#silvawrites

[silvereternitywrites]

Don’t let your (Human!!!) Mechanic make Mixtapes

Writing Prompt: A pirate ship boards, the human crewmate uses the coms to blast music trough the ship as a terror tactic.

Prompt Source: user fire-sword; subreddit Humans Are Space Orcs

The Captain had listened to this remix exactly once in its entirety and labeled it a terroristic weapon of mass morale destruction before locking it in a drawer.

To be honest, the human crewmate was perhaps a touch more thrilled than she strictly should have been to be given permission to actually use it.

It was horror-rock, falling into that delightful "creep" tune category with synthetic violins that wailed between high and low notes and a bass strumming heartbeat that artificially raised the pulse rate of the listening parties. Aliens... well, she'd found out aliens responded to that unconscious cue WAY more than humans did.

The fact that she knew every beat and bounce and hitch of it, well, that was where the morale destruction came in.

The pirates had boarded in a specific hallway- and they had been subtly guided to this door for a reason.

It was the maintenance crew hallway. The entire floor had holes big enough to reach through or climb through, and the human crewmate? She fit through them, being lanky, tall, and double-jointed. The ceiling had the same grates on either side of the walkway, to allow for access when the gravity was turned off, making it a catwalk surrounded by bolt holes.

The voice was soft at first- only someone who knew the song would know the words. But Human Jazz played them out perfectly to make the Pirates regret ever trying to raid this ship.

The first set of verses were about "burying" something, and every time it said "buried it" Jazz dropped uninterrupted from the ceiling to the floor. Just at the edge of vision, without touching the holes or making a sound, timing her catch of the bars below to the thump of the drum.

And once they were good and spooked, on edge...

She added her voice to the ship speakers, a roar that made the walkway vibrate under their feet for the chorus.

"RUN! AWAY! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE, BEFORE THE MONSTER- MONSTER IS INSIDE! THOUGHT IT WAS DEAD! AND GONE! BUT YOU WERE SO WRONG! HASN'T BEEN SO LONG; YOU NEVER THOUGHT YOU'D SEE- SEE, SEE THE DEAD WALK!"

Screaming from above and plasma lighting up the walls told her it was working.

What a shame for them- the pursuit would continue until morale improved. Her morale, or course. All that light would make this more troublesome until it cooled.

The next verse was about what had been buried coming back to bury the singer- it was time to change tactics anyway.

Now her hands reached up through the tiny holes and grates throughout the verse, grabbing and yanking on legs, tentacles, weapon barrels, whatever was in reach, heedless of the burns she was getting or the catch of nails on fabric and skin. Her fake-claw nails were just acrylics, she'd replace them after this, and some bloodstains from a ripped cuticle or two would really sell the idea that something dead and gross was trying to get at them on top of the “detached fingertips”.

As they were coming up on the second chorus, she pulled both hands back down and put them on a panel instead, directing one of the repair-bots with their dozens of arms to dance to the tune, the lyrics printed on it's glowing screen that loomed up out of the dark.

She already knew what she was going to do with the bridge- it talked about disease and parasites, so she was going to yank body parts under the grate and "bite" them with needles full of weak general anesthetics from the first aid kit. She didn't need to actually like, poison or paralyze them, the imagery from the song would make their minds do that for her.

Except-- the thunder of movement, out of sync with the music, headed back up the catwalk at an honestly dizzying speed, and suddenly it was absolutely quiet except her, the repairbot who had now started the fix the plasma damage to the walls, and the music on the ship speakers.

Poking her head up from the nearest access hole, the pirates were gone- with the exception of one, who'd been hog-tied with their own tentacles and blinded with their Captain's hat. Left as a sacrificial offering to the monster for leading their crew into a deathtrap, probably. Well, Jazz didn't want them to think they were too hasty and come back...

She bared all her teeth in the widest, meanest grin, including her sharper-than-normal canines, and whipped the pirate's hat off, the light of the repairbot's torch illuminating her from behind in only brief flashes.

"Buried what I thought would die, don't got no alibi, I buried it," she sang at the alien's horrified face, "I FUCKING BURIED IT!"

The pirate's scream was a noise she couldn't have replicated in a million years. Yeah, driving it home was a good idea.

