Short Stories n' Stuff

I write I guess.

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ah yes a teenager in his late teens

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Being a creative writer in college is rough bro like I could be writing about three magical teenagers somehow becoming the new targets of an organ stealer but nooooo I gotta write five page essays compare and contrasting three different accounts of ancient civilizations while simultaneously busting out a paragraph about what type of intelligence I have.

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You, a powerful demoness, have just been summoned to Earth. This man, this human, wants you to pretend to be his girlfriend for a few days so his parents will get off his back about it.

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"So, let me get this straight." My brows pinch together as I rubbed my temples. "You want me to do what?"

The man in front of me anxiously twiddles his thumbs, refusing to look me in the eyes. Wiry male. Greasy black hair. Freshly shaven face. Clearly a nerd. I can see why he would make such an unusual request with an appearance like that.

"Erm." He pauses, gulps, and says, "I want you to pretend to be my girlfriend. For a couple days!" he adds quickly, as if it would alleviate any prior concerns I have. "Just until I can convince my parents that I am getting out there and finding love."

What a strange human. Learning such complex runes just to find himself a temporary date? "I do find it rather amusing that you just found out how to summon demons solely to make such a request."

"Ah." His hands are shaking slightly, possibly out of fear. "I hope I don't offend you, your...demoness."

I wave him off absentmindedly. "No need for the formalities. Lilith works for me."

"Oh, Lilith, heh, ok." Clearly he hasn't spoken to a woman. "So, um-"

"Yes, I am a succubus." I stare down at my nails, lightly picking at one with my thumb. Hell. I should get them resharpened. "Yes, I can do a human glamour. My services mostly lie in getting back at past lovers and tearing their heart out of their chest with the reward of getting to eat it. So why-" I look back at the jittery human. "-should I take this job on? I'm not seeing any benefits for me. And no," I say before he can start talking again, "I don't take payment in the form of Earth currency. I have no plans on staying in this overworld for an extended period of time."

He mutters something incomprehensible, but finally composes himself. He says, "Well, um, you'll be surprised to know that I've actually summoned other demons before you."

I cock my head, my tail flicking slightly. Now that is interesting. "Go on."

"I'll admit I've done...a lot of terrible things to get to the point I'm currently at now," he confesses. "I've had girlfriends before. They've had...unfortunately demises, to put it simply."

"You sacrifice them to see demons and ask them to date you," I state plainly.

"Not that." He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. "I got a three figure job after selling my soul, and now I have to kill one person a month for them. I'm used to it at this point, but it's risky business. I can't let anyone find out what I'm doing."

Ah. It all makes sense now. "So your parents found out you were dating and are demanding that you bring...'her', home, but she's dead."

He nods. "Yes," is the only answer he gives me.

Well, this could go one of two ways.

One: I agree to his ridiculous plan and stay on Earth for a week. Benefits include not having to pay for any meals, free housing, and possibly enough chances to manipulate him into feeding me unsuspecting men. He's already bound by soul to another demon, so he has enough experience in luring other people into his home. Downside: this might be a one-way ticket to staying on Earth forever. Who knows what his parents will say? I can't risk this man getting feelings for me and having to fake a marriage.

The second option is to refuse. It definitely seems like the easiest option. I go back to my regular business and resume usual duties as a demoness. Positives include not having to worry about having to stay on Earth for longer than expected. However, I do pose the risk of pissing off whoever he is bound to. Requiring a sacrificial female...that sounds like a lot of powerful demons I know. They'll be able to trace the problem right back to me.

Well. It's starting to look like I only have one choice.

"Fine," I say, stepping out of the circle of runes. "I'll do it. In return, I require that you follow my requests every step of the way and allow me to feast at night. You're free to lure a man into your house, but I'd rather do that part myself." Because it's the fun part of the job. I can't tell him that, though.

His eyes brighten. "Thank you so much, Lilith! I accept the terms of your agreement."

That was...rather easy. "First, tell me your name. Second, you must take me to dinner and tell me everything about you and your parents. I will need that knowledge if this plan of yours is to succeed."

"I'm James," he says, extending a hand to me. "There's an excellent Italian restaurant five minutes from here if that works for you."

I take his hand and shake it. "Excellent. I've been craving penne vodka for a bit, anyways."

[writing-prompt-s]

As the villain pulled you from the rubble you glared at him as he removed your mask. His smirk dropped when he saw your face as he said: “Wait, Dan from Pizza Hut? YOU are the one who I’ve been trying to kill for all these years!?”

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Dan smirked. “Did you really think you could outpizza the hut, Jake from Statefarm?”

Jake dropped the mask to ground, his face one made of complete disarray. “But-but I could’ve sworn you died! You died when I blew it up-”

Dan chuckled lightly. “You’re a fool for thinking that, my friend.” His smirk dropped, and his hands squeezed Jake’s arm harder as he yelled in anger, “Do you really think I would die when I knew that STATEFARM was really going to try to take away ALL PIZZA HUT LOCATIONS?” 

“HOW DID YOU ESCAPE?” Jake roared, his fingers tightening around Dan’s throat. Dan grunted and shut his eyes tightly while Jake demanded, “Tell me! How did you escape!?”

“It’s not like I’m going to tell you.” His efforts to loosen Jake’s grip around his throat were fruitless. Jake’s fingers were incredibly tight around it, making it impossible to pry it open. As his enemy continued to squeeze his throat harder, Dan finally wheezed out, “The back door! I managed to make it out the back door before it blew to smithereens.”

Jake threw Dan to the rubble. Dan turned on to his hands his knees, coughing violently, phlegm and blood coating the crushed stone below him. Jake stared down at the Pizza Hut employee, feeling triumph flow through his veins as he said, “It’s too late anyways. By now, Statefarm would have flooded your precious stores in every bit of America.” A sinister smile spread across Jake’s face as he kicked Dan to the ground. “Ta-ta for now, little foe. Enjoy death.” He began to walk away, sounds of sneakers crushing glass echoing through the now-empty area.

“There’s one thing you forgot, Jake.” Dan slowly rose to his feet.

Jake stopped. “Hm?” He turned his head, looking slightly annoyed.

Hero’s eyes met villain’s eyes as Dan said with a triumphant sneer, “We’re international.”

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Happy third birthday to this. Nothing I've written will ever top this.

Tbh might do a rewrite but we'll have to see.

