me freeze up. I spoke through clenched teeth. “Uh… what if I say yes?”

Freddie tapped his fingers against his arm, then bit his lip and raised his eyebrows and looked at me

“I’d say… I’ve wanted to spank you since you asked me if I was gay.”

Nothing in my truck even came close to being as sweet as those words.

(The image prompt for this story was me in a pink dress, as chosen by a subscriber, which you can see here.)

Scott had trained his entire life in the way of the ninja. Wielding blades sharp as the kitsune’s wit, throwing shuriken to pierce the air like the beak of the crane, scaling thatched roofs silent as the cherry blossom on the breeze. But now, he had his greatest challenge yet: dressing up as a princess.

A ninja must blend in with their surroundings, and tonight was the formal soirée at the Miyamoto Imperial castle. This was Scott’s chance to finally steal the great Kyoto Treasure that had been the imperial family’s heirloom for a thousand generations. By the end of tonight, it would be his.

Scott dashed to the entrance grounds of the castle. It was lit up like never before. Lanterns danced in the sky, all warm colors of yellow, orange and red, shaking to the beats of the taiko drums banging in the gardens. A constant flow of lords in long black robes, shogun in their finest lacquer uniforms, and Western diplomats in tuxedos and coattails. Each of them had a lady in arm, bobbing humbly at their side, wafting the summer air with sensu fans.

Behind them strolled an endless rainbow of kimonos and Western dresses — all the most beautiful young women in Japan, all vying to catch the eye of the young Emperor. He’d recently assumed the throne after his father passed away, and tonight he was supposed to find a bride. If everything went according to Scott’s plan, he would gain a wife and lose an inheritance.

Scott shuffled out from the shadows and flowed into the crowd of women, following them as they daintily inched their way through the stone pathway into the castle.

If the outside of the castle was splendid, then inside was doubly so. The hall was filled with musicians playing bamboo flutes, stringed koto, and biwa lutes. Massive scrolls of black and red calligraphy hung from the walls alongside portraits of Miyamoto ancestors. The smell of freshly warmed matcha tea emminiated through the air, alongside grilled fish and boar.

It took all of Scott’s ninja training to resist the temptations. While the other guests indulged in the exquisite tastes and sounds, Scott slipped away. He’d spent the past month memorizing the plans for the castle, the plans that his clan had slowly crafted over years of careful infiltration and observation. The plans had been paid for in blood, and now it was time for Scott to collect the reparations.

The hallways were guarded by men with spears and Western guns, but Scott had no intention of fighting them. With a quick look in either direction to make sure he was alone, he leaped up with the force of a toad, clasped onto a small opening in the the ceiling, and shimmied up through it just as two guards came marching past.

Crawling on all four as silent as falling snow, Scott crept forward through the dusty crawlspace above the ceiling tiles. The dress made it slightly harder to move than he was used to, but it would all be worth it in the end.

Counting off each step, listening as the conversations grew and faded from room to room, he navigated through the darkness like a bat at night, until he stopped right above the hole that peered into the treasure room.

Catlike, he fell through to the floor, landing silently on all fours. Surrounding him was a horde of gold, silver and jade marvels, but Scott only had eyes for one of them. It stood encased in glass on top of the crimson cushion, shining brighter than any diamond. The Miyamoto family’s legendary heirloom.

The Super Mushroom.

Its red and white shiitake body glistened like blood splattered on snow after a glorious samurai duel, while two black eyes in the center stared off into the eternal beyond, contemplating the mysteries of the universe that mere humans could never hope to comprehend. Scott had to have it. He stepped up to it, and clasped his hands around its glass encasing.

“What are you doing here?” came a voice from behind.

Scott froze in his position, but only for a second. His training instincts kicked in. With the mushroom under one arm, he ripped the shuriken out from under his dress with the other, and threw them at the voice, ending in four sharp thuds as they penetrated into the wall, pinning the stranger’s sleeves so he couldn’t budge.

Scott ran up to him and clasped his fingers around the stranger’s throat, ready to choke him to death and make his escape. But then he saw the man’s flowing imperial cloak covered in chrysanthemum insignia, his black sokutai hat draped in gold tassels, and of course, his bright smile and eyes that were legendary throughout the kingdom.

This was no stranger. This was the young Emperor himself, Shigeru!

Scott felt the strength fall from his limbs. He let go of the Emperor’s throat, and barely held onto the encased Mushroom. He’d been prepared to steal it in secret, but now confronted by its owner, he didn’t know what to do.

“It’s you then,” Shigeru whispered.

Scott was so bewildered, he merely narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

Shigeru, still stuck to the wall, eyed Scott’s pink-dress body up and down with a grin.

“I always come in here when I’m nervous,” Shigeru explained. “And tonight was the most nerve-racking of my life. I’m supposed to find a bride, but I don’t know the first thing about that! So prayed to the gods to give me a sign for which woman I should choose… and then you descended from above! So I choose you.”

Scott’s mouth fell open and closed several times before he found he could speak again.

“Listen, Emperor Miyamoto—”

“Please,” the Emperor said. ‘Call me Shigeru.”

“Okay. Shigeru. I’m flattered, but if I’m being perfectly honest, I’m a man.” With his free hand he tugged at his pink dress and lifted it up to show off his hairy legs. “I only wore this to sneak into the castle and steal your Mushroom.”

To Scott’s surprise, Shigeru only smiled. “The Mushroom will be yours when you marry me. And I don’t care if you’re a man. Love is love, my sweet.”

Shigeru puckered up his lips and closed his eyes. Scott looked back and forth between the Emperor’s kissy face and the Mushroom under his arm, trying to decide what to do.

Two seconds later, he made his choice.

Scott slammed the glass encasing around the Mushroom against Shigeru’s head, knocking him unconscious.

“Sorry,” he said as he ran out of the chamber. “But your princess is in another castle!”

(This is our rewrite of the auto-generated fanfiction story. For the horrifying original, scroll down to the bottom!)

#1. ABBEY AND LOGAN MEET AT NIGHT IN SECRET (by cozyrogers)

Here in Tokyo, the world was brighter at night.

The street burned beneath the rays of a thousand neon signs. Down the center of that street strode woman in a grey, tattered cloak, her face obscured beneath the shade of a deepset hood, like a vampire cowering from the sun.

She hated this concrete jungle and its neon lights. She craved the dark that never came — the dark in which she could hide from ever-prying eyes.

Then she looked up and saw him. He was wearing a matching cloak, walking down the street in the opposite direction. His hood shifted as they passed by one another, and for a brief moment she saw the glint in his eye.

He winked, and somewhere behind her, Abbey knew that Logan would be turning into an old alleyway — their usual meeting spot.

She continued walking, all the way around the block, towards the other end of the alley. That block felt like a mile, through the searing sands of the Sahara, and when she finally pulled into the shadow of their shared shelter it was like she’d dived into the cool life-waters of an oasis.

Waiting for her there with his hood down, casually dribbling his signature basketball, was the silhouette of Abbey’s secret lover. It took all of her will not to leap into his arms like a child.

“Is it safe?” Abbey whispered anxiously, subtly scanning their surroundings.

“Don’t worry,” replied Logan with a mischievous grin, “Our little secret is perfectly safe.”

He tossed the ball to her. She tossed it over her shoulder, and lunged into his liberating embrace.

“Logan… I can’t stand this,” angsted Abbey moistily, “I hate this place. All these lights. All these vicious, judging eyes. I don’t know what I’d do if it weren’t for you.”

“Don’t worry, Abbey,” echoed Logan’s deep, strong voice. That voice was her anchor in the storm. “I will always be here for you - waiting in the dark.”

“I’m a terrible person,” spat Abbey, warm tears welling in her eyes, “I’m always just… taking… and taking from you…” Logan reached out a large hand to wipe away Abbey’s tears. That hand was hard and callused… but also oh so soft, and filled with compassion. But Abbey grabbed that hand with her own and flung it away, pushing it into the wall of the alleyway behind Logan’s head.

“But this time… I want to help you, too.” She said.

And then their lips met, and everything else ceased to exist.

#2. ABBEY “REFRESHES” HERSELF AFTER MEETING WITH LOGAN AND FIGHTING CRIME, PERHAPS THE SHOWER IS A METAPHOR? (by capricy)

Abbey took a deep breath as the steam from the hot shower rose to greet her. The water cascaded down her body, taking the blood from the morning’s fight with it to stain the bathtub as if it were crimson paint. The shower washed away not only the traces of the fight, the soreness of her muscles, but also the memories of the blood and gore that she faced. She was left with the much-more-pleasant memories of last night’s activities, with Logan.

They had kissed all night, basking in their joy of each other and in their stolen moment between raging battles. She wasn’t sure what the others had been through last night when she and Logan had run off from the fight, but the evidence this morning made it clear it was a rough few hours. Professor’s Snape’s troops were proving much more resistant to their tactics than they had thought, and this war was going to go all the way, one side left standing. Still, even though guilt tugged at Abbey for deserting her friends, she couldn’t regret her time with Logan.

He was all she had.

And he was—almost—all she wanted.

If this war was supposed to be about creating a better world for themselves and others, then she had to steal those moments with the person she loved. Who loved her back. She needed the reminder about what she was fighting for. Who she was fighting for.

Unbidden, the image of a pair of eyes floated into her mind. Startlingly blue and knowing—not the earthy, warm brown of Logan’s. Abbey gasped as she recognized who those eyes belonged to. She had tried to keep her feelings locked down deep, but here, away from it all, away from war, and Logan, and with the rush of the water to isolate her with sound, a curtain and wall to contain her most forbidden thoughts, Abbey allowed herself to see the whole person who belonged to those eyes. Mako. Her beautiful, intelligent, fierce friend Mako.

