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23rd

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23rd

23rd

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I get notifications anytime someone posts in this thread, you guys don't need to quote my stories. I'd rather you didn't, honestly, it makes the thread look like chunky peanut butter. People like their peanut butter smoother than Daniel Craig as James Bond. Not me, personally, I love chunky peanut butter, but my point isn't about how it tastes. Stop throwing peanuts everywhere, or I'll get the elephants in here. I'm totally serious, you don't want elephants running around.

 

Dreaming of Electric Bunnies, Pt. 2

 

He wasn't entirely sane when he decided he wanted to live in the Ruins long term. Of course, his mind was too far gone by this point for any chance of realizing why that was a bad idea in the first place. Bags pooled under Wilson's eyes, but he wasn't tired. Pupils were skittish and excited, the extreme paleness of his skin mixed with this to make him appear zombie like, as though the eccentric scientist were a shambling corpse. But personal appearance was secondary to his experiments! The things he was doing here had the potential to help so many people, to make survival such a simple and easy task without having to risk your life for things as simple as food and warmth! Not that he'd seen maybe people besides himself.. but as far as he was concerned that was no excuse to slack off.

 

He sat back in a stone chair, the abandoned area in front of him illuminated by the Nightmare Light he made sure to keep lit. The place must have once been an open air recreational area, although how it ended up underneath naturally formed caves was quite a strange puzzle to contemplate. Seismic shifts, perhaps? Wilson's waved off the idea, turning his attention to the chipped stone plate and its modest meal of fresh ham and slices of banana. While he ate he considered what to write down the Ruins for anyone who might be reading his notes. A tip on where to get food, of course, but down here light was scarce as well. Once he'd finished his supper he grabbed a piece of papyrus and began to write on top of the stone table in front of him.

 

To whomever finds this note,

If you've eocm hits rfa, tehn uyo stmu nkwo obatu teh sebign omcosedp fo aohsdws nda ddedfene eurlyofs staniag thme roem nhta ecno. peKe theri senscee! eTh sdliiifedo sodwhas anc be seud as eufl fro eht hligts yuo'll nfdi dwon rehe, and ihter ctefvfseeensi is larlpldanuee yb yngianth I'ev esdu erofbe! Fro fdoo, uyo aym avhe nru ssacro rtees eirabng anbsaan in hte acvse eoavb. ettyulroFna, heyt gwro odwn ehre as wlle! uYo iwll eb blae ot racry tema sa lewl, eth alderroBds od ont tnrvuee ihst afr odwn.

-Wilson P. Higgsbury

 

As he read over each word Wilson's cracked smile grew larger and larger. It made perfect sense to him, he couldn't see the jargon his words had become. There was no doubt in his mind that because of this note, someone would struggle a little less. Now he just needed a place to put it, but where?

 

"pLeAsE, eNd Me."

 

The sound of a voice, a REAL voice at that, shocked Wilson tremendously. Out from the darkness a figure at least twice his size limped, clearly in pain. The smell of rust permeated the air, completely overriding the stench of rot that had been filling the air earlier. Paws slammed down against the the stone table. Black paws of twisted, mangled hair. It was a Beardlord, but.. the paws were swollen. Wilson didn't realize his jaw was hanging until he looked up to the abomination across the table from him. It spoke again in that voice that sounded like every word was spoken in the agony of near death.

 

"LoOk WhAt It DiD tO mE.. yOu HaVe To EnD mE."

 

Just then the creature stood upright and clawed at its own chest. As the black fur peeled away Wilson could see gears that stuck out unnaturally against the flesh. A scar inside the beast's belly opened, but no blood poured out. Instead he got a full view of its inner workings. Intestine had been chopped off in some places, replaced with bits of frayed wire jammed into seemingly random openings in the spleen and liver. Ribs were incomplete, cracked, the missing bone replaced with wooden prosthetics. The beast's heart had been completely removed, a purple gem crammed in its place. Dark tendrils seemed to hold everything in place where the modifications had been made, and instead of a heartbeat the gem radiated purple light that ran through the veins and disappeared deeper into the Beardlord's body.