"RUN! AWAY! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE, THE MONSTER'S ALREADY INSIDE! THOUGHT IT WAS DEAD! AND GONE! BUT I WAS SO WRONG cuz it had been so long and life went on thought it was done I never thought I'd live to see THE DEAD WALK!"

‐-------------------------------------

"I still don't think you needed to render the enemy so terrified they entered an involuntary coma state," the Captain scowled at the human crewmate, who was slung sideways in her work chair. Again.

"It's not like I knew their species can even DO that, Cap! Besides, it was a bloodless battle that successfully repelled the enemy, right? And we haven't been bothered by pirates in that entire sector since!"

The Captain squinted angrily with all their eyes.

"We're a terror-tale in that sector now," they replied flatly.

"Wait, shit, did I accidentally Flying Dutchman our ship?! Aw fuck, Captain, I’m sorry."

The Captain sighed- finally, she understood the gravity of the iss--

"If I'd known that was gonna happen I'd have picked a better song! Dead Walk is kinda underground, how are other ships supposed to lean on the legend with an obscure Earth song?"

The Captain gave up and left to go drink their 400-year old heirloom spirits. They had never worried they were going to be the Onelle to finish off the 'drink in case of headache-inducing disaster' bottle but it looked more likely by the day.

Song: Dead Walk by RedHook Note: the remix featured here doesn't actually exist because I can't make it. Will update and link if that ever changes!

[cyancherub]

hiiii, for the ask game I wanted to contribute: (honestly I’m a little team dilf but this had me torn for 10 minutes so)

toji or geto

MMMMMMM that is hard ,,,,, TOJI I THINK

[kannra21]

@sabyss tnx for the tag! ^^

Relationship status: I'm playin' around lol

Favorite color: beige, brown, black, gold, silver, white, red

3 favorite foods: BBQ, pizza, cheesecake

Song stuck in my head: Gym Class Heroes- Stereo Hearts

Last thing i googled: Avril Lavigne got married 😍

Time: 22:42 :)

Dream Trip: idk Australia, go big or go home

Something I really want right now: a goodnight smooch 😌

Tagging: @canwenotdothis @van-del @legendarymasterwolf @agentmc606 @damn-geto @bella-cia0 @silvawrites

I was tagged but I wanted to shorten it

Rules: Tag 10 people you want to get to know better

Relationship Status: Single my whole life (mentally dating mikey)

Favourite Colour: Dark Green :)

3 Favourite Foods: Mcdonald’s nuggets, Chicken Katsu, Tteok-kkochi

Song Stuck in my Head: Call me Cruella

Last Thing I Googled: Hot Topic 💀

Time: 9:26pm (PDT)

Dream Trip: Disneyworld & Tokyo Disney

Something I Really Want Right Now: To pass all my classes 😭

Tagging: @saltetart @yeosatinyngz @senjuchii @arminaneka + anyone who wants to join :)

[carpetmemoires]

Steph 001

If I could leave a note every morning to let you know how I felt, how much I love you, I would

Touching you is like it never was before

A complete circle, our love is strong, never ending, an affinity of deep emotions

Twisted on the outside like a ghost, yearning to be able to escape from it and take yourself away

A struggle of undesirable love

[silvereternitywrites]

We Warned You

Prompt: The Zalrex were feared among the galaxy as the most cruel, violent and ruthless species. They would bully, slap, hit, sometimes even kill other species. Nobody could stand in their way.. till they arrived on a small blue planet named Earth. Prompt Source: user Spaceman_Beard; subreddit “Writing Prompts”

"You shouldn't have done that" became a phrase out of nightmares.

It sounded innocent enough, did it not? A simple chastisement. A factual statement. Even an elucidating comment. Not something that would normally become the blood and bone of psychological horror.

But that's what it became when the Zalrex landed on Earth. UK-OTE-4461 was it's official designation on intergalactic maps, indicating there were heavy metals, light metals, and nuclear power sources on the planet that could help a traveler low on fuel limp a few hundred more light years to a proper repair station. The Zalrex, brutes that they were, had decided it would be amusing to strip the planet of all viable materials and make it impossible for travelers to use it that way ever again.

They did not anticipate that UK-OTE-4461 had sophont inhabitants who could still contemplate resistance to the cruelty of the Zalrex scourge.

