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Stuff 'n Stuff

@littley2k

Stuffy McStuff-stuff stuffed stuff into stuff and was stuffing stuff into stuff for stuff.
-McStuffinmyer

You’re classified as a villain in the eyes of the government. The truth? You’re actually just a therapist for villains who refuses to break patient confidentiality by giving out the villains true identity.

You’ve never been a particularly social person so it takes you a while to leave the house long enough to find out that you’re on the Villain List.

You stare at the TV behind the counter from your place in line. You nearly drop the cup of gummy worms you’re trying to buy as your face flashes up next to the news anchor’s again.

“—considered extremely dangerous. This new villain is confirmed to be in contact with Ripper and the Wreckage, both S-rank villains who’re notorious for –”

You twist out of line, chin ducking to your chest before anyone can turn to look from the screen to your face. Fuck. You need to get out of here. You shove your gummy worms onto a shelf filled with granola and try to walk as casually out the door as possible.

You don’t need to ask how this has happened. You know what’s happened. You told your clients that they could choose the spot for their appointments, assuming that they had even a modicum of sense between them. Or, at the very least, expertise.

It’s not completely their fault, you think as you scuttle across the parking lot towards your car.  I could have vetted the location myself. In the future, I’ll establish that boundary between us.

You still kind of feel like this is completely their fault. They’re villains! Good ones who don’t get caught! Shouldn’t they be better at hiding?

They should definitely be better at hiding.

You are a villain famous for “killing” heroes. In reality, heroes come to you to fake their deaths.

Sometimes they try to pay you.

You are posted out by the Hollywood sign tonight, sitting under the frame where the W used to be. It got burnt to a crisp during last week’s big superhero fight. A hero died right where you’re sitting. The whole area’s been closed down until Hero Force can coordinate a recovery effort. Usually it’d be done by now but no one’s willing to touch it until the ash has been completely blown away.

It’s a rule that the world must stand still when a hero dies.

“How much?”

The voice comes from behind you. The lights that illuminate the Hollywood sign are down to hide as much of the scorch marks as possible. You wouldn’t be able to see anything even if you did turn around, so you don’t.

You put some chapstick on, the glide of the balm against your wind chapped lips grounding.

“I said,” the Hero says, voice tightening, “How. Much.”

There’s the sound of gravel crunching now. They’re wearing heavy boots and the scent of fresh blood grows stronger the closer they get. Their breathing is smooth and even which means it’s not their blood.

You put the cap back on your chapstick and tuck it into your leather jacket’s inner pocket. “I don’t take money.”

“Then what do you take?” The Hero rounds the Y and comes into your line of sight. The dark hides most of their features, but you can make out a glittering gold mask and the dull shine of drying blood on their chest plate. Their breathing may be even, but their stance isn’t. They sway in place, back and forth, back and forth. Their arms wrap around their stomach. “I’ve got land. A house. You can have it.”

Dandelion (A Villain Story)

You stub your toe and the mind control breaks.

Your power snaps from the shock and the hundred or so clones you’d been controlling disappear with a pop! You hold your breath as the steel they’d been carrying clangs loudly in the cavernous room. You’re the only one in this sector but that was loud. If by some miracle nobody heard that, surely your abductor will notice you’re free any moment now—

Devil Eyes doesn’t notice.

You cover your mouth with both hands, pressing so hard that your teeth creak. There’s a hysterical giggle struggling to claw its way up your throat. You’ve been shot, stabbed, and beaten, but this is what it takes to break Devil Eyes’ control? Your pinky toe throbbing after kicking a stray steel beam?

Fuck, that’s funny.

You breathe in through your nose slowly. Only when your lungs hurt worse than your toe from how much air you’re holding in them do you release your mouth. You breathe out in six quick bursts. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

You’re free.

Holy shit, you’re free! How long has it been? Six months? Eight? You know it’s not summer anymore, but Devil Eyes has had you working in the depths of his lair for weeks now and you’ve lost track of time. That’s fine though, you’re pretty sure you’re still in Arizona and there’s sunshine even in winter. Your breath hitches in your chest. The sun! Oh, the sun, you want to see the sun so bad and now you can because you’re free–

Don’t cry. Don’t make a sound. Assess. Act.