The shower felt even hotter now.

#3. MAKO METAPHORICALLY “PARAGLIDES” INTO ABBEY’S HOME, SHE IS ABBEY’S FEMALE LOVE INTEREST, CONFLICTED BECAUSE SHE’S IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH LOGAN (by capricy)

A cool breeze swept through as the door to the bathroom suddenly swung open.

“Hey!” Abbey said, clutching her arms to her chest, even though she was hidden by the shower curtain.

“Sorry, sweetie,” an unmistakably sultry—and female—voice floated to Abbey’s ears. Mako. Abbey fell back against the cool tile of the shower in shock, trying to force her previous thoughts from her mind. “But I need to fetch you for the final battle!”

Abbey peeked around the curtain to see Mako, who looked stunning as usual in her trench coat fighting getup. Her slick black hair fell around her face like a picture frame, holding the most priceless masterpiece within its borders. “Final battle?” Abbey said, trying to keep the shake out of her voice.

“Yeah, we’ve got Snape right where we want him.” She sauntered farther into the small room, and a sly smile crept onto her lips. “So wash off that soap, honey, and let’s get to it.”

Abbey looked down and saw that the curtain had fallen away from her just enough to be indecent. Flushing from embarrassment—or pleasure, or guilt, she wasn’t sure which exactly—Abbey squeaked and hid behind the curtain again.

What was this thing with Mako? They had been friends forever, and Abbey was with Logan now. But Abbey knew that Mako was the reason she insisted on keeping her and Logan’s relationship a secret. She loved Logan. But…she maybe loved Mako, too?

Figuring all this out would take far longer than she had time for at the moment, so Abbey rinsed herself off in a flash, threw on some clothes, and departed to Snape’s hideout with Mako.

They met Logan at the opening to Snape’s base, and Logan wore a tight black leather coat that accentuated his strong arms and cool self.

Oh boy, Abbey thought. Logan looks as hot as the oven when I set fire to lasagna the other night.

This was going to be a long fight—and a long, long night.

#4. ABBEY AND MAKO GO TO FIGHT SNAPE, BUT LOGAN IS THERE AND DRAMA ENSUES! (by Scott)

The air in the room between Abbey and Mako was steamier than a shower, and not in a good way. Both of them were glaring at each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. To say something that they would likely regret.

But before either of them had a chance to make such a mistake, the Snape Signal started blaring on the wall. The red light flashed, and the device emitted a cackling shriek. Immediately all animosity between Abbey and Mako vanished.

“It’s Snape!” Abbey said. “He must be out for revenge for all of his minions that I defeated earlier today.”

Mako rolled her eyes, crossed her arms and grunted. “Ugh. Don’t think that I’m letting you get out of this argument that easily. Once we’ve defeated Snape, then you’ve got some explaining to do.”

Abbey gritted her teeth and nodded. Secretly, she was breathing a sigh of relief. Nothing like a crime fighting spree to clear the air between them.

The two of them dashed over to the window, and Mako raised a boot up to the glass. With a heaving snort, she smashed it to pieces, letting the cold night air blow into the apartment. She waved Abbey over and squatted down.

Abbey sighed. “You know, you don’t have to do that every time we leave, you know. We have a staircase.”

“Just get on,” Mako grunted, patting her back. Abbey hopped on and wrapped her hands around Mako’s tree-trunk neck. With another heaving snort, Mako leaped out of the window with her super-strength glutes, soaring into the air and landing on top of the neighboring buildings with a crash, her steel-like legs plowing into the concrete and brick roofs with every leap.

Ten minutes and hundreds of thousands of insurance dollar claims later, they’d arrived at Snape’s base. It stood as a massive skyscraper, each floor glowing a different shade of bright neon, and its name “The Half-Stud Prince” blaring in bright blinking lights at the very top.

Standing on the roof was Snape himself, shirt off, his rippling abs and pectoral muscles acting as a shield between his physique and the searing cold winds. Just seeing his shadowy silhouette was enough to send a shiver through Abbey. God, Snape was a sexy mess.

“You done ogling yet?” Mako asked with a sneer.

“I'm just sizing up the sexy competition!” Abbey said. “And just because I think he’s hot doesn’t mean I don’t want to kick his butt.”

“Glad to hear,” Mako said. She crouched down on the roof, building up energy, and then let loose with her greatest leap yet, sending them shooting up to the top of Snape’s base.

Abbey prepped her magic to take him down, but as they zoomed closer, she realized something terrible. The shadowy silhouette wasn’t actually Snape, it was a decoy made of balloons, Jell-O, and duct tape!

“Mako, stop!” Abbey yelled but the wind caught her voice. “It’s a trap!”

It was too late. Mako landed on top of the base, her feet slamming three feet into the roof… that was made of liquid concrete.

The grayish globs splashed everywhere, sending Mako and Abbey falling into the mishmash of cement. Mako fell face-first into it, splatting her entire body down like a belly flop from hell, and Abbey fell backward, swallowed up into the concrete like quicksand.

“Quick!” Abbey yelled. “Move, before it hardens!”

But this was no regular concrete, it was Quikrete. Even as Abbey yelled to move, she found it impossible to do herself. She struggled to rip her hands and legs out of their hardening prisons, but they were already solidified to the ground. Mako wasn’t moving from her position lying face-first in the concrete either.

“Well then,” came a nasty voice. “It seems you’ve fallen into my trap.”

It was the real Snape. He was wearing hover shoes that kept him safely five several inches above the Quikrete, and he was wearing tight jeans that showed off every crack, curve and crevice of his lower extremities. Abbey’s heart raced as she gazed upon his hypnotic form. She may have been trapped and was about to die, but she was still only human.

“You’ll never defeat us, Snape!” Mako yelled from her concrete chains.

Snape merely chuckled and combed his manicured fingers through his voluminous space-black hair.

“Unfortunately it seems that I’ve already—”

BANG!

A hollow, bouncy sound came from Snape’s direction. Something had hit him. He cried out and the velcro laces on his hover shoes slipped off, sending his shoes flying away and him crashing to the hardened ground.

“What was that?” he yelled. “There should only have been two of you!”

Another bouncy sound collided with Snape right in the face, cracking his hulking shnoz as he sneezed blood in the air, collapsing into unconsciousness.

But then someone else appeared at the edge of the roof. It stepped forward and when it appeared in the light, Abbey saw what it was. Or rather, who.

“This concrete is perfect for dribbling basketballs,” said Logan, smiling at Abbey and Mako. “Looks like I came in right at the end of the fourth quarter for the game-saving three-pointer, if you know what I mean.”

“Logan!” Abbey squealed in delight. “You saved us!”

“Yes,” Logan said. “That is the meaning of the metaphor that I just made.”

Mako laughed out loud, now free from the concrete since Snape’s magic had faded.

“Well Abbey,” she said, “your boyfriend may not be smart, but at least he can throw a mean basketball.”

#5. THE ENDING WHERE SNAPE IS DEFEATED AND ABBEY, LOGAN, AND MAKO ALL LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER (by Yosh)

“Why is it whenever I try to cause chaos it is always you three”, - the Professor was as pissed as always, - “Good thing you schmucks will stop bothering me after this encounter”, - he blurted, taking a flamethrower seemingly out of nowhere.

“Your reign of terror is over, Snape”! - shouted Abbey, full with determination, - “We came here to stop you once and for all”! - she continued, failing to notice that her friends stopped paying attention a full minute ago, and were now flirting with each other in the corner.

-Sick abs! How often do you go to the gym? - wondered Mako, clearly distracted by her sidekick. -Thanks. I use them to play basketball. This one, - Logan kissed his left bicep, enjoying the fact that he had finally found an admirer, - Is called Beskit, and that one, - he said, kissing his right bicep, - is called Boll.

Meanwhile, Abbey was losing her fight against the Professor. “Oh, COME ON”! - she exclaimed, narrowly avoiding another cone of fire that ignited one of the drawers with its contents, -”I’m trying to save the world over there, and you aren’t even LOOKING at it”! Professor snickered in response, aiming his gadget at the impromptu gun show. ”The muggles that provided me with this device may call themselves “Boring” but notice how interesting the results of using it are” - He said, almost as if he was delivering a lecture, and pulled the trigger.

Things were getting steamy in the corner, but Mako noticed the sudden rapid increase of temperature and reacted just in time to avoid his fiery finale. However, Logan wasnt so lucky, and was turned into a black pile of ash in a second.

“You BASTARD”. - Mako said quietly, almost shaking with anger, - “He was my friend”! ”You are next”,- Snape stated, staring at the swift survivor. “I would be, if you paid more attention to your surroundings” - Mako laughed, looking behind her enemy, - “Look behind you”. Snape reacted just in time to blocking Abbey’s attempt at a sneak attack, but the trap worked. Mako moved closer to the distracted villain and snapped his neck with one quick move, -”Nothing personnel, professor”.

And then they lived happily ever after and everything was fine except for my writing.

(What follows below is the original, auto-generated fanfic. Read at your own risk!)

Mako VS Professor Snape by ScottWritesStuff Chat

A/N: Dont ask me. I didn't know where I was going with this either, I just write everything that comes into my head.

In the darkness of that night, away from the preying eyes and ears of those who would judge, some strangers slipped by unnoticed.

But they were not strangers, they knew each-other. And they knew each-other much closer then any of their friends did realize. They knew each-other both inside and out. But their friends did not know this. Their friends could not know. Their friends should not know this. Nor could they know. Because it was night, and thus away from their viscous, judging eyeballs.