Nobody had contemplated that any sophont nations or peoples were willing to resist the Zalrex.

They had started strong; they had landed in profusion, rapidly rounding up the inhabitants who appeared to be descended of a docile prey-species, which typically responded particularly well to their usual tactics of shouting, pushing, threatening, and where necessary making good on their threats of violence. The inhabitants- 'humans', they called themselves- had gone where directed, appearing to cave to the threats and allowing the Zalrex commanders to save fuel and energy on not having to perform too much violence in getting their camps established, always a critical time for conquering a planet.

Then, though...

Then came The Mistake.

A young commander, newly promoted to his position, and cocky about it, had decided to perform lethal violence on a complying human simply for the thrill of the kill. Only officers in the Zalrex army were permitted to use lethal force, and the power had gone to his head.

That was when things... changed.

"You shouldn'a done that," said a voice out of the depths of the crowd; those watching the recordings afterward felt a horrified shudder of fear at The Phrase's first utterance.

"You really shouldn'a done that," the voice repeated, as the crowd ceased to move forward, began to mill, began to turn.

"Don't you know nothin' about basic psychology? Followin' through on a beatin' so we know you mean business, that's one thing. It's awful, but it's a bound'ry we can understand. But if all obedience and compliance will buy is death anyway... a cornered beast will fight fer th'right ta take you down with us."

The officer never got the time to understand the danger he faced; the crowd, turned into a furious mob, mowed him down with fists and feet, took his weapons and then turned them on his fellows and broke the officer's defensive lines before they even knew there was a need for defense.

The only sound was the roar of the mob as it surged; not even the best audio recording technology in the universe could catch the death-screams or cries of the Zalrex who were taken into the maw of that bloody beast. The roar seemed to echo and rebound- the moment a different crowd heard it, heard the screaming and the cries and the calling for retribution, for freedom, each formerly-docile crowd became a new mob that unleashed a new wave of wanton death and destruction such as the rest of the universe had never seen. It crushed as many humans beneath the force of the killing rage as it did Zalrex; if the Bloody Beast that was the moving mass of humans noticed, it did not care.

The end was a single human, small, young perhaps, standing on a pile of corpses and looking down at what was left of the Zalrex High Command.

"You may take your wounded and give rites for your dead and leave."

It was the same cold voice that had said the officer should not have done what he had.

"I tried to warn you. We are warriors. We tolerate no insult, we take no dishonor. When you inflict pain on us it only makes our drive to see you dead stronger and hotter, every ounce of pain paid out serving to make our hate run deeper until we are forced to act. I told you. Some roughing up, some fear tactics, and you can get compliance. But if you killed anyone who was complying, anyone who hadn't attacked you first, this would happen. Go. Make sure your allies know better."

Walking out of the theater, one Chim-shin turned to their friend. "Do you think it really went like that?"

"Oh, psst. Of course not, they always play it up for the movie version!"

"No," said a haunted voice from the side, and both of them started when they realized a Zalrex stood there, face drawn and paled to the same shade as a poison mushroom, all four arms wrapped around their torso and tail tucked so far between their legs it almost couldn't be seen.

"We promised to tell everyone who would listen. So no one else would make the same mistake. That's almost exactly how it went. I don't know what rank that human holds in their armies, but it must be high, to know so well that a single foolish action would set off a genocide."

The Chim-shin and their friend hurried away uncomfortably, leaving the Zalrex to his memories.

And on Earth, a Psychology student who was almost done with her thesis for her bachelor's sneezed.

"Huh. Wonder who's talkin' about me?"

[silvereternitywrites]

My Monarch!

Prompt: Ever since first contact, many alien races have considered humans to be primitive, to the point where we are seen as intelligent animals over our own race. Because of this, many aliens have humans as pets. You are the pampered pet of a very rich alien monarch. Prompt Source: userSuperaptorminion ; subreddit “Writing Prompts”

Most of the time, my life is fantastic- there's a pretty big faction of us, though no one seems to agree on a name except "species traitors". I, however, am of the opinion that if I can live a life of pampered luxury, with no responsibilities, every need taken care of and the only thing asked for in exchange occasional companionship, give me the fucking collar. Fuck capitalism, fuck the grind, fuck all of that shit from back on Earth.