 

Seeing such a horrible spectacle, a tragic reminder of the depravity of others and lack of morality in inhumane sciences, snapped Wilson sane for just a moment. The hideous, twisted face of the Beardlord became the soft, pleading look of a Bunnyman terrified of the monster it had become against its own will. The leftovers on Wilson's plate revealed themselves not to be a delicious, hearty meal but a helping of fuzzy, blue rot, completely unrecognizable as whatever food they had been before. Worst of all, it suddenly dawned on Wilson that he had never done any experiments for the betterment of others' survival down here; he had become a secluded hermit with no basic grasp on reality, aimlessly wandering the skeleton of a dead civilization in his insanity. A tear welled up in the Bunnyman's left eye, the only one that still worked.

 

"pLeAsE.."

 

Wilson couldn't stop shaking, it was all so wrong and perverse. Dropping his paper note on the floor of the ruins he grabbed onto the stone plate he'd been eating off of and shut his eyes tight as he smashed it into the Bunnyman's head. Of course, as anyone will tell you, one good whack with a piece of stone won't kill anything bigger than a crow. It took many more swings, he couldn't open his eyes for a single one of them. After a while he realized that what he was beating had died several minutes ago, and took a shaky breath as his eyes cracked open again.

 

Underneath him lay a mess of mangled black fur and metal, splayed out across the stone floor of the Ruins. The flash of complete sanity was gone, but Wilson didn't know. He didn't even know what he'd just done, only that he'd found the perfect place to put his note. The stone plate dropped to the floor with a clank, and he bent down to place the papyrus over top the dead Beardlord at his feet. Someone would find that note, he knew they would. He helped someone tonight. With a growing smile, Wilson straightened back up and headed deeper into the ruins, intent on completing his experiments.

 

---

 

Part Three

 

Quiet Jokester made an amazing picture for this story, you should give their art thread some love!

Edited by 23rd
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23rd

23rd

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YEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSS.....

MOOOOOOOORRRRRRE.........

THESE STORIES ARE WONDERFUL..........

THE JOKE AT THE BEGINNING WAS ALSO WONDERFUL..........

BEST

STORIES

EVER.............

Oh man, if I ever go on vacation I'm worried about you going through withdrawal. You are REALLY loving these! Don't worry, I plan to pump these out with the same consistency that Octomom ejaculates babies.

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the truthseeker

the truthseeker

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 I love chunky peanut butter

 

And I too am on the chunky train, WHOO WHOO! Fine...back on point....

 

To whomever finds this note,

If you've eocm hits rfa, tehn uyo stmu nkwo obatu teh sebign omcosedp fo aohsdws nda ddedfene eurlyofs staniag thme roem nhta ecno. peKe theri senscee! eTh sdliiifedo sodwhas anc be seud as eufl fro eht hligts yuo'll nfdi dwon rehe, and ihter ctefvfseeensi is larlpldanuee yb yngianth I'ev esdu erofbe! Fro fdoo, uyo aym avhe nru ssacro rtees eirabng anbsaan in hte acvse eoavb. ettyulroFna, heyt gwro odwn ehre as wlle! uYo iwll eb blae ot racry tema sa lewl, eth alderroBds od ont 

 

Could I translate this? Why not, I speak Madness! I learned it in Our House in the Middle of the Street

 

 

 

*Sings while Translating* "Our Ruins, in the Middle of our Caves!.... "

 

Edit: What, you don't know those Lyrics? Well, sing along while I work if you want!

 

*talking to nobody as the Insanity increases asking,

" 'Ave you seen our Ruins?

Our Ruins? Seen it? 

No?

'Ave you seen our Ruins? 

'Ave you seen our Ruins?

'Ave you seen our Ruins?

'Ave you seen our Ruins ?

Seen our Ruins ?

Seen our Ruins ?

Seen-our-Ruins ?

Over there? Over there?

Thank you."

 

Running around on Ruins Streets as Haunting sounds and music only they can hear begins, followed by the whispered voices...are they singing or is it that one running around....*

 

 

Maxwell wears his Dapper Vest
Wickerbottom's tired she needs a rest
The pigs are playing with no cares
Spiders slaying in their sleep
(Ahhhhhhhh!)
Wolfgang's got a Guardian to beat
He can't clang around

Our Ruins, in the Middle of our Caves!
Our Ruins, in the Middle of our....