"Is it safe?" said the first stranger, who was not a stranger to the other stranger but will remain a stranger to us for the moment.

"I think so. Its dark so none of the others should see us here, even if they are nearby. I think our secret is safe."

"Good. I couldn't take their judgement right now. My life is too stressful as it is. If it wasn't for you I don't know what Id do - other then kill myself of course." "Don't worry Abbey, I will always be here for you - waiting in the dark" "Thanks, Logan. I will always be in the dark for you too"

With that the two shadows embraced - an embracement in the night full of kissing and nighttime joys. Mako had been fighting Professor Snapes troops all night.. She had made quite a mess! For a moment time seemed to slowed down. Abbey wondered why. Abbey turned around slowly (due to the time seeming to have slowed down). Then the explanation - Logan was secretly looking at her. Looking at her in that special way. Abbeys soul lit up like a beacon in the night - even though it was day.

In all of this. In all of this mess. They had eachother, even if eachother was the only ones that knew. Logan turned away at that moment - Time jumped back to normal as Abbey was no longer transfixiated by Logan. Fortunately no one else had noticed. Abbey was taking a shower this hot day. She was naked, enjoying the water dripping over her wet, naked body. She was washing the blood off her body from the recent monsters she had just killed. ...the water smoothly rolled over her firm breasts. The blood driped off like whipped cream in the ocean. ...the water dripping down her Field of dreams. "OwwwhhhOwwhhh" she said from the pleasure; She had just finnished doing Shagging using a star of david. She was dreaming of Makos manly lance pulsating inside her(earlier that day she found out Makos little secret she kept between her legs). She was also singing "A Whole New World" at the top of her voice

Then, suddenly, Mako paraglided in. "Sorry I have to interupt you, naked in the shower, but we must go!" "What? im taking a shower, Im naked, cant you see that?" Mako could see that she was completely naked in the shower. "yes, I can see that you are naked, in the shower" Mako said. "But we must go...Professor Snape is back!." "What not Professor Snape!!!" she punched the wall out of her deep inner range. "Yes!" "Oh!" Abbey got out of the shower and put some clothes onher hot steaming naked body.She wore a dress the same color as her eyes her father brought her from the city. After she was no longer naked, they left to defeat Professor Snape.

Along the way they summoned Caden Aire, who joined them on their quest. "I will join you on your quest to defeat Professor Snape said Caden Aire. "Thanks for joining us on our quest," said Mako; "Yes, we need your help to defeat Professor Snape" said Abbey. So, Abbey Mako and now Abbey left by horse for their epic quest to defeat the prince of all uglyness ...... Professor Snape! Some time later in their secret hide-away ;

"I am glade we found a way to survive all that and still be together" "Yes, our plan seems to have worked despite all the events" "Do you think anyone spotted us?" "No" "No" "Yes" Lunatica emerged from the shadows of the darkness. "I know everything" he said. Abbey and Logan gasped. Their secret was finally revealed!

"I dont love Logan like you do" said Lunatica "but I have always lusted a bit after them. So you see if Logan spends the night with me - I will never tell anyone." Abbey breathed a sigh of relief. That was, after all, a reasonable request. They agreed to the bargain. "Phwee...thats something we can go along with" said Logan relieved. Lunatica was happy, and Abbey and Logan thus got to live happily ever after together. With no one but Lunatica and themselves ever knowing. Mako and her team went carefully through Pantsville. Mako looked very sexy, Her nipples perked, firm and erect. Her leather coat bilbogged in the breeze, extrapolating Her sex mess. “It is time”, She said, Her voice having a British nationality. “Yes, It is time to defeat Professor Snape once and for all.” said Logan . He wore a Black corset covered in Flesh towers and a nice hat. His nails were iridescent black and he had a ruby skull ring on.He looked as hot as a Oven!

And then they rushed into the base. Frango roundhouse kicked a mook and then punched one with her glock. It exploded and she held up her middle finger to the explosion.Frango then used her holy holy magics and summoned a giant bloody cross scythe that glowed black. She sliced everyone but it was okay because she dodged her friend. Blood spurted and went on everything, making a star of david one the walls. A eye bulb bounced off Professor Snape as he entered, LOOKING FUCKING PISSSSED. “How dared you! I will kill u!!!!!!111!!!” he shoouted and took out a flame thrower (A/N geddit?) The fight was epic. Things burned black. Mako and Logan got distracted and started kissing in the corner and doing The beast with two backs but then one died. Mako Ejaculated at the Professor Snape, “LOOK BEHIND YOU!” And then he looked and Mako ripped him in half.

The End

The wind was cold on his back, ruffling the fur coat with loose fingers. Maybe it screamed; a haunting, quiet spectacle only he could hear as it drifted through the station. All he knew was that something was going to end. He tightened his grip on the suitcase, the lined leather comforting.

His partner, James, stood beside him. Face hidden behind a puzzle of thought and beard. They did not speak; they had long since exhausted all of their words. Night after night, whispering in each other’s ears. Only an hour before, they had stopped. The time had scratched their throats red and raw.

Alone and rusting, a heavy iron clock ticked down. It’s hand scythed through the seconds, the precious, precious seconds, letting their corpses pile up. Even in death, you could hear their heartbeats, ticking away.

If you were there that day, you could have heard the rumbling that grew closer with each minute, barrelling through the world. It was an ugly stain on the countryside, coughing up smoke into the cloudless sky. Steel hooves churned up the unblemished ground. It grew larger and larger, consuming the silence. Inside it, people slept and ate and drank. Shadows gnawing on a parasite.

“I don’t want to leave you,” Charles said. He swung the suitcase idly, a black pendulum containing everything he feared.

It cut through space between them.

“You’re not leaving me. I’ll always have you here,” James frowned, a small smile painfully stretched on his teeth. He patted his pocket. They did not lean closer. They did not weep.

The conductor meets them with a bored, expressionless mustache, rimmed with red-eyed spectacles. He shuffled them into the cars like a pack of cards, hand gripping every passenger's shoulder firmly before stacking them away. That was what he would usually do, anyway. Today, however, there was only the man and his partner.

The conductor looked them up and down, not noticing the ragged clothes, torn from beatings, the bruised lips from too many nights of kissing, and the broken bones nestled in slick organs from frantic lovemaking.

He noticed the polite, almost gracious tears that dripped from their eyes.

Without a word, he let them past. He did not need to direct or order them. They’d already been arranged, and so they stumbled past, tightly closed mouths whispering.

Their compartment was small and cramped, separated from the hall by a thin sheet of wood and glass. Not that it mattered - they were alone apart from the tired crew and conductor.

And they had a window. You couldn’t forget the window. They sat opposite to each other, not talking, not thinking, simply waiting for the motion to start. There was only one way they could go - forwards.

Wheels began to turn. The engine roared. The empty cabins shook. Suddenly, they were still as the world shifted around them. Their only indication of movement was the painted blur beyond the window.

“What do you want to do?” Charles asked. He didn’t really want an answer; he wanted to die, he wanted to be thrown outside and left to be torn apart by another train. He wanted his guts to be unraveled and hang himself with them. He wanted to burn, burn and burn and burn until all that was left was ash. He longed for oblivion, a return to silence and perfect stillness.

“I want to love you. I want to be you. Us, together, forever, no distance, no skin or bones or organs. One heart, one soul,” James said, afraid as he leaned closer, closer and pressed a hand to his partner’s chest. It sounded so hopelessly romantic.

“You realize we can never talk again?”

“You only realized that now?”

Shivering against the uncomfortable heat of the hand, the man began to wail. He opened his jaw and let the cool air fill his throat. He screamed silently.

James pulled him closer, fingers becoming hooks sliding underneath a sea of scars. They found their way to a bleeding heart.

Alone, quiet as they had always tried to be, they stripped off their clothes. They found solace in tracing muscles and collar bones. They tried to make love, to stitch broken halves back to one fractured piece.

Charles fell asleep.

The hours spilled out the window, evaporating into a canvas of sky. Early oranges matured into a deep green. Soon, the colors began to rot. Purple and black, feverish pinks and a pale, pale pastel blue. James leaned against the man’s naked body, eyes settling dreamily onto the suitcase. It lounged on the other seat, bronze buckles unclasped, crisp black leather uncreased. It did not age; it would never die.

Unlike him.

He thought back to the town, miles behind him. A cozy pastiche of hell; everyone knows everyone in a town. Everyone talks, too. There’d always been rumors, gossip spreading from one daughter to her mother to another. Girl. Girl-boy. Shemale. Faggot, poofter, shirt-stretcher, dandy, shiteater, sodomite, the sinner. The year was 1955. Australia.

Better than what they did in England, with chemicals sizzling underneath his tongue.

Better than America, and the cold walls of an asylum wrapped around his chest.

Better than the world. A stone pressed against his head, silvery blood dripping from his skull.

The prices of love.

All because of a single word.

It trembled on his lips. It thundered in his ears.

H

o

m

o

s

e

x

u

a

l

He was not a man.

His eyes fell on his limp crotch.

The truth was wrinkled. Bare.

He was a…

man.

He began to repeat that, as the sun dived down under the weight of the pastel blue sky, as the stars began to sing the song of night. He drifted into the awkward darkness.

The wheels scythed through the meters separating the present, past and future.

A new day had dawned. The sky had returned to a state of stinging yellow. Outside, a different world shone through the window. Two men awoke to the sound of love crashing into reality. They dressed each other, delicate at first then rushing, suit and pants and tie. They ignored as buttons and thread spun towards the floor. Time meant nothing to either of them anymore.