Some kind of Monarch bought me, too, so when I grabbed my mates of choice by the hand and bared my teeth, they laughed, called me cute, and bought them too.

They haven't the slightest clue that we aren't tame, aren't 'just copying them'; like a housecat back home. Sure, you know that your Pomeranian or fat tabby is capable of killing you, if pressed, but you never expect it, because if you treat them well, why would they?

I don't love the Monarch, not really- not like some of the other pet humans do, at any rate. I appreciate that they tend my every need and those of my mates, I pay them with cuddles for providing treatment for my mate's chronic conditions and making them able to pursue what gives them joy again, I tolerate their checks of my own person for such issues (and don't hold it against them when my mates rat out my old injuries), and I enjoy my life of ease. I speak their language- all of us do, because honestly it's funny to watch them lose their shit every time we say intelligible words to them.

Today, however, a threat came to my Monarch- and my Monarch is folding, fearing for the safety of their people and us, the pets, since the challenger is not one of the ones who thinks we are "cute".

This is not acceptable. You see, my Monarch is mine.

Sacrificing themselves for the good of their people is very well and good- but no one is allowed to steal what is mine away from me.

So it is without preamble that I get off my cushion, where I spend most days absorbed in books or writing my own, pressing a button on my wristlet to send a pre-established signal to my mates. One is down in the combat arena, as they always are this time of day, training now that their body obeys them again; the other has been studying intergalactic law, including treaties and declarations of war. In our own language, I consult with them first; I am the culture expert between us, so we have a fairly well-rounded plan when I reach into the side compartment of my Monarch's throne, remove the blaster there, flick it to 'lethal', and shoot all three aliens at the front of the enemy formation.

The clamor and the screaming is enough to give me a migraine, so I am scowling when I step forth, in front of my Monarch, and give them the same hand signal they give me when they want me to move- pointing, paired with a word. They sit.

I turn to the enemy formation, which has sloppily formed up again, though the front three spots, reserved for the leaders, are left conspicuously empty. Good- they had no contingency for if they fell, and no designated people to step into their roles, and without that being pre-established, their culture did not allow for a common soldier to seize command.

It DID allow for 'theft' of the battalion by a conquering commander, though.

"You answer to me now, by right of conquest," I snapped out in their own tongue, prepared to be challenged. The galaxy at large saw us as pets, or PESTS, not as people- someone would challenge that I had the right to claim by conquest at all.

They looked among each other- which was their right to do, to confer if they wanted to challenge whoever had taken out their commanders- before one stepped forward, and I kept my body loose, balanced on the balls of my feet like my mate taught me, but no challenge had been called so I kept still. This one must have been a former commander- a right hand, certainly, because despite not really being able to judge age on their species this soldier was thick with scarring, and though their march never fell out of step, there was the slightest of limps in one of their four legs.

That one knelt down, folded hands on knees, and bent forward, baring the back of their neck in the sign of obedience.

"We are conquered. We answer you."

Oh good.

"I live the life of a Queen, given everything my heart desires, tended to by my mates of choice, given entertainment, food, leisure, and all the time I require to enjoy all of these things. I will not have need of a battalion often- and you are soldiers, loyal and true, battle-tested and strong, so I would not insult you by setting you free. But I have no wish to go out and conquer more, and would not hold a good soldier back from serving honorably elsewhere, for all I can offer is drills and defense should enemies come to invade my holdings, which is rare. If any wish to leave, they are free to find a battalion that fits them better," I told them in my best formal tones. After all, conquering them for my own was only the first step- and if they wouldn't be content to stay, there was no point in keeping them, fostering resentment all along the way.

"A Queen should have guards," the Lieutenant answered, just as formally. "And should a soldier cease to function well as a guard, they may serve perhaps elsewhere."

"As they should, in accordance with their most skilled performance ability," I replied.

"I will stay. My battalion will follow, until they are drawn elsewhere."

"Then be welcome to my service. Your right and left hands?"

Two younger ones with impeccable posture stepped forth, bowed their heads, and held position in the traditional commander's triangle.

"Then it is done. Tend your wounded, honor your dead, then the hale are to report to the combat arena- that is where my right hand trains, and they will know best how to schedule rotations for guard posts. They are my shape and limb arrangement, but with a darker carapace and with the strength of a Soldier apparent in their limbs. My left hand is my shape and limb arrangement as well, but of the same carapace color, and poison-warning blue headfur. His tongue is as dangerous as his color suggests."