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What's up! It's been, what, three years since my last post?? Life got the best of me I guess haha. I'm not 16 anymore! I'm an adult by legal terms now, currently a freshman in college and procrastinating on an essay. I have been writing I swear(mostly comic stuff plus a fanfic). I want to try to get back into tumblr again and write some more short stories again.

In any case, I'm a lot better at writing (I think). Might rewrite some old stuff but we have yet to see lol. Gonna try to do more with this account methinks so be prepared for a bunch of random lore drops and stream of consciousness shit hehe.

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OH MY GOD MY PIZZA HUT - STATEFARM FIC TURNS THREE YEARS OLD TOMORROW LMFAOOOO NO WONDER WHY I HAD THE SUDDEN URGE TO COME BACK

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What's up! It's been, what, three years since my last post?? Life got the best of me I guess haha. I'm not 16 anymore! I'm an adult by legal terms now, currently a freshman in college and procrastinating on an essay. I have been writing I swear(mostly comic stuff plus a fanfic). I want to try to get back into tumblr again and write some more short stories again.

In any case, I'm a lot better at writing (I think). Might rewrite some old stuff but we have yet to see lol. Gonna try to do more with this account methinks so be prepared for a bunch of random lore drops and stream of consciousness shit hehe.

[writing-prompt-s]

A person’s superpowers emerge during- and relate to- a highly stressful moment in their life. Your brother nearly drowned, and as a result could shape water to his will. A classmate fell from a high balcony, and ended up learning to fly. You? You just got your powers last night.

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Ninety-nine percent of the time, a person most definitely should not be walking alone in the dark in a town full of creeps. Ninety-nine percent of the time, the person that does this may end up getting, kidnapped, raped, killed, or all of the above. Ninety-nine percent of the time, the person that goes alone at night is either very daring or incredibly stupid. Ninety-nine percent of the time, the person walking around there is me.

Every day I did it. I would take a stroll around the town in the darkness, hoping that someone would pop out and try to strangle me. I was starting to get sick and tired of not getting into dangerous situations and finding out my powers. Hell, my younger brother nearly drowned to death and now he can turn water into absolutely anything. Note that it's my younger brother. Not older brother, but younger. It just makes everything worse knowing that I'm the only one in my family without any abilities.

Every single year my aunts and uncles keep asking, "When are you going to get your powers?" Every single year is the same response: "When someone tries to kill me."

Sure, I could've always killed myself, but I never had the guts for that. My intuition would always tell me it wouldn't work. I wasn't even depressed anyways; I would have to force myself to get traumatized by something severe, but there were always good things happening in my life, so that was never going to happen. I would never be like that kid from school who fell off a high balcony, clouded by their own misery, and learned that they could fly.

I needed to start getting myself into danger. Which is why I walked, from 11 p.m. to midnight, awaiting my imminent doom that could lead to my powers emerging.

Three months passed. Nothing.

I kept count of the days which I walked. I made sure I stuck especially close to the alleyways. I even stuck closer to the sketchier parts of town. There was no one. Not a single person made a catcall or lured me, an 'unsuspecting' boy, into a van or an abandoned building. Why no one wouldn't, I had no idea, but it was most likely because they all thought I had abilities and was simply trying to get them put in prison. Who knows? Maybe others walk around at midnight too; perhaps they were sick and tired of letting others gain abilities. However, I haven't seen another person walking around at night, so that isn't very likely to be the case.

I sighed, scanning the map of the town on my computer. Just one more night. After that, if all doesn't go as planned, then I may as well try to figure out a different way to get my powers. At this point, my efforts could be considered as completely fruitless; there wasn't any point in continuing them.

Closing my laptop and throwing on a sweatshirt, I tiptoed across my little brother's room. A little bit of light shone from under his door, probably meaning that he was busy playing games or practicing shaping water. I sighed with relief and continued creeping downstairs.

I threw on a pair of Crocs and, carefully checking my surroundings, quickly opened the door, wincing as a loud creaking noise echoed throughout the house. I shut the door swiftly and sprint down my walkway and to the town, slowing down.

I stuffed my hands into my pocket and pulled up my hood. I did a quick glance of my surroundings: no people so far. No one that would be going for me. I sighed again, in defeat, and continued walking, my shoes hitting the sidewalk being the only sound heard throughout the town other than the fierce chirping of crickets.

I turned a corner, looking around at my surroundings again. Still nothing. I trudged past an alleyway and, almost immediately, was dragged into it by some brute force.

I went to yelp, but rough hands cover my mouth. Cold steel pressed against my neck as I clawed at the arm grasping me. My terror of getting murdered was met with a burst of sudden excitement. This would be my moment; the time when I would finally figure out my abilities. I would finally not be the one in the family to not have superpowers.

To tell the truth, that thought was in the far back of my mind. The only thing I could think about was not dying.

I closed my eyes, trying to think. How was I supposed to get out of this situation? This dude definitely had some build, no doubt; surely they had some sort of weakness. I don't know. I was getting too hopeful that I would come out of this alive.

The next time I opened my eyes, I was plummeting to the ground.

My body thumped on the concrete. A harsh pain rung in my cheek. When I rubbed it and examined my fingers, they were splotched lightly with blood.

I turned to face my attacker, scooting back into the wall. I shut my eyes tightly and scooted farther back into the wall. Farther and farther I went until I opened my eyes.

I was in the middle of the sidewalk. The sidewalk that was far across from the alleyway I had been in.

My confusion was overlapped with my ongoing terror as I got up and took off running, constantly checking behind me to see if the man was chasing me. In a flash I ran through the door, up the stairs, and into my room. I locked my windows and my door, also grabbing the nearest weapon -a pocketknife- and setting it on my bedside table.

I barely slept that night. Nightmares of the man in the alleyway and me being a ghost plagued my mind. I pretended to be sick so I could get out of school because of how terrified I was.

I paced my room, mumbling indecipherable words to myself. i was slowly losing it; was this how it felt to be in a life-threatening situation? Was this how my brother felt before he drowned.

I stopped, leaning on my bedroom door. How in hell's name did I escape? What was the power I obtained? I mean, I had been an inch closer to death.

I sighed, closing my eyes.

Right when I closed my eyes, I fell through my door.

I yelped, opening my eyes in a panic and crashing onto the floor. I groaned, rubbing my head and trying to get back on my feet again.

I couldn't. I was stuck.

I craned my neck around in worry. Out of the bare corner of my eye, I saw only part of my was out the door.