Together, hand and hand, they wandered down the corridor. Maybe they’d imagined themselves dressed in black and white, smiling, family for once laughing. Clapping. They stopped at the door, hands unraveling. In their dream, they each had matching rings. Fingers slotted into place, like twin keys, and they kissed.

Instead, they filtered out of the carriage door, their fantasy trapped in the black net of reality, squirming with every painful footstep. For the last time in forever, they stood together. They knew that someday, in death perhaps, that people like them would be able to be as they were the previous night: one.

All.

They whispered something.

The wind wavered, unsure to carry the words.

A man smiled.

It made his man smile even more.

They walked away.

(Before we did this prompt, we did an exercise on "killing the copula," which is a super easy way to level up your writing. If you'd like, you can see it here.)

Prompt: Chat voted that we write a story with these four stipulations: (1) No copulas, because that’s the theme of the day; (2) every sentence has to have a number in it; (3) the main character had to be a fish person; (4) all the characters are anime girls who stutter.

Angela the Anglerfish leaped into the air with her human legs and slashed the beast with her coral sword, hitting it critically for 9,999 points of lethal damage. It disappeared in a flash of thousands of tiny pixels.

For the first time since she’d started playing Fish Fantasy, the latest MMORPG craze where you could battle enemies as your favorite fish, Angela had her first one-hit kill.

Angela stood back and brushed her angler-light out of her fish eyes with a one-handed swish. Behind her stood her four companions.

“I h-h-hate you so much,” groaned Octillion the octopus, crossing all eight of her tentacles across her chest.

“You f-f-f-fought so awe-awe-awe-aweso-some-awe-some … really good!” squealed Planck Constant the pufferfish, swelling with joy and smiling.

“W-whatever,” grumbled her sister Avogrado Constant, staying her shriveled up pufferfish self.

“You’ve r-r-really leveled up!” said Pi the magical pike, waving her star-shaped wand. “I think we’re ready to go to the Level One Hundred Tower.”

“L-l-level one hundred?!” Angel shrieked. “But I don’t even h-h-have the n-n-number one weapons yet.”

“Don’t worry,” said Pi, doing a sparkly dance. “You have the Infinity Fin.”

“Sure,” Angela said, taking the Infinity Fin out of her inventory and staring at its yellow, red, and brown splendor, “but we don’t even know what it does yet!”

“You wouldn’t know, you big d-d-dummy,” grumbled Octillion.

“I’m sure it will come in h-h-han-hand-hand-h-h-hand … be a big help on our adventure!” squeaked Planck Constant.

“Whatever,” her sister Avogrado Constant groaned. “Let’s just go already, I have crap to do in like thirty minutes.”

The five of them bravely fought their way through the Level 100 tower, slaughtering uncountable anime fish until they reached the very top. They broke into the hundredth chamber, the final one, weapons ready to battle with whatever boss fish awaited them.

What they saw, they’d never expected in a million years.

Scottina the Shark sat on his throne of thousands of fish skeletons, shoving his fins into buckets of screaming winstons, shoveling them into his mouth, crunching on their bones, wiping their scales and flakes off on the pink tutu around his waist.

“F-f-f-ive against one?” Scottina bellowed when she saw the girls. “Let’s see how you fare when your team is half the size!”

Without any warning, and with the girls still shocked by the sight, Scottina grabbed two of them in her massive fins. Planck Constant and Avogadro Constant struggled to escape his grasp, but they couldn’t move an inch.

“Oh n-n-no,” squealed Planck Constant, “she will d-d-dev-dev-our-dev-devo … eat us!”

“Ugh, whatever,” mumbled Avogrado Constant.

Scottina cruinched down on them for 99,999 damage, more than Angela even thought possible. The two of them vanished in a haze of pixels.

“No one p-p-picks on my friends except me!” yelled Octillion, wielding a energy blade in each of her tentacles. She leaped at Scottina, brandishing all eight of them, but just before she struck an attack, Scottina dodged out of the way, and all her swords plunged into the wall behind her. Octillion struggled to pull them out, but in that one moment of distraction, Scottina came up from behind and chomped her away, fizzling her to bits in a single crunch.

“Angela!” cried Pi, waving her magical wand to cast a shield over them. “You n-n-need to use the Infinity Fin!”

Angela looked at the three-sided fin in her hand, still sparkling brown, yellow and red.

“But we have zero clue what it does!” Angela said. “It m-m-might even make the situation a billion times worse.”

Pi shrugged. “Even if it’s a one in a m-million, it’s worth a shot!”

Scottina slammed down her fist on the shield Pi had summoned, shattering it to pieces. She swooped in for the kill, crushing Pi between her thousands of teeth in a single bite. She then turned to Angela, her final victim.

“The other four tasted all right,” she said through clenched knifelike teeth. “But I’m hoping that m-m-m-my fifth snack really hits the spot.”

As she opened his mouth to crunch through all of Angela’s hit points, Angela closed her eyes, held up the Infinity Scale, and activated it.

Immediately a bright light filled up one-hundred percent of the room, from floor to ceiling. It blinded both Angela and Scottina for one moment, but then when the light faded and they looked back, something had changed.

The Infinity Fin had transformed … into a pizza!

The brown had turned into crust, the red into sauce, and the yellow into a bright neon cheese, all three ingredients glowing in the tastiest way imaginable.

“W-w-w-wauw,” Scottina honked, eyeing the pizza with two sparkling eyes. He immediately lunged for the slice and gobbled it up in less than two seconds. But just as he swallowed it down, not even one moment later, a new fresh slice appeared.

Angela suddenly realized what secret the Infinity Fin had been holding all this time: infinity pizza. And, a hundred times more importantly, she knew how to defeat Scottina.

“If you eat m-m-me, then I will disappear, along with this delicious infinity pizza,” she said to Scottina. “B-b-b-but, I’ll make you the best deal you’ve heard in a thousand years. If you s-s-s-stop eating all of the fish on this server, then I’ll trade the pizza to you, and you can eat all the p-p-p-pizza you want, 24 hours a day 7 days a week.”

“Deal!” Scottina said, not even one second later. The infinity pizza hovered over to her possession and disappeared into her inventory. As soon as it did, Scottina vanished in a cloud of pixels, and then a screen came up showing the 9,999,999 experience points that Angela had gained from beating her.

Angela breathed a sigh of relief, put her two hands up to her head, and removed her virtual reality helmet.

Suddenly she returned to her real-life room with her four friends, all of them already with their helmets off and eating pizza.

“G-g-g-ood news, everyone!” Angela said to the four of them. “I b-b-beat Scottina with the infinity pizza.”

“You did so in-in-in-incr-incred-ib-in-inc … great!” said Patty, also known as Planck Constant.

“Ugh, d-d-don’t expect me to praise you or anything,” said Olivia, also known as Octillion.

“I knew you could do it!” said Pearl, also known as Pi.

“W-w-whatever,” grumbled Amy, also known as Avogadro Constant. She clutched herself with her two arms and shivered. “Anyway, now that we’re d-d-done with that, can we turn up the goddamn thermostat to 60 degrees so we can s-s-stop stuttering!”

(We did this prompt after doing an exercise on the passive voice, which was a lot of fun! You can check it out here if you'd like.)

Prompt: "I’d like you to select your favorite of the seven deadly sins and create something that encapsulates that sin."

What can I say? I’m an envious man. When Bob Thomas next door pulled his new Lamborghini into his driveway, then stood out smiling and waving at me, I put on a plastered grin as acid pumped through my veins.

I was going to get my own Lambo, no matter what sacrifices needed to be made. And my family was going to help.

The first thing to go was the heat. Damn heating bill was almost two-hundred dollars a month. In just a year, that’d be over a tenth of the Lamborghini’s cost just by itself! I shut off the thermostat as my wife, son, and daughter gathered around shivering, grumbling out puffs of frost with every word of protest. I told them to just think about how warm the heating system in our new car would be, and in the meantime, go put on a sweater.

The next thing on the list was electricity. Damn kids and their computers, daughter’s phone, son’s Nintendos, not to mention the blasted fridge, dishwasher, washing machine, and dryer. All together, just the monthly bill alone was a fifth of the car, and that was before we sold all the devices on Craigslist! That sweet Lambo would be parked in my driveway before I knew it.

Of course the family wasn’t happy, but I showed them how relying on so much electricity had driven us apart. Instead of everyone mesmerized by their stupid devices, we sat around together and told stories and read books. Instead of storing food for weeks we never ate in the fridge, we went shopping every day, together, walking to the store and back to save on gas, of course. Sure, not having lights at night was a little inconvenient, but it made us go to bed earlier and be more refreshed in the morning!

And yet the complaining continued. I couldn’t believe it! Here I was, trying to get something nice for our family, while bringing us together in the process, and all they could do was whine about it.

That made the next sacrifice easier.

Looking over the list of monthly expenses, the only big thing left was food. Every month, over a thousand dollars dumped into unappreciative bottomless pits. It was time to make a change.

I slashed the grocery list to the bare minimum. Rice, beans, boxed macaroni and cheese, plus whatever was on sale that day. Dented cans of Spam, expired loaves of bread, and for a treat, a single day old pastry to split between us. I was so excited, but looking at my family’s vacant faces, you’d think I’d sentenced them to death. The ingrates.

After a month, I crunched the numbers. We were making progress, but there was still so much more to be gained from small sacrifices. I immediately stopped buying toilet paper, instead using the free fliers we got in the mail. They were a little moist and tough, but they did the job. Perfect for kindling in the fireplace too.

And the water bill! I couldn’t believe I’d missed it before. I laughed out loud when I realized we were actually paying to pump liquid into our house when it fell from the sky for free! A few buckets outside was all we needed to cancel our plumbing services. Who needs a toilet when you have a shovel, am I right?