Our Ruins it has a crowd
There's always some raid happening
And the lantern's lights usually been cowled
Our Wendy, she's so Ruins-proud
Nothing ever slows her down
Abigail's mess is not allowed!


Our Ruins, in the Middle of our Caves!
Our Ruins, in the Middle of our....

Our Ruins, in the Middle of our Caves!
(*Something tells you
That you've got to exit the Ruins Quick!*)
Our Ruins, in the Middle of our...

Maxwell gets up late for work
Wickerbottom's the one he'll subvert
when she hires the pigs, the fool.
Slays them all with some bliss

(Ahhhhhhhh!)
Not one of them he's going to miss,
in any ways..


*Crosses Ruins.bridge with lots of Ruins Nightmare Lights Cycle's Zenith noises*


Our Ruins, in the Middle of our Caves!
Our Ruins, in the Middle of our...

Maxwell forgets way back then

when nothing was false and when

He would have

such a very fine act

such a fine act...
Such a happy act.....

And Maxwell forget to say
on that Final Act day
The proper words
for those Nightmare Screamers
who ream us....


Maxwell wears his Dapper Vest
Wickerbottom's tired she needs a rest
The pigs are playing with no cares
Spiders slaying in their sleep
Wolfgang's got a Guardian to beat
He can't clang around



Our Ruins, in the Middle of our Caves!
Our Ruins, in the Middle of our Caves!

Our Ruins, in the Middle of our Caves!
Our Ruins, in the Middle of our...

Our Ruins, it's always Night and they're no Days
Our Ruins, in the Middle of our Caves!


Our Ruins,
has a Tent where we can Sleep (and lose our craze)
Our Ruins, in the Middle of our Caves!
Our Ruins...

 

 

Hehehehe, that is soooo, beautiful and healthy to have read and known that note, like the Honey Ham with Banana....as promised, here's the translation, spoilered for those who want to figure it out on their...asparagus...I mean own..That translation didn't do anything to me, don't worry! 

 

 

* Whispers* "Quiet raspberry tiger, I'm working here!" 

 

 

To whomever finds this note,
If you've come this far, then you must know about the beings composed of shadows and defended yourself against them more than once. Keep their essence! The solidified shadows can be used as fuel for the lights you'll find down here, and their effectiveness is unparalleled by anything I've used before! For food, you may have run across trees bearing bananas in the caves above. Fortunately, they grow down here as well! You will be able to carry meat as well, the Beardlords do not venture this far down.

-Wilson P. Higgsbury

 

500th post!

 

How do I give you positive points?

 

Also, you should put all of these short stories into a book, if Klei allows it.

 

Just like the posts. And if you do have to quote something with a long story, please spoiler it (if you absolutely must quote the whole thing.) And I went back and edited my own story-quoted reply before to do just that (even though the story wasn't that long.) 

 

 

And Grats on 500 Trent! Have a double like on me!

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TRENTOMINOUS

TRENTOMINOUS

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Just like the posts. And if you do have to quote something with a long story, please spoiler it (if you absolutely must quote the whole thing.) And I went back and edited my own story-quoted reply before to do just that (even though the story wasn't that long.) 

 

 

And Grats on 500 Trent! Have a double like on me!

 

Why thank you sir!

Hey @23rd you should make a story all about Wilson riding Koalefants

 

Also, can someone make some dapper cover art for my *cough*  personalcopyofallthesestories *cough*

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23rd

23rd

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Why thank you sir!

Hey @23rd you should make a story all about Wilson riding Koalefants

 

Also, can someone make some dapper cover art for my *cough*  personalcopyofallthesestories *cough*

In a perfect world, I could get @The Letter W to make a picture of her favorite scene from one of my stories. Though mostly I just want her to know this thread exists, and hope she enjoys the stories. Same for @Miss. I'd have mentioned @Willette but I'm sure she's at least glanced at my salty pile of garbage (i.e. thread) long enough to know it exists. Oh, who am I kidding? There are so many more artists I want to give my respect to, but there's only so many I can mention in a single post without making myself look silly.