Escape.

first day as a second century warlord i have my men tie branches to their horses’ tails to stir up dust and make it look like there’s a lot of us but i forget it just rained so there isn’t any dust and the enemy can clearly see there’s like twenty of us all spread out in a line

second day as a second century warlord i bribe a bunch of kids to start singing a nursery rhyme i carefully crafted to spread misinformation and further my strategic ends but they change the lyrics to be about poop and the enemy isn’t misdirected at all

third day as a second century warlord i lure my enemy into a narrow valley and send a team of archers to shoot them from the high ground but there was a feral hog napping on the trail up to the overlook and they couldn’t decide whether to try and shoot it or just go around and by the time the hog woke up and left on its own the enemy had already passed safely below

fourth day as a second century warlord we attempt to join a battle on the side of the guy we want to ally with but he and the guy he’s fighting have really similar names and it’s finally dusty and i misread the standards and attack the wrong guy. so now we’re stuck with this total loser of a liege lord, because how the fuck do you explain that after a battle?

fifth day as a second century warlord and some sort of wizard wanders into camp, my loser liege lord wants to execute him for being a wizard but i convince him to let the wizard stay, because i want to do more weather-based strategies and i’m pretty sure having a camp wizard can help with that. after the welcome to the team banquet the wizard steals half the treasury and my liege lord’s wife and leaves

sixth day as a second century warlord my loser liege lord sends me to reinforce a city he’s taken, but in the confusion of leaving i forgot to take the token that would have gotten us into the city, so my men have to wait outside the city walls for like eight hours while i ride back to get it

seventh day as a second century warlord and my loser liege lord finally joins me in the city, it turns out he’s actually a pretty cool guy, and he isn’t even that mad at me for letting the wizard steal his wife. i decide to shoot my shot but i’m really nervous and keep on stalling because what if i mess up our relationship and by extension jeopardize the security of my men, and eventually he just says goodnight and goes back to his room, where an assassin is in the process of setting up to kill him

eighth day as a second century warlord and my loser liege lord tells me to fake defect to his rival warlord, the one i originally wanted to ally with, to find out if he was the one who sent the assassin and why. but my whole way over to the rival warlord i’m worried that this has something to do with the wizard thing or how awkward i made it last night

ninth day as a second century warlord i try to tactfully ask my fake liege lord if he sent the assassin to kill my loser liege lord and it turns out the idea of using assassins never occurred to him, but now that i’ve suggested it he’s really into it. in order to save my loser liege lord i volunteer to be the one to kill him

tenth day as a second century warlord on my way back to my loser liege lord’s city i realize i won’t be able to collect my men from my fake liege lord until i bring back my loser liege lord’s head. this would have been a great thing to think of before i got myself in this situation. i go back to my loser liege lord and ask him to rescue my men, and he tells me that if he could sack my fake liege lord’s camp he already would have. that doesn’t change the fact that my men are still trapped. they’re prisoners, even. i go back to my room to sulk

eleventh day as a second century warlord i find a little caged pigeon in the rafters of my loser liege lord’s room and deduce it belonged to the assassin. without asking permission or telling my loser liege lord goodbye i let the pigeon loose and follow it north. don’t ask what i was doing in my loser liege lord’s room. it’s not important

twelfth day as a second century warlord i disguise myself as a wizard and enter the camp of the coalition leader the pigeon led me to. in the middle of my little sleight of hand performance i make eye contact with the coalition leader’s second-in-command. IT’S THE WIZARD THAT STOLE MY LOSER LIEGE LORD’S WIFE. after the banquet i corner the fake wizard and ask him what the fuck is going on and he just says “wouldn’t you like to know” and leaves. i don’t know what to say to that so i just let him go

thirteenth day as a second century warlord i’m honestly so sick of not knowing what’s going on, so i adjust my wizard costume to passably disguise myself as a woman and break into the women’s area of the camp, where sure enough my loser liege lord’s wife is. i ask her what she’s doing here and she tells me the fake wizard overheard her singing a poem she overheard on the street, not knowing it contains the coalition leader’s formation’s weaknesses. the fake wizard kidnapped her and assigned an assassin to kill her husband before they figured out the poem’s significance. she shares the first couplet with me but i’m discovered and thrown out before she can share any more. she doesn’t need to. through a bizarre coincidence of homophones, it’s the poop version of my misinformation nursery rhyme