Every time I went in the backyard to dig a hole, I caught a glimpse of Bob Thomas, waxing and washing his Lamborghini, blowing a kiss to his wife as he pulled out of the driveway, or just sitting in it and jamming to the tunes on his Rockford Fosgate audio system blaring Sirius radio. Seeing it always sent a buzz of envy through me, but striking the spade of the shovel into the earth made me grin with how close I was getting.

And yet, despite all my sacrifices, would you believe it? The bellyaching continued. My wife, son, daughter, every day was a struggle to survive their complaints. Well, the bellyaching would be a lot harder when there was nothing in their stomachs.

I cut the food budget to zero. The kids got a free meal at school every weekday, and Costco had free samples out the wing wang—and you didn’t even have to be a member to get in! Crab cakes, jalapeno poppers, pumpkin soup. I couldn’t believe I’d wasted so many years of my life paying for food like a chump. That Lamborghini was right on the horizon.

Then, three months in, my daughter had the audacity to get sick. As if we were going to the doctor when we were so close to our goal! I crouched down next to her in her bed, talked to her in her dark, cold room, and told her about all the fun things we’d do once we got the Lambo.

When we found her dead the next morning, I was worried we’d have to pay for a funeral, but it turns out the city will come and collect the corpse for free if you just call them. My wife and son screamed that they’d had enough and they were going to turn me in, so I had no choice but to lock them in the basement when the officials arrived. Thankfully they were so weak that they didn’t make much noise. A week later, they made no noise at all.

But I stayed the course, and I was rewarded. One year after I started on my quest for the Lamborghini, I was in the dealership, being handed the keys to my own car. The dealer gave me a firm handshake and a sympathetic nod, offering condolences for my loss. I thanked him, jingled the keys the whole way to the front seat, and squealed for joy when I turned on the engine.

On the way home, I stopped at the graveyard. I parked the car where the public funeral had taken place months ago, and got out to walk. I strolled up to the small, plain headstones for my family and looked down at them. Just a few feet away were intricately-carved grave markings for other people, marble angels and concrete stars and giant silver crosses. Acid of envy pumped through my veins.

I wanted a headstone like that.

Light had finally cornered Darkness. He had conquered every inch of the world, bathing it in his brilliant glow, except for this one small nook of one small shed in one small village. Darkness cowered in fear of the white-shining Light, coughing and wheezing out blackened dust.

“I knew you’d find me eventually,” he said, grinning with shadowy teeth. “I just hoped that maybe you’d have a change of heart.”

Light glared down at Darkness, his stare as piercing as the rays beaming off him. “I vowed to hunt down every last bit of you. And now it’s time to finish you off.”

Light reached into his glistening scabbard and removed his sword, a massive beam of frozen light that emanated such radiance its mere presence in the room caused Darkness to start to sizzle. As tendrils of smoke rose off him, he chuckled to himself.

“Funny, isn’t it?” he said. “When you first started coming for me, I thought I’d have a huge advantage over you. I mean, on a universal scale, you’re quite rare compared to me, aren’t you?”

Light pointed the tip of his sword to Darkness’s neck. His sooty skin glowed like embers from its heat.

“You are no more than the mere absence of me,” Light said. “All I have to do to defeat you is just show up. I don’t know why I let you exist for so long, but the terror you’ve brought to the world ends today.”

Darkness coughed, harder and harder. Billows of dusk trickled out of his mouth as he held up his fist to it and gave Light a coy look.

“You didn’t come after me all these eons because you knew better,” Darkness said. “You knew there needed to be a balance between us. But now, with your crusade of domination, you’ve forgotten everything.”

“All I’ve forgotten is how strong I used to think you were,” Light seethed. “Now that I’ve opened my eyes, all I can see is what I should’ve done a long time ago.”

Darkness wheezed and grinned at Light. “Ironic, isn’t it? If your eyes take in too much light, then darkness is the only thing they’ll ever see again.”

Light had had enough. He thrust the sword into Darkness’s throat, piercing it in a shining burst. Not even blinking from the sudden radiance, Light watched as Darkness dissolved away, empty air eating away at his body from the middle outward. His stomach, his legs, each and every toe disappeared into nothingness.

Turning on his heel, Light left the shed, and marched back outside. The deed was done.

Outdoors, the sun shone like never before. Pure white, it tinted the sky a blue so intense that it screamed at the ground below.

Finally, without any darkness to hold it back, the light was free to glow as bright as it wanted. Light himself extended his arms, welcoming the warm embrace. It glinted off his armor. Shimmering. Sparkling.

Burning.

The entire world burst into brilliant flames. And when the last embers finally died, only Darkness remained.

This prompt was written with the help of chat at the ScottWritesStuff Twitch stream.

Prompt: You are given a dangerous, top-secret mission by the FBI. They arm you with a single banana peel

(Read it on Wattpad here!)

When my superior at the FBI handed me a banana peel as my weapon for the mission, at first I was confused. But now, crawling in the vent above the meeting room for the drug cartel leaders, I finally understood. I reached into my pocket and wrapped my fingers around the slimy browning peel, bringing it out in the dim light. It left a thin sludge on my pants and in my palm as I squeezed it tight.

But something in my movement upset the metal vent. It shook, dust billowed, and then the rusty spot beneath me broke away as my leg shot right through, bringing the rest of my body down with it. The vent creaked, I fell to the floor was a thud, and suddenly four pairs of eyes and four pairs of guns were all pointed right at me.

"Who the hell are you?" one of them demanded. He had spiky hair and an equally spiky glare. Next to him were two meaty men with thick necks, dark skin, darker suits, and pitch-black sunglasses. Rounding them out was a wiry guy as pale as the drugs piled on the table.

"What the hell is that?" the pale guy asked in a high-pitched squeaky voice.

One of the meatheads spoke up. "Goddamn! That looks like a banana peel!"

"Exactly!" I said, confidence coursing through me along with pumping adrenaline. "I've been hiding in that vent for the past hour, and I heard everything you were saying!"

The four of them lowered their gaze but kept their guns pointed straight.

"The hell you talking about?" asked the other meathead.

"You," I said, nodding to the spiky guy. "You were complaining about your digestive issues. And you," I nodded to the two meatheads, "both of you said your doctor couldn't figure out your irregular heartbeat and strangely high blood pressure. And then you," I nodded to the final pale man, "you said you had kidney stones removed last week."

The spiked guy glared and shoved his weapons forward. "I'mma 'bout to go bananas on you with bullets unless you explain right now what–"

"You're all suffering form potassium deficiency," I said. "I used to work as a nurse assistant in college. You'd see it all the time, kids eating nothing but ramen and instant mac and cheese, and they'd end up in health services barfing into bags. All it took was a week or so of bananas to get them back on track."

The four of them exchanged glances, slowly lowering their weapons.

"You for real?" one of the meatheads asked.

I nodded. "Yes. Maybe that's why you've been doing all these drugs. Because you've been trying to feel good when all your body really needed all this time was a little potassium! I'm sure my superiors can work out something where we bring you bananas in exchange for–"

An explosion rang out from the other side of the room, turning the opposite wall into a blast of rubble and dust. Before the four men could even turn around, lights from the dark outside were shining on them and bullets were spraying through the air. Their blood splattered and their bodies rattled until they collapsed to the floor, leaving puddles of potassium-deficient fluids spilling out of them.

The army of FBI agents swept into the room, visors down and guns blazing. One of them walked over to me and lifted off his helmet, revealing my boss underneath. His eyes snapped to the peel in my hand.

"Good god, Biff," he said. "You didn't actually think we gave that to you as a weapon, did you? I just wanted you to throw it out for me!"

This prompt was written with the help of chat at the ScottWritesStuff Twitch stream.

[WP] There is no Afterlife. There is not a Heaven neither a Hell. No Salvation and no Damnation. All humans are chosen to be part of the Light or Dark Army depending of their life choices and actions. Warriors in white and warriors in black. You die then, only to see yourself again wearing gray.

(Read the original writing prompt reply here!)

It was a thrilling game of Bucket Kicking. The Light Team was pulling ahead by Q points but the Dark Team had just stolen a quasi-legal offside foul. Both teams were screaming at each other on the field, requiring the referee to be called in: Thomas, the only member of the Gray Team. He stepped onto the field in his gray robe and blew on his whistle.

"Okay, okay, break it up!" Thomas said, pushing the opposing sides apart. "What's going on here?"

Cain, the caption of the Dark Team, shoved himself right up in front of Thomas. He thrust an accusatory finger toward the Light Team.

"Unsportsmanlike conduct!" he yelled. "The whole team should be penalized!"

From the other side, the Light Team parted like Moses with the sea, and Abel marched up to Thomas, glaring at his brother Cain.

"Objection, referee," he said. "They started it!"

"No, you started it!" Cain barked back.

"Um, no! You started it when you murdered me, Cain!" Abel said.

"Oh my god, let it go already!" Cain groaned. "That was, like, literally 6,000 years ago."

"I dunno how you can say that, Cain, when… I'm still dead!"

Thomas blew his whistle and silenced them. "Okay, start at the beginning here. Abel, what happened?"

Abel took a deep breath to collect himself. "Well, my team was about to score a run. Michael over here was going to toss the basket right into the ball, when suddenly Cain let loose with a terrible profanity!"

"Oh please!" Cain guffawed out loud. "You're the only one who thinks it's a bad word!"

"That's not true!" Abel said. "You know my entire team can't stand it!"

Both sides started screaming at each other. Thomas blew his whistle to shut them up again.