 

Wilson, Wild Wrangler!

 

It started like most things do, with an empty belly. Wilson had gotten sick and tired of never having more meat in his diet than a morsel a day, it just wasn't enough! Sure, you didn't have to hunt for fruits and vegetables, but there's only so many days you can eat carrots and eggplant (Wickerbottom expressly forbid any of them from growing corn, for some reason) without wanting to slather your own arm in BBQ and take a chomp out of it.

 

Of course when he'd told the others he wanted to hunt a Koalefant around the fire pit that night they all just bellowed with laughter. Everyone except for Wendy, who got creepily excited when she asked for the details on how Wilson planned to kill it. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up now. I'll wipe those smirks off your faces when I'm dragging back enough meat to feed us for a week!" It was easy to say things like that, of course, but backing up your talk was easier said than done.

 

In his head it seemed like such a simple concept. Follow the dirt piles, find the Koalefant, stab it to death. Of course, in his fantasy the Koalefant didn't have the frustratingly effective ability of stepping slightly away from Wilson whenever he went near it. No, his fantasy mostly consisted of him, muscles rippling and hair flowing in the wind, leaping forward and making the Koalefant explode into a rain of delicious meat with a single punch. Then he'd go back to camp, victorious and having proven he was all that is man, shoving it in Willow's stupid face. Willow's stupid, stupid face. He'd show her who was "a scraggly hobo with stupid hair," he'd show them all! ..well, it was still a nice fantasy.

 

So the big tub of meat wouldn't just sit there and let him kill it. He really should have prepared for that. Fortunately, he wasn't deterred by such small obstacles! He'd just climb one of the nearby trees, hop down on top of the Koalefant, and jam his spear through its head. Why, that would be easier than Z1 + n = Z2 over n + c! Well, it should have been. His plan had actually gone quite well, he'd been able to take the Koalefant by surprise and hop onto its back, the problem was the stabbing it in the head part. Once again, he hadn't accounted for the fact that it had the incredible ability to move its head slightly so as not to get stabbed in the head. Damn it. Now his spear was lodged into the dirt.

 

Wilson began to tug at the spear when he felt the Koalefant move underneath of him. Then it let out a whinny.. oh crap, oh crap oh crap oh crap. No! It was charging! He lost his grip on the end of his spear, grabbing at the fat on the back of the huge animal's neck as he held on for dear life. He had to duck to keep from getting smacked in the face by branches as the trees whizzed past him, but that didn't stop Wilson from getting a face full of pine leaves. "Slow down you..," Wilson spit out a pine cone that had gotten comfortable and decided to try growing up into a tree inside of his mouth, "..you big sack of meat! I just want to eat you!" Wait, did it understand English? If it understood English yelling that might have been a bad idea.. oh yeah, it was even more panicked now. He needed to get this thing under control, he didn't know where it was headed but he sure as hell didn't want to be taken along for the ride!

 

Fortunately for Wilson the Koalefant was very, very stupid. All it knew how to do to defend itself was run around at full speed and smack into things. Well, Wilson knew enough about slapstick comedy to handle this! Whenever he tugged the beast's neck fat in a particular direction it would veer off that way, and before long it was being expertly guided face first into tree trunks, gravestones, pig houses and even a Beefalo at one point. That was not a happy Beefalo, Wilson found himself summoning all of the wrangling prowess he'd gotten in the last half hour just to escape what Wolfgang affectionately called a hair-cow. Finally, finally, after what felt like hours of what a Texan would describe as "the worst attempt at crossing a rodeo and those Winnie the Pooh monsters I've ever seen," Wilson had worn the Koalefant down enough to gain total control.

 

With a little patience and a lot of neck fat groping Wilson was riding back into the camp the five survivalists lived in. Wolfgang, naturally, was the first to speak up, even his mustache seemed to twitch in surprise and amazement. "Nose meat! So much of it! How did y-," Wilson hopped off the exhausted Koalefant, the mammoth of a beast collapsing against the ground, and showed Wolfgang the palm of his hand mid-sentence, a universally recognized symbol for "shut your face." With a weary sigh Wilson slumped against the alchemy machine, feeling around for a metal tap he had built into the bottom of it a week prior. Grain alcohol, naturally one of the first scientific "discoveries" Wilson had made with the machine, steadily began to pour out from the bottom of the tap into a wooden cup. Wilson needed a f*cking drink. "Don't ask, Wolfgang.. just.. don't ask."