fourteenth day as a second century warlord i go back to my loser liege lord and tell him everything, urging him to join with my fake liege lord to attack the coalition leader according to the weaknesses in the nursery rhyme. he tells me frankly that he doesn’t trust me anymore. i ask him to execute me if that’s really true, because i can’t bear to live if i can’t protect him and i can’t protect my men. he agrees to attack the coalition leader

fifteenth day as a second century warlord. due to the information in the nursery rhyme, and thanks to my loser liege lord reminding me of the weather conditions multiple times while planning our battle strategy, our alliance carries the day. my loser liege lord gets his wife back. my men tell me that our fake liege lord actually treated them really well and they’d like to stay with him if i don’t mind. i do mind, now that neither the men i love nor the man i love have any use for me, but i don’t tell them that

sixteenth day as a second century warlord i’m preparing to leave to i don’t know where, maybe to try to become a wizard for real, when my loser liege lord stops me and asks me where i’m going. he says he had hoped i would continue to work as his advisor. i was unaware i was his advisor in the first place. i agree, and he tells me he’s truly honored to have me in his service at last. he has known i am a rare and talented man with a strategic intelligence far above his ever since the day he witnessed me tying branches to my horses’ tails in six inches of mud, and could not for the life of him figure out why

One time I tried to say “take care” after ringing up a customer. I opened my mouth and for some reason I was unable to make a noise except for a very small “t-eh” sound initially and by the time I remembered how to make words I had to shout across the store for them to hear me. What I ended up saying was “Take over!!!” after which they glanced back at me uncomfortably and left without another word.

I am haunted by that interaction to this day.

Took a customer’s order for a latte and wrote his name, Scott, on the cup. I asked him if he wanted it hot or iced. When he told me hot, I promptly announced “Hot for Scott!” to the entire restaurant

Customer questioned my pronouns (I wear a pronoun pin) and told me that it doesn’t make sense. I said that was here to take her order if she’d give it to me? She repeated that they/them doesn’t make sense and I very clearly look like a woman. I asked her, “do I look like a cashier?” In hearing range of my boss

Regular told me about the passing of his dog and I auto-pilot asked if he’d like a pup cup since he usually got one every day. Obviously he did not. Then, instead of apologizing, I suggested he “pour one out” for his deceased dog

“if no art makes you feel anything, make your own art and feel something” is too raw of a line to have come from a jenna marbles video of her painting a rainbow/polka dot seahorse saying “it’s seahorse time” on a denim jacket

Why do you people feel profound thought has to come from high places? The gutter looks at the stars too

not only did you prove your point, but you showed an example of it in the same sentence

helmscurse

You want to know what true embarrassment is?

Having to listen to your own book read to you by a text to speech reader because it's the only way you are able to catch all your typos and decide if everything sounds okay.

Wait this is genius

Fate and Mercy and Dead Girls

Summary: Sometimes, when things go very wrong, the Chosen One gets a wish. That’s where Danielle comes in. (Tagged with Blood, violence, child death)

————–

Danielle is cursed.

This battlefield is nice. It’s early afternoon and the breeze that comes from the forest to the east is sweet. The fighting has only just begun and the scent of blood is still hovering at the edge of her senses. It hasn’t erased the taste of the dead girl’s last meal – bread sweetened with honey – yet. She’s used to storm clouds the size of mountains roiling overhead, the electric sting of lightning against her skin, the crash of blades against armor and arrows against shields. The sun is warm and honey-sweet against her cheek and there’s no fighting going on right now. There’s only the low murmur of voices from all around and some muffled sobbing.

If she weren’t waking up in the body of a dead girl, she’d call it picnic weather.

Time to pay attention.