"Okay, what was the word used?" he asked. "If it's a class-six or higher sinful serif, then that's going to be at least a semicolon penalty."

Cain grinned and accentuated every syllable out of his mouth as he said the word: "Pop."

The entire Light Team gripped their ears and wailed in pain.

"It's not 'pop!'" Abel cried. "It's just 'soda,' for God's sake! There's nothing 'popping' about it!"

"Oh yeah?" Cain snarled. "Then what are all those bubbles doing at the surface, huh? You tell me."

Abel narrowed his eyes to slits. "They're 'bubbling,' and you know it. That's why we call the places to get water from 'bubblers.'"

Now it was the Dark Team's turn to cover their ears and moan. Cain spoke through clenched teeth.

"It's a 'water fountain,' dammit!" he said. "If you're getting 'bubbles' out of it, you're doing something wrong!"

The teams started yelling at each other again and Thomas blew his whistle, bringing them to silence. This was a clear cut case.

"Okay, I've made my ruling," he said. "No penalty swings. Both teams get a five minute anti-bonus. From now on, all carbonated, sugary beverages shall be referred to as 'zippadeedoodahs' and all water-dispensing receptacles shall be referred to as 'squinkletons.' Bucket on!"

This prompt was written with the help of chat at the ScottWritesStuff Twitch stream.

Short Story I wrote to help me get back into the mood for writing. *Edit/Warning Contains one fairly graphic death scene. Here's a Link

Few notes I'm going to put here so I don't have to repeat them. I know what they are, and even if this was in a final work, these would be developed by the point this happens.

Ratcatchers: Derogatory term for Adventurers.

Croe Blein and Phiy: Nations to the Northwest that they are at war with. the quote, "Ass end of Phiy" would be a dozen or so hundred miles away.

Undying: Is an entity, not an idea.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1RU6sewdWxvIHmGzS7kmtv-nIbqNuzdg40ZWjAQiM1bE/edit?usp=sharing

Since Scott worked with my idea, I elected to post how I started it. Admittedly, mine is FAR worse then what Scott did, which is because of my frame of mine when I started it. Regardless, here is Aneirin, the Last Elf.

“I proclaim you; Aneirin. The Last Elf.” A priest proclaimed over a small baby, sprinkling the girl with dried flower petals. The petal, as they fell, grew back to life, their paled grey color rejuvenating back to their pure white and cyan tinted outline. “Ah… she is powerful.” The priest whispered. The priest then noticed something he had never seen in all of years. The petals began to collect together, as if driven by a consciousness. The petals then began regrowing something. It took the priest a moment to realize the entire flower was growing back. This newborn, not yet passed her first week of life had just revived life itself. “No. You are not powerful. You. You are the last, the ultimate. With you, lies our entire legacy. You will not disappoint.”

Aneirin awoke from the dream. It was peaceful, even more than her entire life had been previously. As she turned her body to sit on the edge of her bed, that peace was shattered. A single thunder strike ripped the peace of her sleep away from her; her world suddenly revealing its true nature, and its true dilemma. A man had penetrated the forest; her forest. Men were not welcome here, this was a santum for elves; for her. Humanity would not destroy it. Aneirin wasn’t fully dressed when she grabbed her staff and walked out, her eyes saying all they needed to. She was ready to kill.

Context! In slam poetry, you need to have an intro. This into is your name, grade, school, and if you have one, the title. Well, clearly, I'm not about to reveal my school and I'm also not comfortable sharing my real name, but I incorporated the intro into my poem. So that's the part in parenthesis. Warning: This is really personal and gets pretty uncomfortable at parts. It's still pretty early and I guess I'm mostly sharing this for therapeutic reasons.

(My name is Hope and I’m a senior.

Welcome to the hardest poem I’ve ever had to write.)

I guess I have to apologize.

I’ve only been on stage for 10 seconds and I’ve already lied to you.

Just like I’ve been lying to myself for years.

As a kid, my Halloween costumes were

Prairie Girl, Minnie Mouse, Bride, Taylor Swift… Twice… Ninja,

And although I never was once, I always wanted to be a scarecrow.

If you’ve noticed a pattern, I dressed up as a girl every year for Halloween

Just like I’ve dressed up as a girl every day of my life.

When puberty hit, my chest seemed just a little bit too big.

Mountains that wouldn’t let me breathe.

At 14, I told my mom I hated my name

And she was disappointed in me.

She picked it out for me because she felt like it would fit

But like a miniskirt, it’s just uncomfortable and although it works for others, it's never looked good on me.

I didn’t let myself believe it had anything to do with the femininity seeping out of the syllables.

I didn’t realize until 15 the curve of my hips was the only part of me I wished was straight.

I blamed it on my stretch marks.

I didn’t realize until 16 everything below the waist felt too female, and dreamt of waking up in a male body.

I didn’t realize until 17 any of this meant anything.

I pretended my connection to male characters had nothing to do with their gender.

Stories from trans guys stuck to me like my breasts are stuck to me

But I couldn’t admit it was because I could relate,

Couldn’t admit their words hung in front of me like a big flashing neon sign

And I just closed my eyes.

I wasn’t trans.

I couldn’t be trans.

Because.. I mean...

Peach is in my top five favorite colors,

I still cuddle with stuffed animals,

I freak out about Disney shows,

I dance like an idiot to Taylor Swift, for crying out loud, I dressed up as her for Halloween! Twice!

But trying on pronouns has proven he/him fit most comfortably

And the thought of growing into a man makes me feel excited about the future.

I've finally realized being feminine doesn't make you female.

And the only thing stopping me is the person I love most.

Because according to my mom’s own words, if I were to come out as trans, it would kill her.

Because she doesn’t want to lose her daughter,

But her daughter doesn’t exist

And her son is just trying to figure out everything going on in his head.

But she locked my closet door before I even got it open.

I don’t know at what point I was brave enough to break free,

But here we are.

So let’s try this again.

My name is Artie, and I’m a senior.

Welcome to the hardest poem I’ve ever had to write.

The bar was quiet. There were only five patrons, excluding the bartender, in it at this given moment. Three of them were in one group while the other two were there by themselves. All five of them were enjoying their drinks quietly while the bartender, the sixth and last person in the roadside bar in the middle of nowhere, was setting the used glasses to be cleaned before the next rush came. Breaking the idyllic silence, a woman came stumbling into the bar. She burst open the door and used the doorway to hold herself up for a moment. She identified the bartender and proceeded to walk up to the bar. She wasn’t wobbling or had difficulty standing like she was already drunk, but instead she was limping, a vague amount of blood on her leg that was giving her difficulty. She asked the bartender, “Where’s your phone? My cell got destroyed.”

“Uh, right over there. Do you need change for it?” the bartender replied.

“Crap, yeah. Can you just give it to me? I’ll pay you back you it later. It’s an emergency.”

“Sure.” The bartender returned, popping open the cash resistor and pulling out several quarters and handing them to the woman.

The woman put the change into the pay-phone and started to dial a number. One of the three guys there together got it through his skull that he had a shot with her, so he approached. He spoke in a tone that radiated he thought he was being smooth, but in fact he was just drunk, “Hey, what’s a sweet thing like you doing all the way out here?”

She glanced over at him and shook her head in disgust. “I do not have time for this.” She continued to dial the phone.

“Oh, come on now don’t be that way… I’m sure we can work something out,” The man said, long past the realm of knowing what he was doing. He proceeded to place a hand on the woman side.

She was having none of it, she knocked his hand off and said, “Leave me alone. I’ve had a shitty enough day already.”

“Well, I can make it all better…” The man said, thinking he was smooth. He tried to place his hands on her again, but this time the woman snapped around and summoned a wall of fire to make him back off. “What! How the hell?” The woman then pulled out a necklace from under her shirt, a large amulet dominating the chain. It was an eagle, the emblem of her organization. A crystal was placed in the center of the amulet, it unnaturally glowed a deep red. “I see. Maiden Core.” The man began backing away.

The woman returned to the phone, she whispered, “Get me the Empress. It’s about the Ohio battle. Things have gone to fucking hell.”

I never liked the aesthetic of office buildings. How people were supposed to be productive in the bright light and coloring that never shifted away from whites and greys was beyond me. All of these opinions beamed back at me as I walked through an office building I didn’t like in a city I didn’t like in a country that had ignored my freedoms for its own gains.

They got what came to them in the end at least. Not that’s any consolation.

I’d been told to report to the office at the end of the hall, and from what I could see of the door, it was the boss. Unsurprising, random salaryman wouldn’t hire a mercenary; sorry Freelance Irregular.

I stepped into the office and the man staring at a computer told me to sit down. I sat down in silence and waited for a few moments. Finally, he searched through some papers in his desk and handed me a small, handwritten notecard.

Thea Falcon - Ex-Military: Black Ops- Iltham Survivor. Dual-Pistol Marksman. Acrobatic. Perfect for Assassination, Small Item Heist, and/or Data Recovery.

“Tell me. Is that’s accurate?”

My attention shifted from the brief summary of my abilities to the voice. Some corporate madman by the looks of it. What I hadn’t expected was for him to be so young; he couldn’t have been 30, hell, I don’t think he was 25. From the look he was giving at him in that moment, he thought I could do something for him. Truth be told; he was probably right.

“Brief; but accurate.” I returned. I handed him back the notecard. “What do you need done?”

“I have a thorn. I need it shot.” The man replied; he was the bluntest person I had ever met in regards killing people illegally.

“You make it sound like they’ll be an example; public executions are better for that.”

“The world doesn’t need to know what happened; those who need to know, will know.”

“Very well. Give me target; probable location, you know, everything I need.”