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HoneyHam

HoneyHam

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Your stories aren't bad! THEY'RE AWESOME DONT PUT YOSALF DOWN LIKE DAT YU BETTA STUP EP BOI YOU GO GET DEM ARTIZTZ ND SHUV YO STOREEZ IN DER FACES AND YU SAY "GOAWD DAMYN MAMOMMASA I MADE A GOOD" AND THNE YOU POOP PURPLE POTATOES MADE OF ORANGE BUTTERFLIES THAT SMELL IKE ROSES MADE OF PUPPIES HTAT WANT TO DESTROY EXISTNECE ITSELF ALL OVER YOUR TURTLE-WORM

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23rd

23rd

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Write a story about a modded character, like William or Wurbert!

(Both are Mr. Tiddles characters)

I downloaded the William mod and plan to write William vs. William after I've used all his unique abilities, survived at least one Winter with him and taken a look at those comics about him. I know, I'm taking this too seriously.

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23rd

23rd

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Bad day today, so here's a quick lighthearted one to cheer myself up.

 

A Dance With Charlie

 

Depression is a common side effect of loneliness, and Maxwell had felt that, harshly, every day after the night his performance had gone so horribly wrong. He turned on his straw roll, running a long, bony finger along the red "M" that took over the cover of the black book he'd been carrying about with him since he was freed from the Throne. It had caused him so much grief, but he still kept it so close. Why? What was the point? Survival, he supposed; he didn't know if he could rough it without the damned book. He sighed, rising up off his makeshift bed.

 

"I'm so sorry Charlie." He hadn't bothered to keep his campfire alive, and it died out the moment he'd spoken. He didn't bother trying to make another one, opting to just let the darkness envelop him and deliver his comeuppance. Maxwell anticipated something unbearably painful, what he did not expect was a delicate hand on his shoulder. He turned to look at her, but it was no use, he knew he wouldn't be able to see anything. The small hand slid down to join his, pulling him to his feet. It all happened so naturally, and before he knew it Maxwell had an arm around her waist and they were waltzing, dancing along to the ambient noises of the night.

 

He expected to feel a hunchback, a misshapen mass of bone and flesh, something horrifying at the very least; but no, he only felt the petite body of the woman he'd loved, cradled against him. In that moment he forgot about the time he'd spent confined to the Throne, forgot about the hellish world he was trapped in, even forgot about Them. None of it mattered, not in this blissful moment. He felt soft lips against his cheek, a kiss perfect enough to warm his heart, and then she spoke to him in a voice sweeter than all the sugar and honey in the world.

 

"I forgive you Maxy."

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23rd

23rd

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Another happy one. Dedicated to @NicoleArtist, I think she would enjoy it.

 

A Sister's Dedication

 

Blonde pigtails bounced as Wendy scurried about her camp, preparing the supplies. Ever since she had found the texts near that unusual tree she'd been working tirelessly, gathering everything she required. Summers and Winters passed by, every day a dedicated hunt for ingredients. She'd braved an army of frogs with nothing more than a box woven from grass and a twig to get the needed frog legs, killed countless mosquitoes for sacks to drain of fluid and even killed the mighty Deerclops for its eye. That last one was a real pain in the ass. But it would all be worth it, so very worth it. She glanced down at the text she held in her right hand, white dinner plate eyes taking in every word.

 

Boil mosquito fluid in cauldron, mix in dried frog legs two by two. Once the frog legs have all browned add in skin of dragonfruit. Drag knife from bottom of thumb to base of pinkie, stir cauldron five times for each drop of blood to hit the floor.

 

Enough injuries from fighting a variety of creatures had toughened Wendy up to make this a very simple task. One clean swipe, no hesitations. There wasn't much blood from such a thin wound and only four drops wound up falling, creating circular red stains on the wooden floor underneath of her. Four drops, twenty stirs. Easy peasy. Wendy dropped the knife back in a chest at the foot of the cauldron, setting the ancient text on a stand made of stone she'd whipped up during a sleepless night.