“—Chosen One is dead,” a man says. His voice matches the weather more than the situation. Calm. Even. Gentle. A wave lapping at the shore before the tsunami. She can feel his aura undulating through the ground, dark and demanding. Demon King? Mad Emperor? Dark Lord? One of those types. He projects his words over the renewed sobbing. “Do you see your folly now, honorable knights? The wasted months of defiance? You were never going to defeat my army even with years and seven fabled soldiers at your mercy rather than the one. Here, the day of your final rebellion, your Hero lies dead after only one volley.”

Hero. Danielle is cursed, she shouldn’t be feeling pity for anyone but herself. But there it is, the familiar bile in the back of her throat, the prickling of her eyes, the tightening in her chest. This dead girl was their Hero. They made her their Chosen One. From the feel of it, they didn’t school in her magic or train her in swordsmanship. Her muscles are burning from death, yes, but also from overexertion.

What do you want? Danielle asks. All of the right systems are under her control now. The ground is cold against her back, the girl’s tiny curls a tickle against her face. The air is sweet underneath the scent of a dying blow and she can hear the conversations around her clearly. The Dark Lord is still gloating, giving the knights their time to mourn and his own forces time to ready the next attack. Sweetheart, what do you want?

The girl’s soul shudders. I-I’m not dead?

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I love story polls like this because there’s this moment before you realize what it is where you genuinely consider each open. Like, what type of “trust she is there” are you? Slightly doubtful (I think)? Begging(please?)? Fearfully questioning (what if it’s a lie?)?

And then you realize it’s one internal dialogue, one story, and you’re still fully putting yourself in each moment (I can’t even see her shadow on the wall) like you need to choose just one to be suspended in forever. But you know the outcome of this story (SAY SOMETHING) and it’s not a good outcome. So you’re looking at these options as if they’re real choices for you but you know that there’s only one ending to this poll no matter how deeply you reflect on each choice.

In the end it doesn’t matter if you want to be slightly hesitant or trusting or fearful or begging. The story marches forward regardless of your vote.

(Look behind.)

I read tumblr on my phone and occasionally accidentally follow someone as I feverishly scroll by and I never undo it because that’s Fate and there are only so many times I can test Fate before it gets me

To all writers: I’m following you on purpose

To everyone else: isn’t fate, in a way, purposeful?

WEBSITES FOR WRITERS {masterpost}

  1. E.A. Deverell - FREE worksheets (characters, world building, narrator, etc.) and paid courses;
  2. Hiveword - Helps to research any topic to write about (has other resources, too);
  3. BetaBooks - Share your draft with your beta reader (can be more than one), and see where they stopped reading, their comments, etc.;
  4. Charlotte Dillon - Research links;
  5. Writing realistic injuries - The title is pretty self-explanatory: while writing about an injury, take a look at this useful website;
  6. One Stop for Writers - You guys... this website has literally everything we need: a) Description thesaurus collection, b) Character builder, c) Story maps, d) Scene maps & timelines, e) World building surveys, f) Worksheets, f) Tutorials, and much more! Although it has a paid plan ($90/year | $50/6 months | $9/month), you can still get a 2-week FREE trial;
  7. One Stop for Writers Roadmap - It has many tips for you, divided into three different topics: a) How to plan a story, b) How to write a story, c) How to revise a story. The best thing about this? It's FREE!
  8. Story Structure Database - The Story Structure Database is an archive of books and movies, recording all their major plot points;
  9. National Centre for Writing - FREE worksheets and writing courses. Has also paid courses;
  10. Penguin Random House - Has some writing contests and great opportunities;
  11. Crime Reads - Get inspired before writing a crime scene;
  12. The Creative Academy for Writers - "Writers helping writers along every step of the path to publication." It's FREE and has ZOOM writing rooms;
  13. Reedsy - "A trusted place to learn how to successfully publish your book" It has many tips, and tools (generators), contests, prompts lists, etc. FREE;
  14. QueryTracker - Find agents for your books (personally, I've never used this before, but I thought I should feature it here);
  15. Pacemaker - Track your goals (example: Write 50K words - then, everytime you write, you track the number of the words, and it will make a graphic for you with your progress). It's FREE but has a paid plan;
  16. Save the Cat! - The blog of the most known storytelling method. You can find posts, sheets, a software (student discount - 70%), and other things;

I hope this is helpful for you!