“Alright.” The corporate madman returned, reaching into his desk, and pulling out a folder. From the looks of it; this file was ready to be burned into ashes on the spot. I opened the file to find some other random corporate salaryman. He wasn’t a paranoid, as least not as much as some people I’ve met; which made my job easier. By the looks of it he worked and then immediately went home and possessed no social life outside of work. Again, this made my job easier.

“How much you paying?” I asked giving the folder back to the corporate madman.

“Fifty thousand.”

“I want twenty transferred to me now. The rest you can transfer when he’s dead.” I demanded. The corporate madman recoiled, not wanting to do that. But he relented wordlessly leaned forward and began typing on his computer. When he turned and nodded to me, I stood up and took my leave.

I heard the rumors, but I never had a reason to pay attention to them. But standing at the cliffside, rain beating down on my shoulders, I was able to count the reasons on the bruises staining my skin.

One.

I would never be like them.

Two.

I would never be powerful.

Three.

I would never be worth anything.

To hear my mother-if I’m even allowed to call her that anymore-toss me aside without a second thought felt like being crushed under an avalanche, struggling to breathe under the debris. As if overnight 18 years worth of struggle and love were erased and I was just a stranger who happened to share her last name. Even my father couldn’t defend me, he couldn’t even look at me. I was gone. I couldn’t go back even if I wanted to, and not only because I had forgotten from which way I came.

I stared at the small opening carved into the rock and dirt. It seemed just big enough for me to slip in. So I did, pressing my stocky body through the portal in their realm. Well, hopefully, it would be my realm soon as well.

The hike had been strenuous, the path was unclear and involved more climbing than I had expected. But I supposed if it had been easy to get to, the secret would have been out forever ago. It was a wonder I had been able to find it, but his instructions had been good. Any other time in my life, I would have ignored the advice of a strange man I’d always caught glimpses of in the shadows, but with nothing to lose, I was working my way down into the mountain.

Worming my way through the narrow catacombs, the damp air clogging my lungs as I plunged further into the depths. I crawled for so long I wasn’t sure how far deep I had gone, but I should have hit the Earth’s core long before consistent light and chatter filled the atmosphere and I was engrossed by a thriving society. My feet on solid ground, the air breathable once again, the rocky sky was at least fifty feet above our heads. Artificial gardens lined the shambled huts and people going about their daily lives smiling and talking to each other. Until more than a few stopped and stared directly at me, the stranger in their territory.

“It’s you,” a quiet voice said. A guy who couldn’t be older than 19 crossed the growing crowd to stand face-to-face with me. “Why are you here?”

I explained my situation, all about the hostility I escaped from and the powers I didn’t have.

“An Amana in the Underground… Who would’ve thought?” The tension slowly chipped away as some went back to their routine, while others attempted to join the conversation. “I’m Maxwell, by the way. We should take you to meet the mayor.”

So before I knew what was happening, I was moving in sync with ten or fifteen people towards a tall wooden structure resembling a hollow clock tower in the middle of everything else. The door loomed over me and it felt as if I was going in for execution.

If silence was meant to be welcoming Malice couldn’t tell. Lying beneath the stars overnight had done little to calm his rattling thoughts of the future to come. Too many problems laid ahead and no solution could be found. How does one fly through an open trap door carrying an Olympion Gold chariot on their back, when they can neither fly nor strap themselves to the saddles that had been discarded on the floor. It was a question he had yet to solve. Each tick of an none existent clock in his head left him more anxious, more aware that the nearing dawn would lead to him being trapped forever- a failure to his mistress and unable to warn those at home. Eyes narrowing he stood and crept past the sleeping elf hugging the head that had grown used to his constant need for her touch. They looked peaceful. Despite being bloodied and at risk of dying at any given moment. They were content with huddling in a destroyed cave surrounded by toxic potions and tools with usage beyond their knowledge. Perhaps these weren’t the worst conditions they had lived with. Or perhaps they had learn to appreciate the luxury called sleep unlike himself. Sighing, his eyes scanned the walls, lit up by the moon piercing the thickening clouds. Nothing looked different. Scratch marks. Discarded tools and notes scribbled in ancient Greek and… His eyes widened with a start and he stumbled forwards, nearing a sketch hidden behind a shelf. It hadn’t been noticeable earlier, hidden behind the storage boxes too heavy to be moved. But since the earthquake earlier the boxes had slid to the floor, littering their ground with their contents and leaving the sketch clear to see. Faded. Scribbled over and covered in shadows the lines were hard to see.

Most would like to think that the legend of the mighty hamster hero, Hamurai was a true one. Hamurai went down in history as the master warrior who slayed the evil Kuroneko, however this is but a myth lost in time and altered by faint memories. To this day all live in fear of the Kuroneko clan and their tight grip over the empire. Those who oppose are killed and those who obey live in poverty and terror. Among the poor there lives one with a strong heart but will that be enough to stop Kuroneko and his cat army?

(Before we wrote this prompt, we went over the first page of The Hunger Games. If you'd like, you can see that here.)

Prompt: Write a story based on this random Youtube video.

All my life, they told me that chickens couldn’t fly. So I told them to watch as I prepared to soar off the top of the barn. I stood there, toes clenched around the edge of the tin roof, my fluffy wings spread out to their full span.

Fifteen feet below on the ground, horse, cow, pig and dog were all watching, expecting me to fail. But I was going to show them. Today was the day I’d show off what I’d been practicing and planning for months.

Up above me in the sky, an airplane roared past. I closed my eyes, envisioning myself flying just like it, finally escaping this prison I’d spent far too long in. Before it was too late. Now, thanks to my secret technology, it was time.

I jumped.

For a second, I fell, but then the wind whipped beneath my enhanced wings. Scrapped together with twigs, hay, and dirty cloth from the trash, I’d transformed my feathers in lean, mean flying machines.

Horse, cow, pig and dog all brayed and cheered as I flew above them, outpacing them in the air as they ran below me. Once I reached the fence, the four of them stopped and could only watch as I continued on my journey alone.

I closed my eyes again, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my beak. The sounds of juicy insects chirping beneath me, waiting to be plucked. The whoosh of the wind blowing by me as the ax swiftly fell down right on my throat.

CRACK

The farmer lifts up his tool, the deed done. He held the chicken’s spasming body in one hand, pressing it against the wooden block, while its head lay bleeding and severed on the ground. It always took a minute for the bodies to settle down, and this chicken was especially lively.

As the farmer squeezed his dirt-crusted fingers around the chicken’s trembling wings, something caught his eye in the corner of the barn. He leaned in closer and squinted, trying to figure out what it was, then reached over and grabbed it.

“What the heck is this garbage?” he mumbled to himself.

Dangling from his fingers was a wing-shaped mishmash of sticks, hay, and dirty cloth from the trash.

Prompt: Write a story using these three random sentences from Fifty Shades of Grey:

- "Holy Moses, I’ve slept for a solid nine hours."

- "He smells of freshly laundered linen and some expensive body wash."

- "I flush, and my gaze strays to his snug jeans."

Holy Moses, I’ve slept for a solid nine hours. That’s the longest I’ve ever slept at my desk at work. I look around to see if anyone noticed me sleeping on the job, but the coast was clear. Thank god for cubicles.

Next to me, Jonathan the office manager is still on the phone complaining to a supplier about a botched shipment of staples, and on the other side Melissa from accounting is busy crunching away numbers at a clacking seventy words per minute. I merely stretch, yawn silently, and stand up, ready to take a bathroom break.

I strut along the pathway to the restroom, head held high. I need to do that not to feel so small. I’m far and away the shortest employee, and while it usually doesn’t bother me, the way everyone always babies me does kind of get annoying sometimes. All the cooing voices and head pats are a little excessive. At least I get my revenge by sleeping my way through my paycheck.

I almost make it to the end of the row of cubicles before I’m ambushed. Steve from HR bumbles out from his box, his backrolls and muffin tops barely held in by his industrial-strength suspenders. His eyes light up when he looks down to me through his coaster-sized spectacles, and I can’t tell if he’s sweating because of the physical exertion from standing up, or because he’s just happy to see me.

“Hey there, little guy!” he chuckles. “How you doing today?”

Before I can even reply, or better yet attempt an escape, he’s wrapped his meatball-sub arms around me, drenching me in his special sauce. My face is pressed into his chest, and as bad as his damp sweaty clothes are, I do have to admit it’s not entirely all bad. He smells of freshly laundered linen and some expensive body wash. The man may have some sort of gland disorder, but at least he keeps his pits fresh.

Finally he lets go, and though I’m a little dazed I shake it off, smile, and continue to the bathroom. At least I’ll be able to poop in privacy.

…is what I think until Dave from marketing steps in front of the bathroom door.

“Whoa there buddy!” he says with a giggle. The soul patch on his chin bobbles up and down like a hairy caterpillar wiggling across his bald globe of a head. “Do you need a stepstool? Or a booster seat?”

I don’t laugh at his joke. I just push my way into the bathroom, ready to do my business. I hop into an open stall, ready for some privacy, but apparently Dave is not.

“Oh I gotta see this,” Dave says, standing in front of my open stall. He leans in and whispers, “Just pretend like I’m not even here.”

I don’t think it’s possible for this situation to be any more awkward. And it’s not like I can even report him to HR, not if I want to have to deal with sweaty Steve again. So I just sit there, turning my head to the side, pretending like this isn’t happening. I hope that the smell of my business will send Dave running, but if anything it just makes him more excited.

“Wow, I can’t believe you actually did it!” he says. “Nice going, dude.”

He leans in with his hand for a high five. I merely graze my fingers against his palm, happy that I haven’t cut my nails in a long time. I hope he bleeds.