 

Squeeze eye of mighty deer in bleeding hand once, firmly. Make sure blood has rubbed off onto eye. Once this is done drop eye into mixture and separate iris from rest of eye. Let melt.

 

The squishiness of the Deerclops eye was really gross, but she still squeezed it. It seemed like it was going to burst into chunks from how hard she clenched it, but somehow the thing managed to stay intact. Ugh, so gross. A faint red streak appeared down the side of the eye, so in it went with the rest of the animal parts. Using the sharp end of the spear she'd been stirring the concoction with Wendy carefully manipulated the black center away from the rest of the eye, watching as both pieces almost immediately bubbled and melted into the mosquito fluid, the entire thing turning dark green while the frog legs began melting as well.

 

Finally, take personal possession of deceased. Combine with personal possession of deceased's loved one and mix into cauldron. Stir five times, then dump onto ground.

 

This was it, the last part. Months of preparation had led up to this point. Wendy steadied a shaking, bloody left hand as she plucked the red flower from her hair, cupping Abigail's flower in her right. Both went into the mouth of the cauldron and an unnatural purple smoke began to billow out the top as she mixed them together. Oh, she couldn't wait! Throwing her spear to the ground when she felt she was done, Wendy grabbed onto the side's of the cauldron. She expected it to burn, the way the potion within bubbled and boiled, but it was no hotter than the sunshine across her back. Lifting it into the air Wendy tilted the silver cauldron forward, watching as the green liquid splashed against the wooden floors of her camp. It all pooled together in a wide puddle, a figure rising from its depths. Smoke blinded, the sound of boiling water defeaned, the smell of burning frog suffocated.. and just like that it all dissipated. Left standing in its place was a girl with blonde hair and alabaster skin, a replica of Wendy indistinguishable in every way except for how she wore her hair. Wendy couldn't keep from screaming out in delight, running over to hug her sister Abigail. "Oh Abby! You're back, you're really back!"

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TRENTOMINOUS

TRENTOMINOUS

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In a perfect world, I could get The Letter W to make a picture of her favorite scene from one of my stories. Though mostly I just want her to know this thread exists, and hope she enjoys the stories. Same for Miss and charibou. I'd have mentioned Willette but I'm sure she's at least glanced at my salty pile of garbage (i.e. thread) long enough to know it exists. Oh, who am I kidding? There are so many more artists I want to give my respect to, but there's only so many I can mention in a single post without making myself look silly.

 

 

Sir, that was amazing

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23rd

23rd

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Still messing around with Mr. Tiddles' mod. Looks like it's going to be a while before I'm writing that story, I really want to include the Reaper somehow and that requires building one first. Anyways, here's one dedicated to @JeMiChi, I'll shamelessly admit that she is my favorite artist here. Credit to @BlackTurnzWhite for making the beautiful picture of Willow and Chester that plopped the idea for this story in my head. If you haven't already, you should check out both of their art threads.

 

An Orange Exception

 

Willow hated everything. She hated the stupid rocks everywhere, she hated the stupid Tallbird that wouldn't leave her alone and she ESPECIALLY hated the stupid road that led her here in the first place. She wished she had brought some sort of weapon, foresight wasn't her strong suit, and she didn't know how much longer she could avoid getting pecked by this lanky freak of nature. Was it nature, or was it man-made? ..bah, that didn't matter! What did she care? She just wanted it dead.

 

Willow dashed behind another large boulder, compressing her frame into it as best she could while hiding from her twelve foot tall stalker. Warbly chirps filled the air as the Tallbird lithely made its way around the quarry, in search of the intruder who wandered too close to its nest. It was starting to look like Willow would have to make a run for it and hope for the best, then she noticed something was staring at her.