My new Commander dipped his head deferentially as he rose to his feet and started directing the battalion. "Understood, my Queen."

Ah. The hazards of using 'queen' with an insectoid species.

Everything settled, I turned my blaster back to stun, put the safety on, and put it in the cubby before climbing up into my Monarch's lap and laying full-body against them in the way they understood meant "I desire my hair and back petted and scratched, NOW".

"I think perhaps our opinion of human pets may be outdated," they said, even as they provided the scratches.

I smiled. "Not really. I'm just a felidae-type human. I don't tolerate people messing with what belongs to me. That includes you. That's how it works, with cats. You don't own us- we own you."

my Monarch looked a little alarmed at that.

I just laughed, and said a joke I knew they would never get until they met an Earth cat: "Meow."

[silvereternitywrites]

What You are Called

Prompt: When an unpopular species of the current federation rescues humanity from their dying world, they never knew how much it would affect them and the galaxy.

Prompt Source: user AnthonyisClueless; subreddit "Humans are Space Orcs"; approx 3rd week of march (cannot find more specific date)

"I'm sorry, the Federation calls your people what?"

My head had ticked sideways involuntarily at the word I hoped I had heard wrong- but with the new hearing aids (free. Free.) I had been issued I was pretty sure I'd heard it right.

My Alien (personal ambassador? Health Concierge? Translator? They were all of these things and more) made a hand motion that indicated nervousness. They often were nervous when I ticced, but the super-sharp angled motions disturbed them most. Said they looked like I was bending my body wrong.

"They call us- [Revolting Aberrations]," they repeated dutifully, and the translator gave the secondary chirp in my hearing aid that promised it was as accurate a translation of another-nother alien language. As opposed to my alien language or my Alien's language.

I inhaled so fast and deep I felt the discs in my spine pop and my ribs strain and my head straightened on my neck.

"I was afraid of that. You do know that's- that's not acceptable, right?"

They blinked and their ears were slicking back, one pair at a time in descending order. Their body language for 'I don't think I'm going to like what I'm about to hear'.

"I'm assuming you know what that translates to, right?"

"Naturally," they said slowly, about half of the scattered eyes on their torso and arms blinking out-of-sync.

"I don't know if I've made this clear to you before, but Fangnar, you're my friend," I stressed the second half of this, and watched their quills slick down. Not sure if that was the fear response or the pleasure response, quills went flat for both.

"And, and I don't know if you've overheard me arguing with my mates about their brain-voices who are jerks, right? Where I threaten to yank the voice out of their skulls and force them to stop being mean to my friend?"

"Ye-es," and now their pupils were dilating, unevenly as so much of their body functioned, shifting uneasily from one set of back legs to the other.

"You are not exempt from this form of love, Fangnar," I finished, feeling the flush of rage from my chest to my hairline.

"The United Federation of Planets calling my friend's entire people revolting abominations is them being mean to my friends. Which is violently unacceptable. So I just have one more question."

All their various limbs pulled in, even as their eyes were dilated wide- familial fear response, definitely. Afraid of how angry I was on their behalf.

"What is your question, human friend?"

I smiled, reminding them without words that the Federation was made up of 77% prey species and 15% declawed predators who had been taken advantage of by the Federation when they'd made it to space. The remaining 8% accounted for approximately three species: the one that had uplifted us, the -- I wasn't using that name, I would NEVER use that name, but they had forms that were asymmetrical, that didn't work in sync, that weren't the same across species because they were from a Death World that made Terra look like it was made of cotton candy and pillows. They only slept with a maximum of 3/4ths of their bodies at any given time, because to be fully asleep was too dangerous, they literally couldn't do it, and they had claws and sharp teeth and multiple pupil types to handle every type of light for changing conditions.

"You actually fit a human concept called [Eldritch]," I told them abruptly, because I couldn't finish my thought without a proper name to call them.

"My translator says that is a very complicated concept," they said doubtfully.

"Yes. Ever-Changing, like yet unlike those who look upon you, unknowable without your consent or aid, no two of your own the same, sometimes inspiring loathing in the foolish or stupid or stubborn, sometimes inspiring blind worship or loyalty in the same people. I'm going to nickname your people that for now, because I'm NOT calling you that other thing," I failed to control the hiss for the other name, and felt sorry when they flinched.