No, quite literally. I was stuck in the door.

"C'mon," I muttered, placing both hands on the door and trying to pry the rest of my body free from the door. No luck. I was still stuck and somehow still wiggling.

"Can't you just-" I continued trying. Nothing.

Finally, out of frustration and with one good push off the door, I yelled, "Get me out!"

The other half on the other side of the door phased through. I slid across the wooden floor, eyes widened. scrambling to my feet and nearly falling down in the process.

I stared at my hands for a second, and then at the wall next to me. Slowly and carefully, I reached out to the wall. My hand seamlessly went through it as if the wall never existed. When I pulled it out, it went just as smoothly; no scratches, no lost fingers, a full hand, still functioning like the rest of my body.

I laughed lightly, staring at both of my hands again, turning them around.

Was this my power? Could I phase through walls?

Author's note: Heyo! Sorry for the one week unannounced hiatus, I was suffering from some major writer's block. ;-; However, I'm back in the writing groove again haha. I'm slowly getting back to work.

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WRITING PROMPT It's been two years since the supervillain has been killed. Two years of peaceful society with only minor crimes here and there. You, the hero, walk into a bar after catching some bank robbers and sit next to a hooded person. As it turns out, the person next to you is the supervillain you supposedly killed two years ago.

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You were an “evil” king who has been dethroned by conquering heroes for your “horrible tyranny”. It takes less than 2 years for the people of the kingdom to be begging for you to be reinstated as king.

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Warning: Mild Profanity

I awoke at the crack of dawn in my small shack to the sound of my roosters and a harsh pounding on my door.

I pulled my bedsheets over my head with a loud groan and yelled, "Whoever it is, screw off! Especially if you're one of those goddamn heroes from a year ago!" A secret fear gathered inside me that they were, in fact, the 'heroes' coming to finally kill me. However, not a single one of them had found where I live, but, of course, rats existed, and when rats exist, "evil" ex-kings like me are discovered and killed.

Besides, it was the morning. I wanted something more peaceful than people raiding my house.

I half-expected the next sound to be more ferocious knocking and yelling, or maybe the sound of footsteps walking away. However, what answered back was the sound of a young male, calling out, "Please. We need to talk."

I contemplated whether or not I should yell at them again to leave, but I could sense the desperation in his voice. Was was he so desperate about that he'd coming running to me? I'm certain he knew about my reign; that is, the lies they were fed by their new rulers. Did he come to warn me about my inevitable death? Hopefully that was the case; otherwise, it would have to be some joker trying to fool me in thinking that they needed help. That would be annoying.

I sighed. "Fine. Hold on."

Slowly dragging myself out of bed and throwing on my robe, I shuffled to the door. Slowly I undid each of the ten locks on my door, opened the door, and, frowning, asked the small, rugged-looking boy in front of me, "What do you want?"

The boy wrung his hands and replied without looking up, "We need you back."

I chuckled. "Haha. No." I began to close the door again.

"Wait! Please! I have an explanation!" He grabbed my arm.

I glared at him. "I know they put you up to this. I'm not buying into it."

"C'mon!" he pleaded. "Just let me speak!"

I paused halfway from closing the door. I examined him for a moment, and, finally, sighed and said, "Fine, you may speak."

The boy shifted a little. "Um, it is kinda cold out here. Is it okay if I-?"

"No," I told him, cutting him off. "I don't trust you well enough."

"Understandable, I guess." He continued shifting, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Well, the kingdom you used to rule?...You remember?"

I nodded. "I'm only in my forties. I can still remember things."

"Ah, right, of course, of course." He closed his eyes for a second, and then opened them, telling me, "The kingdom is doing horribly."

I smirked slightly. Those stupid heroes never knew how to run a kingdom after all. "So now they sent you crawling back to me so I can reclaim the throne?"

The boy nodded. "Yes. Yes, they did."

"Figured. Those five idiots weren't even royalty anyway. What's even happening?"

"Well, uh..." His gaze was fixated on the ground. Sweat dripped down his neck and made wet spots on his shirt. "Ah...um...they...uh...did some...not very good things. Like executing your followers, setting down strict rules, and favoring the ones who have money," he added quickly, shutting his eyes tightly and turning his head away from me.

My face was a mixture of fury and disbelief that eventually hardened into a cold anger. They completely obliterated the perfectly working system I had put in place and were making a good amount of the population suffer under theirs. "Favoring the rich"...they were only trying to make carbon copies of themselves to conquer other 'corrupt' kings. Quite surprisingly, they were the ones who called me a tyrant when they did a hostile takeover and decide to screw with the social classes. It was absolute unbelievable, and, thankfully, this boy gave me the news of it.

I turned around, my gaze still on the boy. "Come in."

He nodded again, much more vigorously, and followed me in, closing the door behind him.

I trudged over to my kitchen as the boy took a seat at my table. "Need anything to eat? Drink?"

The boy shook his head. "No, thank you," he said politely.

I frowned. "Are you sure? You look like all of the above."

"I'm good, really," he replied.

I shrugged. "Suit yourself, I guess." I struck a match and flung it into the fire pit under my stove and asked, "So, explain to me. What exactly are they doing?"

"Well, ah, they're having the guards patrol around 24/7," the boy explained. "A bunch of people decided to start a rebellion because of how badly they're being treated, with the whole new taxation system and stuff. Those guards usually take them and shove them into prison."

"Not that surprising," I said, filling a pitcher up with water from a stream that ran into my house. "The taxes...where do they go to?"

"Building new prisons," the boy answered. "There are so many rebels at this point that they need the money. Don't understand why they aren't asking the rich for the cash, but, then again, they a bunch of snooty stuck-up nobles that grovel at the feet of the council." A look, hard and determined, swept across the boy's face for a brief second. It was so surprising I nearly dropped my pitcher.

I placed the pitcher over the fire. "I can safely assume you're part of the rebellion?"

"Yeah." The boy stared out my window. "They sent me over here. We need you so badly right now."

I sighed as I opened a cabinet. "I feel that it might be already too late. Even I could get the crown, more heroes would be coming forth to claim the throne from me."

"Oh, no. The other heroes hate them."

I raised an eyebrow. "Hm?"

"Word got around about the rebellion." The boy didn't look at me. "No one's trading with our kingdom anymore. Lots of us are starving." The boy closed his eyes, a sad sort of expression crossing his face. "There's barely enough to go around. Everyone's farms have to be hidden because if they find someone growing food, they take the food."