 

It was freaky at first, she was sure she'd been found out and was going to die any second, but the freaky little eyeball didn't make any noise. It didn't look like it could, actually. Just an eye on top of a bone.. well, it was better than nothing, at least. Willow grabbed onto the bone, ready to use it as a makeshift bludgeon, and against her better judgement charged out from behind the rock. It became quite apparent that this was a mistake, the Tallbird was much more agile than she figured it would be with those stilt-like legs and she couldn't manage to land a single hit. So this was it, this was how it all ended, pecked to death by a giant one-eyed bird. Willow shut her eyes tight.

 

...

 

Why wasn't she dead?

 

The sound of a screech and something large and round smashing into rock broke Willow from her paralysis, her eyes shooting open. In front of her had to be the most glorious thing she'd seen in a long time. The Tallbird had smacked against a nearby boulder and died, something having tripped up its balance. Down by its legs Willow saw an orange, fuzzy monster furiously chewing at the lanky legs of the giant birds, stubby red arms wrapped tight around the creature. Once it was sure the giant bird had died it turned to her, letting go of its trophy and bouncing over. The funny looking chest size creature leaped up high, licking at Willow's cheek to give a sloppy kiss before falling into her outstretched hands and panting the way a dog would. It was.. it was the most adorable thing in the world. The firestarter, despite trying her hardest, couldn't keep the grumpy look on her face and soon she was beaming ear to ear. "You saved my life, and you're so fuzzy! I'm going to name you Chester!" Chester let out what sounded like a mix between a bark and a belch in response, nuzzling into her chest. Just like that, Willow didn't hate everything anymore. She loved something instead.

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23rd

23rd

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I really enjoy writing Willow. I'm going to go a bit out of my comfort zone with this one and try an origin story.

 

Ashes to Ashes

 

As long as nobody got hurt, it wasn't a problem. It helped her, after all. At least, that's how she chose to look at it. Of course, the city didn't think so. The newsprint had even given her a nickname, "Jack the Burner." Terribly unimaginative, the press used "Jack the X" for any serial criminal these days. Things like these made it harder to look at people like people, and after a while everyone seemed like a carcass possessing the depth and personality of a piece of cardboard. Perhaps that's why it was so easy to burn down that old building with the killer in it.

 

Was it natural to want to know what it looked like when flesh burned? No, even she knew it was wrong, but considering who it was she didn't care. It was well known that a wealthy entrepreneur was looking to renovate an old building on the edge of the city to create some sort of miracle machine, she'd never bothered to learn the details.of it. All that she cared about was the fact that this was a person who was going to be in an extremely flammable building, alone, and she had a good excuse for what she planned to do tonight.

 

The man had killed someone, a young prostitute. Everyone knew, but everyone pretended they didn't. Call out a powerful upper-class businessman for the sake of some dead hooker? Of course he'd get away with it, the poor girl probably wasn't even the first. The way people turned a blind eye disgusted Willow, but she didn't pretend she was doing this for any sort of cosmic justice; she was just burning it down for the sake of her pyromania, although the justice was certainly a nice bonus.

 

He was on the third floor, inspecting the rickety support beams. She was right behind him, having snuck in through a broken window on the first floor. When he saw her his face twisted into disgust at her appearance, then surprise at the lighter, and finally panic at the flames. It was so satisfying, so immensely satisfying. His flesh turned whiter as the flames licked it, then blacker as it began to sear. The smell was like pork, that surprised her in a pleasant way. The way it burned as well, a delight for the eyes! The killer was clearly in agony, but his screams went unheard beyond the walls of his old building. The moment a section of his arm had burned down to the bone he collapsed on the floor, dying groans drowned out in the sound of the roaring fire.

 

Willow loved the burning, but something about seeing the man die, no matter how evil he was, just didn't do anything for her. It wasn't particularly frightening.. it just failed to excite her in the way seeing the effects of the flame on the flesh did. She shrugged her shoulders, turning to leave. Unfortunately, Willow was not the sort of person who planned ahead, and didn't realize that standing inside a burning building filling with smoke was the sort of thing that could affect her negatively. Lightheaded, she began to stumble backwards, feeling the floor caving out underneath of her. The fall was painful, she'd hit each floor harder than the last. Now in the basement four floors down she saw there was no way to get out, and because of her lack of foresight she might be the second corpse in this building.