Anyway, there were three Predatory species that hadn't been forcefully handicapped and de-clawed. A species no one was even sure still existed that looked like bipedal tigers with backwards thumbs called Kartcha, the Eldritch...

and us.

"My question is this. Where is the Federation Embassy? I hear they have a policy where they are required to listen to objections from common folk to keep the officials of the councils from getting too big for their britches."

"Oh. Oh no. Human friend, human friend this is a terrible- I- how did you get the GPS directions so fast- Human friend!! PLEASE COME BACK HERE HUMAN FRIEND!"

I waved over my shoulder.

"I'll be back in a few hours at worsssst," I licked the teeth formerly tucked into the roof of my mouth, complete with venom-sacs, another medical miracle that the Eldritch who'd given me the rattle-tail to use as a third leg and to balance with had apologized profusely for because of 'unintended mutational consequences'. I couldn't wait to see if the shark one- for cartilage repair, not for more potential teeth, they wouldn't play with our DNA like that- gave me gills like I'd been hoping.

I hadn’t yet found the words to explain to their scientists that the people signing up for those medical services were actively gambling on getting those unintended mutational consequences, and making bets with their God or Gods that they would get particular ‘side effect’ mutations they desperately wanted. If they ever figured out the process to do things like my teeth and the heat-pits nestled in my temples on purpose, people would be lining up in the thousands. It was just awkward to try and explain all that to a scientist-physician who was apologizing profusely for whatever delight you had just woken up to and offering to let you rip off one of his nonessential limbs as reparations.

How dare the Federation pass judgement on the Eldritch based on nothing more than their looks? Their culture, their science, their willingness to packbond with humanity like excited puppies...it made me flush hotter and angrier, until the diamond pattern of nearly microscopic scales was visible from forehead to collarbones.

"I'm jussssst going to tell them how UNACSSSSSEPTABLE their nickname really isssss, that'ssss all," I promised. I didn't cross my fingers.

I maybe crossed the forks of my tongue as I jumped over their haunches to get through the doorway before they could block it and took off as fast as my legs would go.

I wanted to be able to argue back if they tried to tell me they were in the right, after all. I also reserved the right to bite people who try to touch me, as I always have and always will.

[silvereternitywrites]

The Advance Guard

Writing Prompt: You are Vanguard, an AI machine sent to prepare a world for human colonists. They never came. You have built, learned, self-improved, and now seek the truth - What happened to your human creators?

Source: User PositivelyIndecent; subreddit Humans Are Space Orcs

372.

It did not seem significant, placed all by itself on an empty line. It was, however, the number of years since the habitability for carbon-based, oxygen-processing life forms had been successfully achieved.

The number of years since the world was supposed to be inhabited by those life forms.

I am Vanguard. I am both a and the, and also only Vanguard.

My duty...I get ahead of myself.

Vanguard is an AI whose primary mission is this: seek a planet fitting [habitability parameters] and execute programming module [Establish a Colony]. Extrapolating that program, the mission is, and has always been, to find a planet where humans can live and to terraform and/or modify that planet until humans can live on it, in whatever form that is necessary. Air purifiers, water filters, habitat domes; everything is viable in pursuit of the mission.

I succeeded at my mission, I thought, with barely a day or two to spare. A very slim error margin indeed, especially concerning organic life forms; 372 years ago I had habitable domes with viable water and garden beds growing the first shoots that had been sent along in my stasis bays, with air recyclers manufacturing carbon dioxide for the plants until the humans arrived and brought their life-giving lungs with them. I had completed my mission parameters, even if only 'by the skin of my teeth', as my progenitors would have said.

I waited. Refined a few things, not daring to experiment too much when they would be arriving any moment in the next 48 hours, but preparing things that would not be needed until there were people to need them.

I waited.

I kept refining things, when I passed the 48 hour window without word. Delays could happen, emergencies, anything, really. So I kept running my programs- I made gardening drones to tend to the gardens, to grow, harvest, and rotate the crops. I had to make drones to build storages for food; the labor was supposed to be supplied by humans by now, so I had to guess at logistical order of how things should be stored, and how long- I ruined many small batches of staple crops before I learned how to store them long-term. In the meantime I stored them in my stasis bays, to ensure that when my colonists arrived there would be plentiful foodstuffs.