I scowled as I put some dried lavender in a makeshift strainer. "Selfish morons."

The boy nodded. "Yup."

I grabbed a mug from a different cabinet and set it down on a counter next to my stove. "You sure you don't want anything to drink? I mean," I added, "You do look like you need some pepping up."

"No, really, thanks," he replied.

I smiled, pouring the boiling water into my mug. "I now have faith that people like you still exist."

The boy snorted. "I sure hope so."

I chuckled, carefully lowering the strainer into the hot water. "Am I allowed to get your name, or is that classified?"

The boy opened his mouth, but paused for a moment, possibly thinking about the pros and cons of sharing his name. Finally, slightly hesitantly, he said, "Landyn. Folks call me Landyn."

"I'm sure you already know mine," I told him, settling down into the chair across from him and gently stirring the strainer around in the water.

"Aydin Barrera, yeah, I know." Landyn picked at his fingernails. "Everyone at this point pretty much knows it."

I took the strainer out of my cup and set it on the table. "Mhm. I'm certain that is so."

I took a small sip of my tea as Landyn said, "So, are you planning on returning back?"

"I don't know," I replied. "If anything, I'm the one highest on those heroes' hit list."

"I could disguise you," Landyn offered.

"Might work, but has a slim chance that it does." Another sip of tea.

Landyn pondered for a moment before saying, "What if I...lead you to the tunnels?"

"What tunnels?" I asked in confusion.

"Well, ah..." Landyn rubbed the back of his head. "We - as in the rebellion - found some old tunnels that date back to your...reign." He shrugged. "I don't know. They were slightly fresh when we found them."

"Heh, yeah, I know." That was a lie. I had absolutely no idea there were tunnels under the kingdom. If they were dug for a reason, I would have forgotten anyways because I had always been busy focusing on something else. While it did seem like something I would do, I still wouldn't have known about the secret passages that I was now informed laid underneath the noses of the 'heroes'.

Landyn, of course, called my bluff. "No, you don't."

"Yeah, I lied." I sipped my tea. "But that does sound like a better idea. Do you know where they start?"

Landyn nodded. "Yeah. Just about outside of the kingdom. Trust me," he added. "They're not a sewer system."

"Pft, yeah right," I muttered, swirling my drink around.

Landyn frowned at me. "The sewers are so much smaller. These tunnels are even bigger."

"Whatever." I said. I downed the rest the of the tea and told him as I got up, "Alright, hold on. I need to pack some things."

"No need." Landyn hopped out of his chair. "Everything's packed. It's all in tunnel."

"WHAT!?" I roared, sitting up immediately. "You broke into my fucking house!?"

"Not me!" he yelped. "It was some of the other people!"

"There's MORE PEOPLE?"

Landyn slowly back to the door as I approached him, blind in my rage. He offered a weak smile while saying, "Listen, it's not that big of a deal-"

"You people broke into my fucking house," I snapped. "Why in the name of GOD would you do that?"

"We would've wanted you to go either way!" he blurted. "Even if you refused, we would have forced you to come!"

"Well, why don't you tell your people that they're already betrayed my trust?" My hands curled into fists. "Maybe then they'll find a different way to make me come."

Landyn pressed his back to the wall. "I mean, if you really don't want to-"

"I'm coming," I hissed. "You're taking me to your tunnels. I demand an audience with the idiot that put you all up to this."

[writing-prompt-s]

There is a bar located between life and death. All those who died sit for their last drinks before marching onto the afterlife. Unbeknownst to them, the bartender is also the judge. Forgiveness is up to God. Retribution is the Devil’s call. Judgement is given by the one who serves you drinks.

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“So, what brings you to Purgatory?”

The bartender smirked at Tristan, leaning over the bar table and folding his hands together. If there was a tail, Tristan imagined, it would be flicking back and forth as the bartender waited expectantly for an answer. Tristan twiddled with his thumbs for a moment as the bartender raised an eyebrow and said, “Well?”

Tristan sighed. “I died. Well, I mean, obviously,” he followed up quickly. “But, well, yeah, I was shoved out a window.” He rested his head on his hand, closing his eyes. “It was painful, to say the least. Still don’t know when they decide to mourn.” He winced slightly, thinking about the last few moments before he died. The wind rushing past his ears as he tumbled down the seventh story of his apartment building. The thud of his skull as he hit the pavement. And that smile...that triumphantly evil smile that would now haunt his memories for the rest of his days. 

“Mhm.” The bartender leaned in closer. “Do you know who killed you?”

Tristain shook his head. “No. It all happened way too quick. I have yet to see if the police decide to be competent for once.”

And, to be frank, I really don’t want to know. 

The bartender stood back up straight again, both palms on the bar table, legs crossed. “Well, that sucks. Need anything to drink?”

“A water will be fine.”

The bartender raised his eyebrow again. “A water? No margherita or anything? Not even a Shirley Temple? It’s your last drink, y’know.”

Tristan sighed again. “Actually, I’ll just go for a Shirley Temple.”

The bartender winked at him. “Attaboy.” As he prepared the drink, he asked, “Question: why no alcohol? Are you a virgin to it or something?”

“Nah.” Tristan shifted in his seat, tensing up, visibly uncomfortable about the question asked. “Not exactly.” Thoughts whirled in his mind, saying, What’s up with this bartender?  and Why does he seem to be so desperate to know about my past? 

The bartender smiled. “Care to share? I mean,” he added. “If you want. I don’t mean to intrude on your personal life, but, y’know.” He shrugged. “It might be nice to share with a stranger once in a while.”

Tristan opened his mouth, but hesitated. Why would he want to share sensitive info with a man he’d only talk to for five minutes? A bartender wasn’t typically one to be a therapist in disguise, much less someone to lend an ear to listen to another person’s issues. The fact that this bartender was willing to learn about Tristan’s issues seemed way out of character. However, there was something in him that was pulling him, compelling him to talk.

Before he could do anything else, his mouth made the decision for him. “Well, ah, I was an alcoholic.”

“Oh?” The bartender’s expression shifted to curious as he slid the Shirley Temple in front of Tristan. “That’s interesting.”

Tristan chuckled sadly, stirring his drink with a straw. “It happened after the suicide of someone close. Drank for one year...couldn’t stop.” He took a small sip of the Shirley Temple. “I did...a lot of bad things drunk. Some of which are unforgivable. Someone finally checked me into rehab, and, since then, I’ve been two months sober. I was almost at the three month mark.” Tristan fiddled with his straw, staring down at the table. “I was almost there. I was finally recovering. Look at me now, dead, drinking a Shirley Temple, and sharing my life story with someone I’ve only known for a few minutes.”