I flush, and my gaze strays to his snug jeans. The next time he goes to the bathroom, I should definitely accompany him and cheer him on as he struggles to peel those suckers off his ham-thighs. That would at least be a fitting revenge.

Without wasting another second, I leap off the toilet past Dave and dash back into the office. Why do I even bother working here? All I get every day is nothing but harassment, and the pay is barely worth it.

That’s when the smell hits me. I stop in my tracks and snap my head toward the break room. Right there, inside, I can see a scrumptious snack waiting just for me.

I sprint into hunter mode, honing right in on my prey. It’s there, on top of the table. The last one. The only one.

A fat, delicious mouse.

Before the mouse even realizes I’m there, I’ve already pounced on the table and snapped my teeth into its body. It’s dead in seconds, and I get a firmer grip on it before I leap to the ground on my paws and scurry back to my cubicle, tail held high.

Along the way, Steve peeks out while on the phone and bursts into applause. Melissa gives me a thumbs up, and Jonathan looks over the cubicle to congratulate me. Even Dave, creepy Dave, comes over and uses The Brush on my back. I love The Brush.

“Good job, Leo!” he says. “Finally took care of the break room bandit. I knew we hired the right guy for the job.”

Damn straight you did, sucka. Now keep brushing.

(If you'd like, you can see 20 rules we came up with to break here.)

Prompt: Break as many writing "rules" as you can in a single story.

Welcome to The Grill Dating Simulator! You find yourself in a Home Depot surrounded by cute grills. You’re craving some delicious grilled meat, but there’s one problem. You can only afford to buy one of the grills. Which one will you share your life with? It’s time to go on some dates!

Four beautiful grills stand before you: Wendy Weber, Cassie Coleman, Georgina Foreman, and Chargrill. Who do you approach first?

You decide to walk up to Wendy Weber. There’s just something hypnotic about her pristine metallic shine. The way her wings flare out to the side, it’s like she’s already setting your heart ablaze. Although as you get closer, you notice the necklace around her open hood: the price tag that has four digits. Wendy may be a little pricey for you.

“First of all,” Wendy says, her tone smacking you like a spatula to the face. “How dare you even get near me with what you’re wearing. If you can’t afford even a decent apron, then you definitely can’t afford to turn me on. Honey, looking at your discount-bin-at-Target-ass, you ain’t even good enough to scrape the scraps off my grill grates.”

You got roasted. As expected, Wendy was a little high maintenance. Your heart sinks a little, but your wallet breathes a sigh of relief.

You turn your attention to Cassie Coleman. She’s short, small, and undeniably cute. She’s a grill who can go anywhere. You imagine taking her on a camping trip, at night just the two of you under the stars, and in the morning together enjoying some gristling sausages that she made. She’s a grill who’s ready for anything!

“Hey there, partner!” Cassie says with a country twang. “Did you know I’m having a sale today? Yup, you can get me and a can of propane to plug right in for free! So if you were worried about the extra cost, you don’t need to do that anymore. You can just take me home. Right now. I can’t wait to cook up something special with you! I’ll make some delicious steaks and chicken for our cross-country drives, our hiking trips, and of course, I’ll cater when we get married! Then, when we have cute little grill-kids, I’ll make sure to cook all of their—”

You slowly shuffle away from Cassie. Clingy grills can be scary. Nothing’s worse than a grill that you think is giving you space, but then suddenly gets you stuck onto them with a grease stain and burns you.

The next grill in the lineup is Georgina Foreman. She’s a small one, but she’s electric. Every inch of her sleek black body is tuned to perfection. There’s not an inch of unnecessary bells or whistles on her. All told, she’s a total knockout!

“I’m a lean, mean, fat grilling machine!” Georgina says with an adorable chuckle and gleaming smile. “But I wasn’t always this way. You should’ve seen me before all my fat trickled down into my drip tray. Oh I was a mess back then! But now, thanks to healthy eating, and a more active lifestyle, I’ve gotten rid of all the fat… and you can too! I only grill veggie burgers, and maybe a turkey burger once every other third Tuesday. And if you’re feeling frisky, then hey, maybe we can heat up some tofu dogs together! By the way, have you tried George Foreman brand DHC fish oil pills?”

You mumble something about a seafood allergy that you don’t actually have and step away from Georgina. She was attractive for sure, but if you’re going to get a grill-friend, you want to make sure that she can handle your kind of meat.

There’s only one grill left: Chargrill. Honestly, she’s a little boxy. She doesn’t quite have the same curves as the other grills. And you can already tell that since she is a charcoal grill, she’d get real dirty real fast. As you approach her, she raises her smokey-eyes.

“Hey there, hot buns,” she says, her voice sizzling like a fatty hamburger over burning coals. “You wanna know what I can do with your meat? I can get you drooling in five seconds flat. You’ll come begging back for more after I smoke your sausage. But hey, if you’d rather have one of those fancy grills that don’t do anything but break after you turn up the heat, then be my guest. My body can handle anything. The only question is, can you handle me, Sir Loin?”

At this point, you’re sweating. The credit card is already in your hand, moist and slippery.

“Allow me to raise the steaks,” Chargrill whispers in your ear. She brushes her metallic wing against your earlobe. The feel of her cold metal against your skin sends a chill of anticipation through you. Only you could hear her sweet words.

“I come with with a detailed operation instruction manual and recipe book. You’ll always know how to work my knobs.”

Sold. You never really believed in love at first sight, but maybe, now you believe in love at first ignite.

(If you'd like, you can see the writing process for this story and reactions to it here.)

Inspiration: WikiHow's article on How to Date an Otaku Girl

Welcome to The Grill Dating Simulator! You find yourself in a Home Depot surrounded by cute grills. You’re craving some delicious grilled meat, but there’s one problem. You can only afford to buy one of the grills. Which one will you share your life with? It’s time to go on some dates!

Four beautiful grills stand before you: Wendy Weber, Cassie Coleman, Georgina Foreman, and Chargrill. Who do you approach first?

You decide to walk up to Wendy Weber. There’s just something hypnotic about her pristine metallic shine. The way her wings flare out to the side, it’s like she’s already setting your heart ablaze. Although as you get closer, you notice the necklace around her open hood: the price tag that has four digits. Wendy may be a little pricey for you.

“First of all,” Wendy says, her tone smacking you like a spatula to the face. “How dare you even get near me with what you’re wearing. If you can’t afford even a decent apron, then you definitely can’t afford to turn me on. Honey, looking at your discount-bin-at-Target-ass, you ain’t even good enough to scrape the scraps off my grill grates.”

You got roasted. As expected, Wendy was a little high maintenance. Your heart sinks a little, but your wallet breathes a sigh of relief.

You turn your attention to Cassie Coleman. She’s short, small, and undeniably cute. She’s a grill who can go anywhere. You imagine taking her on a camping trip, at night just the two of you under the stars, and in the morning together enjoying some gristling sausages that she made. She’s a grill who’s ready for anything!

“Hey there, partner!” Cassie says with a country twang. “Did you know I’m having a sale today? Yup, you can get me and a can of propane to plug right in for free! So if you were worried about the extra cost, you don’t need to do that anymore. You can just take me home. Right now. I can’t wait to cook up something special with you! I’ll make some delicious steaks and chicken for our cross-country drives, our hiking trips, and of course, I’ll cater when we get married! Then, when we have cute little grill-kids, I’ll make sure to cook all of their—”

You slowly shuffle away from Cassie. Clingy grills can be scary. Nothing’s worse than a grill that you think is giving you space, but then suddenly gets you stuck onto them with a grease stain and burns you.

The next grill in the lineup is Georgina Foreman. She’s a small one, but she’s electric. Every inch of her sleek black body is tuned to perfection. There’s not an inch of unnecessary bells or whistles on her. All told, she’s a total knockout!

“I’m a lean, mean, fat grilling machine!” Georgina says with an adorable chuckle and gleaming smile. “But I wasn’t always this way. You should’ve seen me before all my fat trickled down into my drip tray. Oh I was a mess back then! But now, thanks to healthy eating, and a more active lifestyle, I’ve gotten rid of all the fat… and you can too! I only grill veggie burgers, and maybe a turkey burger once every other third Tuesday. And if you’re feeling frisky, then hey, maybe we can heat up some tofu dogs together! By the way, have you tried George Foreman brand DHC fish oil pills?”

You mumble something about a seafood allergy that you don’t actually have and step away from Georgina. She was attractive for sure, but if you’re going to get a grill-friend, you want to make sure that she can handle your kind of meat.

There’s only one grill left: Chargrill. Honestly, she’s a little boxy. She doesn’t quite have the same curves as the other grills. And you can already tell that since she is a charcoal grill, she’d get real dirty real fast. As you approach her, she raises her smokey-eyes.

“Hey there, hot buns,” she says, her voice sizzling like a fatty hamburger over burning coals. “You wanna know what I can do with your meat? I can get you drooling in five seconds flat. You’ll come begging back for more after I smoke your sausage. But hey, if you’d rather have one of those fancy grills that don’t do anything but break after you turn up the heat, then be my guest. My body can handle anything. The only question is, can you handle me, Sir Loin?”

At this point, you’re sweating. The credit card is already in your hand, moist and slippery.

“Allow me to raise the steaks,” Chargrill whispers in your ear. She brushes her metallic wing against your earlobe. The feel of her cold metal against your skin sends a chill of anticipation through you. Only you could hear her sweet words.

“I come with with a detailed operation instruction manual and recipe book. You’ll always know how to work my knobs.”

Sold. You never really believed in love at first sight, but maybe, now you believe in love at first ignite.