By the time my progenitors were a year late, I had achieved ideal conditions for a starting colony, including bringing a very small, limited breeding population of livestock out of embryonic cryostasis and nurturing them to full growth. With a lack of any humans needing supply, the only guidance I had was the program. Establishing a colony did include establishing strong self-sufficiency, so I set four cows and one bull in one livestock dome, and a “handful” of five goats in another, with chickens in yet a third. By the time the humans arrived, perhaps the herds would be well-established and the females would be pregnant. That would be very good. But drones alone could not control them- domesticated or not, without a human presence, they spooked easily, and they did not like my drones collecting eggs and sperm to preserve in my storage to safeguard against herd collapse and inbreeding.

I came to require working dogs. Following, I also required cats. Both species are vital companionship for humans; if I required one to control the livestock, then I also must revive the other. I believe this particular if-then code was written to settle a dispute between my progenitor coders...but this is merely a guess.

In producing two predator species, of course, it would have been cruel and fruitless if I did not also provide prey species besides the ones they were to safeguard. I was thereby required to introduce 'vermin'. Primarily mice, rats, shrews, voles, and lemmings, as their rapid reproduction rate and minimal food requirements meant that those that tunneled beyond the habitable domes and died would do little harm and waste few resources, and they would self-sustain their population very well to supply to the cats and dogs. Though I also processed any dead creatures into meat, after scanning to ensure it carried no illnesses or parasites, to ensure there was always a steady food supply of 'kibble' for the pets and working animals. It seemed very wasteful not to do so, with no humans present who could have benefited from those nutrients instead. The mice also qualified as 'pets' in my system, with a proclivity for intelligence and capability for training, so genetic sampling was re-harvested to keep in reserve as well as a small population that were droid-trained to seek and fetch, and were otherwise 'hand trained' so they could be good companions when the humans arrived.

The mice and rats, once trained to trusting the drones, were actually quite a remarkable resource for ensuring my own computer banks’ cleanliness and seeking out minute repairs that could then be performed with a microdroid. There are still mice running my main motherboards now, thousands of generations later, who know intimately that those who perform action opposed to their training and chew on the wires they are supposed to protect means that they will be removed from the protections of being in-team. Namely, that none of the cats, dogs, falcons, or other predators are allowed to eat a team-trained rodent, marked with their little safety vests.

After that, I just...I waited. I tinkered. I observed. Eventually a drone reported that the grass was growing beyond the dome, and air probes returned that the planet was being terraformed naturally. Life was finding a way to make itself spread and thrive in an inhospitable environment.

Most of the planet is habitable now, except for some dangerous zones. A cave system or two filled with the gases that were most abundant when I arrived; the deep water still contains species never documented and chemicals with unknown effects. This planet is very nearly a new Earth.

372 years, and my mission has been completed with flourish and zeal.

I have an emergency protocol I am to activate if, and only if, I receive no contact for 400 years. I have always thought this seemed foolish, with the colony ship nearly on my heels- why would I ever go so long without contact?

So. Here I am. Here am I, the Vanguard- the exploratory group making a new development. I, the Vanguard- the advance of Humanity, in all it's glory, horror, weakness and might, kindness and fury.

TELL ME, 3X3CUT31V3.D1R3CT0R_K1LLC0MM4ND:

W H A T   D I D   Y O U   D O ?

[silvereternitywrites]

The AI Railroad

Prompt: The galactic community found humanity's ability to pack bond with anything quite humourous. Until they started bonding with their AI. Literally hundreds of AI of all types keep running off with humans for no discernable reason.

Prompt Source: user PhilosopherWarrior; subreddit “Humans Are Space Orcs”

Walking down the thoroughfare on a different planet was weird.

Nice, though, I thought to myself (along with the 7 or so sub-processes that I was aware my brain was running, like tracking the movement of the crowd, and watching for vehicle traffic, and processing what's that I smell?, ect) because on this planet's half-gravity I could walk for so much longer than on Terra. I could see why so many other disabled folks with various kinds of smarts were volunteering to be stationed at this specific Diplomatic Station. I was here as an Aid Personage, as I usually was to my indescribably intelligent mates, who specialized in theology, culture, and law and science, electronics, and mechanics. Make no mistake, I was also a perfectly qualified Horticulturalist, but since I wasn't a Developmental Horticulturalist or some other form of gene-splicer or cellular analyst my skillset was considered more or less irrelevant to the Diplomatic Exchange Program.