The bartender rested his elbows on the table, lying his head on his arms. “Hey, I get plenty of stories from other people. You’re not the first.” He offered Tristan a sympathetic smile. “I feel you, buddy. Finally reaching an acceptance for a suicide, and then suddenly dying. Sucks, man.”

Tristan nodded slowly in agreement, taking another sip of his Shirley Temple. “I don’t plan on drinking anymore. I can’t. It brings back too much PTSD.”

The bartender nodded. “No problemo. I’ll keep ya with the virgin pina coladas.” He winked.

Tristan snorted. “Pft. Yeah.” 

The bartender raised his hands with an exaggerated innocent look on his face. “Hey, it’s not like I’m gonna sneak some alcohol in there or anything!”

Tristan laughed heartily and drank more of his drink. “If I’m drunk before I go to Heaven or Hell, I’m blaming you.”

The bartender grinned. “We’ll see about that.” He leaned back again on the bar table, facing a different direction, appearing almost thoughtful.. Then, finally, he said, “So you sinned, and then retributed. Does that make you feel, well.” He looked back at Tristan. “Like your life is complete?”

Tristan paused mid-sip. Like his life is complete...what does that even mean? What should that mean? It was such an odd question; he wasn’t sure how to answer to that. 

He stared at his drink for a long second before finally answering, “I don’t know. Part of me says that I did it, that I finally got over my friend’s death. However, another part of me says that I’m not done. Someone murdered me. I did horrible things that I wish I could reverse. Oh, I don’t know.” He groaned, burying his face into his hands. “I’m just torn, man. I’m-agh.” Tristan gripped his hair. “I’m sorry. I just-”

“No need to apologize.” The bartender lifted Tristan’s head with his hand, their eyes meeting. “Personally, that’s a good answer. You really can’t say you’re satisfied with your life, or displeased with how you lived it. You would be lying if you chose any of those options.” He chuckled lightly. “Heh. It’s definitely quite the question, but it’s important to know.” He took Tristan’s nearly-empty Shirley Temple and walked it to the sink. “I’m not necessarily saying that it will decide if you go to Heaven or Hell, because it really doesn’t, depending on if you lie or not.

“Looking back at your life, you did a lot of good things,” the bartender continued, walking back to Tristan. “Even though there were some parts that, well, weren’t your finest moments, you’ve done your best to make up for them in the last three months that you were alive. That’s definitely something not a lot of people do.”

“Yeah, but I royally screwed up,” Tristan muttered. “It’s something that’ll be on my Hell record forever.”

“Only if you go to Hell.” The bartender placed a hand on Tristan’s shoulder. “Which you aren’t going to.”

Tristan blinked, confused. “Wha-”

The bartender smiled. It was real, more genuine smile. “Pleasure to meet you finally, Tristan. I’m your judge in the afterlife.”

[mpwritesstuff]

heck yea i turn 4 squared today let's goooo

two years until i'm finally legal

[writing-prompt-s]

You, a renowned scientist, invented technology to listen to any moment in history. This audio has become the standard for criminal cases. The problem is when you listen in to the death of your closest friend it gets the details all wrong. You know this because you are their murderer.

[mpwritesstuff]

My arrival at the police station was met with a swarming crowd of admirers and news reporters.

Police officers parted the way for me as cameras flashed and a dozen voices tried to shout of the chaos. From the ones which I could make out, I could hear, "Daniel Fields, do you think your radio will find your friend's murderer?" "Dr. Fields, your radio has inspired millions. How does it make you feel to finally use it in a criminal case?" "Mr. Fields, how has the death of your friend Archie Cross impacted you?" I couldn't answer any of them; too many of them revolved around Archie's death, and it made me feel completely numb thinking about it. A hit-and-run, they said it was; he was barely breathing when they took him to the hospital. I was there when he finally took his last breath; it hurt. It hurt too much to think about.

I entered the police building, the door shutting and locking behind me. The news reporters crowded at the glass door, thousands of knocks making it shake and the voices continuing to shout, but being muffled by the door. I stepped into the sheriff's office, where him and two other people, a female with shoulder-length brown hair and a male with short black hair, awaited. On the sheriff's desk laid my machine, as well as a file which I assumed had papers about Archie and his murder.

I nodded in the direction of the two people. "The detectives, I assume?"

"Yep." The sheriff, David Perez, gestured a hand towards them. "Detective Alise Delgado and her associate Detective Jaime Munoz."

"The pleasure is mine." Alise smiled and shook my hand. "My condolences about your friend. I'm terribly sorry you had to go through it."

"It's hard to cope," I admitted. I turned to Jaime. "You're Jaime, right?"

He grinned. "I sure hope so." His smile was infectious; I could almost feel myself break into a small grin as we shook hands.

"So," Alise starte. "Getting on topic here. Archie Cross died two hours after a hit-and-run with fatal wounds." She opened a file on the desk and laid out most of the papers, as well as picture of his face. His cheery, dimpled face before he died. The lump in my throat immediately grew to the size of a walnut as I looked away briefly, trying not to visibly cry.

"The date of death was just about a week ago," Alise continued. "July 23rd, 2024, 11:34 am. That's the date we have to input into the device. The time would be approximately 9:34 am" She motioned for me to do it. "Dr. Fields, if you would..."

I nodded, stepping up to the machine. It'd been a long time since I last used it; the last time I did, it was to listen to my father's voice for the last time, before I finally managed to get past his death and start focusing on my future. That was two years ago; I would have to hear a different dead person's voice. Archie's. I would have to listen to Archie die.

I gulped, slowly turning the dials and inputting his full name into the machine. Then, with a press of button, the mechanics inside the machine whirled into action, slowly obtaining the info and then producing a scratchy sound that eventually turned into clear talking.

"Of course, I would be willing to help!" Archie's voice, upbeat and excited, filled the nearly empty room. "If I can get the code correct, then maybe they'll be able to listen in on their smartphones instead of your clunky machines!"

I remembered that conversation; I had called him up asking if he could help out with a new app I was planning to make that was basically the machine I had designed. However, it required a coding expert and taking apart the machines, so Archie was the best fit for it. Like in the audio, he had excitedly agreed. We had plans on releasing it later next year, but, without him, that was never going to happen at all.