 

"You want a way out, don't you? Nobody wants to die. Come here."

 

The voice was loud and muffled, and she realized it was coming from behind the only other door in the cramped stone basement. Running over to it, she ducked past a falling support beam that hit the ground in a loud crash, flinging open the door and slamming it behind her. The room she was in was very tiny, only a few tables full of mechanical parts, a radio, and what looked to be a specially constructed door leading from the floor to the ceiling. Could this be that miracle machine her victim promised the city?

 

"Only one option left."

 

The voice was much clearer now, and she realized it belonged to a dapper sounding man on the radio. She was surprised that a radio would even work down here, but there was no point in questioning it. Whoever was speaking to her, he was right. She reached for the lever on the side of the large wooden door, yanking it downwards. Gears turned and wood pulled away to reveal a swirling purple portal, the surreal light seemed to beckon to her. She felt hesitant.

 

"Do it!"

 

She took a deep breath, tightened her fingers around her favorite lighter, and ran forward.

Edited by 23rd
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23rd

23rd

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This one is about South Park, because apparently that's what Cynical Cynicist wants instead of a Don't Starve fic. Girl, you crazy.

 

Randy Marsh steals heroin from Elton John

 

The quiet town of South Park wasn't so quiet when people learned that Elton John was going to be having a gig at their local theater. Everyone loved Elton John, he's Elton F*cking John! What more introduction does he need? What, you expect me to take the time to explain why you should be in awe at the mere mention of Elton John? F*ck you, lick my balls.

 

Randy Marsh was perhaps the most excited of all, and ever since he got the news he was trying to find some zany way to get to meet Elton John in person. Against Sharon's wishes he tried to disguise himself as David Furnish and almost ended up having kinky sex with Elton John, became a pizza delivery boy in another attempt to meet Elton John without having to get naked only to end up somehow running away from a Bengali Tiger in his underwear across half of Las Vegas and one plan that somehow involved the President, an odd number of shoelaces and a whole lot of aerobics classes. Defeated and dejected, Randy was about to give up and admit to Sharon that his ambitions were too ridiculous and juvenile when he got a call from Elton John's agent. Apparently Randy running through Las Vegas half naked and screaming "I love you Elton John!" while being chased by a Bengali Tiger had gotten absolutely everyone in Nevada who didn't know who Elton John was to start listening to his music. As a thank you for the mass publicity Randy had been invited to the rock legend's house. Obviously, Randy accepted. This was the greatest moment in his life since he'd broken the world record for largest dump ever taken, surpassing Bono and making him number two, forever.

 

Then Kenny died. Like, out of nowhere. He just got killed by a stray tennis ball, nobody saw it coming.

 

It was such a large, beautiful house! Randy was living the dream! Elton John offered him a handshake, but of course Randy went in for a hug. OF COURSE! Wouldn't you? It's Elton F*cking John. They talked, they laughed, they ate pizza. It was the perfect day. Just before he was about to leave for the evening, however, Randy found the heroin. All of the heroin. There it was, in the middle of whatever room it is Elton John keeps his heroin in. The kitchen, I guess, let's go with that. On the one hand, he couldn't steal heroin from Elton John, that would be a terrible thing to do to his idol! On the other hand, he could tell everyone at the bar that he stole heroin from Elton John! He stole the heroin.

 

So there was Randy, doing 180 on the turnpike and injecting heroin as he drove with his feet. The world turned so beautiful, and he could see a majestic purple dragon replace the truck that was driving in front of him, the road turning to a path down a beautiful meadow. Normally, I would say that he chased the purple dragon and never managed to catch it because of some metaphor for heroin abuse. I can't do that though. You see, when the purple dragon you chase after taking heroin is put into text form it becomes real, and suddenly it was flying into Randy. Unfortunately I have no idea how to end the story from here, so I'll pass it on to Cthulhu. Cthulhu?

 

GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. ULUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU. GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. FHTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

 

Your Christopher Walken impression needs work, Cthulhu, but thanks.

 

---

 

Oh man, this is the worst thing I've ever written. If you're reading this, Elton John, please don't sue me. I love you. I edited Cthulhu's lines, because that's important.

Edited by 23rd
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