(Also, check my gumroad store if you want to!)

Source: href.li

So when time loops happen, do the people who aren’t stuck move forward in time or do they freeze?? Do they get a different version of you?? Is it a whole new timeline?? Someone smart come answer these pls

The agent stared at their computer, coffee frozen halfway to their mouth.

“I,” they announced, “fucking hate Mondays.”

Their assistant, standing at their elbow with the newest batch of cases clutched to their chest, frowned. “It’s Thursday.”

“See!” The agent gestured so wildly with their mug that coffee splashed across their lap. They didn’t notice. “That’s it, that’s the answer. It is Thursday for those of the linear persuasion.”

“Are you having an existential crisis over a Tumblr post again,” the assistant said.

“Time happens all at once,” the agent said. They jabbed a finger at their screen. “You think loops are possible? Ha! Only in the sense a knitted sweater has loops! And cables! And buttonholes!”

“Where did you even find that monitor?” The assistant flicked the air and a screen appeared in front of them. “You didn’t requisition a vintage one through me. Did you bring it from home?”

“See this is the problem with humans,” the agent complained. “They’re sensitive. Things have to be easy to access, information has to follow piece by piece. Their brains could organize time in all sorts of ways but they choose the most archaic pattern; linear. Then they want to question the inconsistencies like their system wasn’t designed to glitch all the freaking time.”

The assistant snorted. “Ha. Time. I get it.”

“It wasn’t a joke.”

The assistant sighed. “If you’re going to have a crisis in front of me, then you should at least be funny about it.”

“They have to know,” the agent decided and began typing furiously. “All possibilities are already occurring. It’s their broken brain that gets stuck on one little loop. Like a snag in a zipper. Do they need to unzip the jacket? No! They could put it over their head only their obsession with the linear keeps them trapped forever until I come unstick them. They’re creating work is what they’re doing.”

“Don’t tell them that,” the assistant said. “Youre going to send them into a spiral. That’s more work.”

The agent hit Reply. A red light began flashing down the corridor followed by a long, slow siren.

Mondays,” the agent cursed.

“Thursdays,” the assistant sighed and went to grab the new case files.

In hell, people can choose what happens to them. They can choose literally ANYTHING. Naturally, many people try to exploit this by going for luxuries and pampering, but the devil ALWAYS has ways to torture those fools…

“So I can choose anything,” you say. The devil in front of you explained that there wouldn’t be any physical contract. This room made verbal ones just as binding. “Anything at all?”

“You could even choose to be alive again,” the devil confirms. Their form shivers around the edges as if caught in a heat mirage. You blink and they’re sitting across from you again, hands folded on the table between you, solid as can be. You still can’t make out any of their features. “Riches, good food, intimacy, anything.”

“I guess it’d be silly to choose torture,” you say slowly.

“If you’re really contrite you can,” the devil says. They don’t seem as excited by the idea for some reason. They wiggle their fingers. “Some souls choose that in order to atone. They seem to think I’m lying when I say there’s no atonement to be had here. You’re in Hell, kid. No getting out of this one.”

Kid. You rub a hand over your mouth to wipe away the smile before it forms. “I think I understand. How long do I have to decide?”

“As long as you want,” the devil says. They rest their chin in their hand. “I have an endless concept of time. I don’t mind waiting.” 

You bet they don’t. You chew your cheek. “What’s the longest it’s taken someone to decide?”

“Three months,” the devil says. They make a point of looking at the bare walls, the lack of windows, the endless grey of the perfectly laid tiles that make up the floor. There’s no light source in the room and, therefore, no shadow. There is nothing but grey. “They weren’t entirely sane by then though.”

pursuing a career in acting just so i can smoke and be covered in blood without any of the actual consequences of either

Pursuing a career in music so I can wander foggy bogs emitting unearthly wails and have people go “so excited for the new album!” rather than “the banshee haunts the moors another night, gather your pitchforks and fire, brethren, we must protect our village from this ill will”

what music are you listening to and where can i listen to it as well

Your tags were exactly right, it was Florence Welch . And also kiki Rockwell’s “cup runneth over” for a good hour