A single tear fell down my face as Archie shouted, "Sorry man, I have to go. I don't want to be late for my meeting." An audible beep signaled that the call had ended. Cars whooshing by him could be heard. The whooshing finally stopped, and Archie's footsteps across the asphalt could be heard.

Then, a sudden beep, a skid, and loud crack as what seemed to be Archie hit the pavement.

"Turn it off," I said, more tears streaming down my face as his shallow wheezing and the sound of the car speeding off began.

"Dr. Fields," Sheriff Perez said cautiously.

"I said TURN IT OFF!"

Jaime quickly ran in front of me and pressed the button. The noise quickly faded away, but my tears didn't. My face felt hot, the room felt like it was spinning, everything, everything was off. It was in that moment that I knew I shouldn't have gone there all along.

I turned around and sped out of the sheriff's office while the two detectives called out my name. I threw open the doors and exited through the parting sea of reporters. Their questions were blurred out by the ringing in my ears. I needed to go home. I need to leave this place. It was too much.

I got in my car, revved up the engine, and drove out of the parking lot and into the road, not looking back.

----------

I pulled into my driveway and got out of the car, locking it behind me and entering my house. I threw off my shoes and walked into my living room, where I collapsed onto the cough, sobbing violently. Archie...over the week, thoughts about him plagued my mind. I couldn't compare it to a disease even though it felt exactly like it; everything from his warm smile, his enthusiastic personality, and the way he always put every effort into the work made me feel completely horrible.

I hated the feeling, I hated it. I hated grief. I hated death. I hated losing my closest friend. I hated losing the one that helped and watched me become a legend. He was one of the only people in my life that could always make the sun shine on a rainy day, and he was gone. The rain always kept coming down on me.

I turned to my back and faced the ceiling, tears continuing to fall down my face as my ragged breathing was the only sound to be in the empty house.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered. "I'm so sorry Archie. I'm so sorry you died.

"I'm sorry I was the one to kill you."

[writing-prompt-s]

A party of adventurers has hired you to “raise their spirits”. You’re wondering when to break the news that you’re not a bard. You’re a necromancer that plays the harp as a hobby.

[mpwritesstuff]

For five years, I've been playing the harp and getting paid.

I mean, it's not a terrible job. All I have to do is pluck a tune, and I get a salary of five silver coins every time I do it. It's plenty to get me a nice place to live and sustain myself with the basic necessities like food, clothes, et cetera. I'd say it's actually a very good job, considering that it's a bunch of adventurers that giving me the money.

But, you see, that was the problem. I wasn't a bard. I was actually a necromancer.

I've always loved playing the harp for fun and for a few extra coins into my earnings as a guy who raises the dead. I never understood what vibe my employers got when they saw a man dressed in mostly black playing a harp, but I guessed they were so intrigued at my skill that they decided to write up a contract and pressure me into signing it. I mean, they didn't pressure me, of course, but they definitely bribed me. I mean, what's not to resist about getting paid? Besides, I never got much of a great pay raising the dead or talking to dead people. I did need that cash anyways.

Well, that meant I couldn't use my necromancy powers. Like, almost never, because I was with them 24/7 unless I was going to the bathroom, which, of course, was only five minutes of downtime before I had to get back to work. Thank god they're all deep sleepers so I could do some of my actual work. However, that also meant I was protected. Wherever I went, the adventurers always had my back. It like they were guarding their treasure like dragons, except I was the treasure. It was fantastic. No one messed with me. If they did, all of them would show up quickly to stab them multiple times.

While it is nice to be protected, I knew I could still protect myself. I've always considered telling them that I am a necromancer and that I have the ability to defend myself and possibly them. I've wanted to do so multiple times on multiple occasions. My intuition, on the other hand, always said no. I don't know what made me fear more, their opinions about my abilities, the fact that they may try to kill me, or losing my very well-paying job. It was most likely the third reason, but also partially the second reason.

So I waited.

For five fucking years.

The day I finally decided to tell them was when I put them in a great mood. I mean, how could I have not; I figured, Hey, if they're happy, maybe they'll like me more. I mean, it worked: they were all feeling good, and, besides, it was night. When I told them, I could perform some sort of magic for them to prove my worth.

But, on that fateful night, we also happened to get ambushed.

Why some people would decide to fight fully armored men and women, I have no idea. I guess they heard me playing. Maybe they figured they could catch my employers off-guard. Either that, or I assume they were jealous of my harp-playing skills. Who knew working that hobby for five years could get me more followers?

But yeah. We were ambushed. And I saved them.

It was a full moon that night, and we were all chatting and laughing away around a fire. No one noticed as a few dudes encased in shadows emerged from the bushes. They quickly attacked, grabbing the strongest out of us and dragging them back into the undergrowth while the rest tried fighting back. Their efforts were fruitless, as they, too, were grabbed by the men. Two went for me, but they stopped in their tracks when they saw what was in front of me.

A skeleton crawled out from the ground in front them, bones rattling as the lept to their feet and glared at the men with their two empty eye sockets. It immediately attacked one of the men as more started coming out of the ground, shrieking and grabbing at the others holding my employers hostage.

This continued for a while until the last one wet his pants and ran screaming into the woods. The skeletons, seemingly happy with their work, crawled back into their dirt graves. I looked upon them in complete satisfaction, but realized my mistake when I looked back at the adventurers, whose jaws were all to the floor.

One of them uttered, "You're-you're actually a necromancer?"

I did some pitiful jazz hands and gave them an awkward smile while saying, "Surprise?"

Needless to say, I was successful.

[givethispromptatry]

With a final crack of steel she watched the Dark King fall and felt only disappointment. Her grip on her sword tightened. Her teeth grit together.

Yet again there had been no challenge.

[mpwritesstuff]

With a final crack of steel, she watched as the Dark King fell and felt only disappointment. Her grip on her sword tightened. Her teeth grit together.

Yet again, there had been no challenge.

Juniper figured that, at least, the Dark King would put up an equally-matched fight. She'd seen him in battle; he always seemed to slaughter even the most well-trained warriors with as equal ease as her. So why, why did he go easy on her? Was it because she was a girl? No, it couldn't have; Juniper knew that he knew about her. He knew, in fact, that Juniper was, one way or another, going to march into his castle and strike him dead.

So why was it so easy? How come he fought like a mere, forgettable soldier in an army? Juniper had no idea.

She stared long and hard at the Dark King's body sitting in the blood that was now beginning to pool around him. Something felt so off. Juniper couldn't simply put a finger on it, but intuition told her that killing the Dark King was quite possibly the worst decision she'd ever made.

But why? What was wrong with killing the Dark King? He didn't have any heirs. He didn't have a wife or husband that was more ruthless than he. Heck, he'd been cast out by his family decades ago. Surely there was no one that would step up to the throne.

Juniper sighed, sheathing her sword. Nothing was wrong. She was simply being paranoid.

She descended down the steps of the dias and walked along the carpeted floor. Throwing the large doors open, Juniper walked back to her horse and got atop it. With a lash of the reins, her horse galloped down the stony path, the castle of the Dark King crumbling behind Juniper as she rode farther and farther away. She heard it falling to pieces; she just never bothered to look behind her. She came to it looking for gold and only found copper. It was worthless.

Juniper rode back to her kingdom, where she was welcomed with banners flying and townsfolk cheering upon her return. She slowed she her horse to a walk, smiling at the the celebrating crowd while still comprehending the situation that happened in the Dark King's castle. No matter how hard she tried, it kept coming back like an annoying fly that was just impossible to swat at. Yes, it was mere minutes ago that she'd killed him. Yes, she'd called herself paranoid when she felt something was off. However, now Juniper was certain something wasn't right. He couldn't have been beaten so easily; the Dark King never fought like he did fighting Juniper.

Juniper got off her horse at her house and walked it back to the stables with the crowd still cheering behind her. She strolled back to her horse shu, unlocked her door, and shut the door, locking it and everything else right after. As she took off her armor, she took immediate notice of a rolled up piece of paper on her kitchen table. She quickly hung up her armor and half-ran to the kitchen.

The parchment looked fresh, so fresh that it made Juniper nervous. This hadn't been there in the morning; maybe someone snuck it in? No, it was impossible; she always kept her house locked in fear that someone would steal her armor, her sword, and the rest of her valuables.

She carefully unrolled the parchment, reading what was inscribed:

Hello Juniper- I understand that you're unaware of who put this in your house. If this is in your house, then my minion did me well. For the past months, I've been well-aware of your mission to defeat me. If you see this, then it is likely that you have succeeded in ending my reign. However, my kingdom has yet to be long gone. Before you came to kill me, I placed a curse; a curse that states that if I happen to die, the person who murdered me will be hated as much as I've been while I was alive. The only way to break this curse is to free me from my ghostly prison by reviving me. That simply is no easy task, eh? Why am I doing this? You see, I want you to see the truth. I had good intentions for what I was doing. You and the townsfolk were too blinded by the lies to see them. If you want peace, you'll have to bring me back. You have until midnight to relish your victory. After that, you're good as dead. Who knows? Maybe we'll meet in the afterlife. If you're smart, you'll pack up and leave the town under the new moon. I advise you to do so if you want to leave with your life. When you leave, come to the ruins of my castle. I'll be waiting for you there. Your truly, The Dark King

Juniper froze. Her body shook as she stared at the signature in horror. The paper slowly slid out of her grip as she took a small, terrified step back. She glanced back at the crowd outside her window, and then back at the paper.

She wanted to think that it was all a joke. She wanted to think that it wasn't real, that it was all a dream, and that she was going to wake up on the day she would kill the Dark King. It wasn't; the parchment and the fear felt all too real. She was cursed; she was quite possibly going to die.

She picked up the paper again and reread the last two paragraphs. He was correct; there was supposed to be a new moon. It would give her a chance to get out under the cover of darkness. Juniper wasn't sure why he wanted her to return back to the castle, though. It was in ruins, and his body was most likely crushed by them. However, Juniper knew about miracles, so most likely the body was completely unharmed by the falling debris.

So she waited. She waited for the sun to dip, for the people to go back to their homes, for the last candle to be blown out.

Juniper slid her armor on, sheathed her sword, and headed out with a knapsack with food and a full canteen of water. She snuck into the stables, but paused. Would it be smart to get her horse? Would it make too much noise as she tried to leave? There was only one answer Juniper knew, and that was yes.

It saddened Juniper to have to say goodbye, but it was the only thing she could do. If she wanted to save herself and quite possibly the rest of the townsfolk, she'd have to leave her horse behind.

"Goodbye, Ranger," she whispered sadly. "You were a good boy."

She blew him a small kiss and walked out of the stables. Quickly scanning the open area, Juniper sprinted past houses and houses of people quietly slumbering. She ducked into an alleyway, narrowly avoiding getting seen by children running through the streets, and continued down, her feet thumping down onto the hard, dusty surface below her.

Safety was nearly in her grasp before she stopped. Juniper took one last long glance at the town she'd grew up in. It had been a town she'd saved multiple times, the town that earned her a spot among the high ranks in the emperor's army. It was there that she formulated the plan to take down the Dark King once and for all. That would be no more Once the moon was at its highest, she would be considered dangerous. Nowhere would be safe.

Juniper sighed. Looking one last time at the town, she turned and sprinted into the night. She never looked back.

-Back from my hiatus! :D This was definitely a great stress reliever after midterms haha. Can't believe school's almost over Jesus Christ. Anyhow, hope you enjoyed this story!-

[mpwritesstuff]

Going on a one week hiatus, I have midterms this week that I really need to study for.

[writing-prompt-s]

You are a respected supervillain that is more of a managerial type. You take good care of your minions and have an open door policy. One day a battered minion comes in your office. The heroes tortured your minion for information. You rarely go out into the field, but when you do heroes tremble.

[mpwritesstuff]

(This is actually an add-on to a prompt I had done previously regarding a hero exploring a villain’s base. If you haven’t read that yet, make sure to check it out here:  https://xxmarblepastaxx.tumblr.com/post/647007530166468608/you-are-a-superhero-that-has-finally-defeated-your)

This letter was sent two weeks prior to Jupiter’s ultimate capture and day prior to the explosion of the city hall. It was recovered by Spectre after Jupiter’s capture and before Spectre’s investigation of Jupiter’s lair. This is what the letter read, word for word.

Dearest Mayor Kinsley,

People view me as a villain. Heroes see me as the one they have to destroy in order to bring peace ‘their’ city. And understandably so. I do partake in heinous acts for (partially) the good of myself. However, that doesn’t make me entirely heartless.

I might be Jupiter, former chemist and worst human being to walk the Earth, but I do my work like any normal business. My ‘minions’ are my employees. For that reason, I’m one of the most well-respected villains, well, anywhere, to be frank.

My policy is the golden rule in life: treat others the way you want to be treated. Therefore, if someone were to give me utter disrespect, I’d give it back to them. As long as my employees treat me accordingly, I’ll treat them them the same way. I’ve rarely had to yell at anyone, though, which is a huge relief, considering how most of my employees have comes from citizens that sought out amnesty from the city and were given nothing but pain. I hate having to mentally break any of my employees; it’s just a thing that I simply shouldn’t have to do. Really is a shame. 

You know what really upsets me? It’s when someone harms one of my employees. They claim that when it happens, I go completely berserk. I lose my mind and resort to causing pain to the one that caused pain to said employee. I mean, I don’t necessarily lose my mind, but they say I’m terrifying in the battlefield. I hope that is the case. I’ve been going out into the world less frequently than before. When I do, though, it’s usually a coordinated attack that tends to end in success, but it’s never something that engraves itself in the minds of the people. It’s more or less a introduction to the destruction I’m believed to really do.

Which is why I’m warning you, dear Mayor. I know exactly what you did.

I know you tortured one of my employees. They told me the story, but it quite clear that it happened when their cut, bruised, poor body limped into my lair. They told me you and your goons tried to beat information out of them. They told me they never shared and that resulted in their now broken leg. They told me you threw them onto the street, expecting them to die from hunger or thirst. At least Spectre had a heart and helped them. Heh. She probably didn’t even realize they were one of mine.

As of right now my employee is in stable condition. However, recovery is going to take a while. I would send him to a hospital, but, unfortunately, thanks to you, he is regarded as dead. He has a family, y’know. A lovely family that mostly likely don’t even realize he’s alive. Oh, just you wait until they find out. Just you wait until it finally dawns on them that you are a conspiring liar who prefers power over helping the people.

I hope Spectre sees this letter. I hope you’re in your little apocalypse bunker. Because I’m going to put on a show. Heh, it may end with a bang, if you know what I mean. 

Sit tight, sir. I’m going to enjoy watching your demise.

Yours truly, 

Jupiter

[writing-prompt-s]

Just because one of your chicken eggs hatched a fire breathing dragon people think you’re evil. But you’re still just a regular farmer trying to make a living while dealing with an overprotective dragon, heroes that want to kill you and fanatics who want to worship you as the new Demon Lord.

[mpwritesstuff]

Listen, it clearly wasn’t my fault I just so happened to hatch a dragon. 

How was I supposed to know about that mutation? How was I supposed to know that a winged lizard of fury was inside one of the chicken eggs I gathered? I really didn’t. I had no idea that I would be the person to get a dragon. 

As a farmer, I had the duty to care for all animals, barn-sized or not. So when this dragon finally hatched, I decided I was going to care for it as best as possible. I did a lot more hunting to satisfy it’s ravenous carnivorous diet. I started selling the excess that it didn’t eat so the meat wouldn’t go bad and also so I could make more money. As time went by, the dragon grew. When I say grew, it grew quick. 

In the span of the month it was the size of my tallest horse. In the next month, I had to move it into my barn because the shed was too small for it. By the time harvesting season rolled around, I was nearly the size of its front legs. It was absolutely unbelievable.

I had considered sharing the news to my farmer friends, but they figured out pretty quickly when they came to visit one morning. Usually I would be the first one to greet them, but apparently the dragon(which I had now named Eldur) decided to take over that position. When I had arrived to meet my friends, they were all staring in horror at Eldur, most likely because of his size, but also because he was hissing at them and flaring his wings. Of course, I told Eldur to stop, but the damage was done. My friends called me a monster for breeding such hellspawn and promptly left.

Word quickly spread about me and Eldur. The local news called me some sort of reincarnated Demon Lord and ruthless to the extent that I never actually cared about my friends. They called Eldur a terrible, scaled beast that was in my possession and a monster that, with no hesitation, would kill anyone in sight. Meanwhile, I’m giving him a bath while he’s whining in protest. 

It’s hilarious how people would consider an overprotective dragon a monster whilst calling an overprotective dog cute. However, that’s sadly how people work. It’s a shame, really, but does it matter anymore? Not really. Not since the heroes have started coming seeking to destroy my very existence.

Usually, it would go like this: A hero shows up to my farm, brandishing a sword and donning armor. I would walk out of my house, and they would give some long, rambling speech about how they’re going to defeat me and my dragon to rid the town of two evil beings. I’d just roll my eyes and say, “Whatever. Eldur, sick ‘em,” or something along those lines. Eldur would then chase them away, and I’d continue my business. 

However, the news of me and Eldur haven’t only attracted heroes. It’s also gotten me a cult worshipping from people who see it as a plus.

I mean, they are pretty weird. They’d leave human sacrifices for Eldur, which I would then untie and boot into the woods, but they usually gave him some form of animal meat. That was definitely a plus. I wouldn’t have to go into the forest to hunt more deer. I’m sure Eldur was getting tired of that. Because of this, Eldur grew very fond of these people and always got excited when they showed up with food.

Those people, too, also did some work on my house. It went from some old, wooden, one-story house to a literal stone castle with three stories, complete with a kitchen, a living room, a porch, all the works. Eldur even got a place for himself. The best part about it was how they did it like it was free labor. I wanted to pay them, because, of course, I’m still a nice person, but they refused, saying that all their services were free for the Demon Lord. Strange? Yes. Beneficial? Definitely. However, I really didn’t want to use them for everything, so I made sure they only brought food and guarded my new home while I farmed and took care of Eldur.

Being regarded as a Demon Lord definitely sucks, for the most part. But what can I say? I have a job now. I have people that would die for me. I can still live a life of peace and comfort. I have a dragon that loves me to world’s end. I, in fact, have a place in this world. Yes, it’s as a villain, but it’s definitely something. What more could I want?

A friend. 

The lonely life is good and all, but it eventually became tiresome. I had my followers to talk to, but nothing compared to the emptiness my heart felt. I believe Eldur started to notice, because he was constantly nudging me at some point and taking me on flights a little too frequently. 

All I wanted was someone. Someone that wasn’t the heroes or followers that kept showing up. Just someone I could sympathize with and maybe love. I don’t know. I just needed a person.

Which is why it seemed like fate when he stumbled into my home and passed out in my living room.