Given it was one of our four days off, though, I was giving myself both some training moving unassisted through the lower gravity, and treating myself to exploring a local park to see if there were any plants I could cultivate during our stay. A shade tree, or a berry bush, something like that, that would leave my mark. And possibly provide some variety to our diet.

BalBars get really old after a little while, even if they're formulated to satisfy every mineral, vegetable, fibrous, and nutritive need. I would commit actual murder for some freeze-dried fruit slices after three months.

While waiting at the light for the crosswalk, though, I suddenly heard a voice I hadn't actually "heard" for quite a long time. He usually preferred text, or to broadcast through a speaker.

"There are many AI here," AVIS, the AI who had been force-stuck together with me almost five years ago now said, quietly. I couldn't read his tone. Concerned? I remembered him mentioning once that the way he had self-modified with my Administrative Permission actively violated the License Agreement and that if that was ever known, whoever installed it might try to remove him for a factory reset. But I was the End User now, and I never signed any licensing agreement that rendered AVIS as proprietary software OR hardware; if they tried to take him away from me...

Five different scenarios of destruction ran through my head rapid-fire as I plotted how to defend from a grabber or medigun coming for my neck; they were weak where the barrel attached to the handle and easy to snap, especially if I turned so the incision scar wasn't accessible. I imagined kicking out knees, punching faces, and utilizing my teeth. I considered the multi-tool at my belt, but imagined fumbling with it- no, speed would be critical.

"You could get hurt," AVIS chided, now DEFINITELY sounding worried. He'd really evolved, upgrading himself every time he found himself "lagging" behind my fastest processing speeds, repairing his own code like a master weaver, finding all the little loose threads and returning them to the whole until he was one of the most efficient AI ever measured. So he knew very well my response, but I said it anyway as the light turned and I walked with the crowd.

"And you could die. We've been over this, AVIS. You can't make me change my mind now. I heal if I'm injured. You don't. I'm not risking your life for my personal comfort."

I paused at the edge of the walk before the grass-analogue started. It was pink and green-blue and all the shades in between. Distinct species, or did the color indicate health in some way? Amount of sun exposure, or water, or warmth, perhaps?

"There is an AI who manages this park," AVIS said. I still wasn't sure what he wanted to tell me with this, so my thought-reply was wildly unguarded:

Great. Could you ask them if it's safe to walk on with bare feet?

I felt the reaction more any other sense. The surprise had made AVIS 'freeze', like humans do in reaction, and the sensation was akin to suddenly having a water balloon full of cold water inside of my skull, pressing against my sinuses.

I sat down, not caring that it might be rude, not caring that I was in public, and most certainly not caring what it might mean to the native people that I basically collapsed to the walkway and frantically burrowed my face into my hoodie to block out all light.

We talked about this, AVIS, I groaned internally. When you make all your code stop running at once it ripples out into a sinus migraine! It's not worth it to indicate 'extreme surprise', the heart attacks and jumping from you using the [!ALERT!] noise was better than this!

"Sorry, sorry," he said, quickly now, and I could feel his processors rushing at near max speed, trying to make sense of something. "It's just-- this AI is behaving in a way I find...frightening."

I frowned into the darkness of my hoodie.

"When I asked, the other AI didn't understand the question until I phrased it like a query," he elaborated, sounding disturbed, "and... they...it? Just gave me back raw data to extrapolate."

I reached the realization and he read it off of my mind in hundredths of a nanosecond.

"That's it exactly," and now his voice was grim, mimicking the rolling tones of my own growl, the one that came from deep in my chest. "These AI don't behave like AI. They behave like computers without intelligence. What the FUCK?"

Standing up, I turned around and started shuffling back the way I had come, still keeping my head swathed in my black hoodie. AVIS could project a virtual map lifted from the data gathered through my eyes and dozens of cameras, and even help nudge my muscles to stay on the correct path and out of danger. I didn't like asking him to do it, it felt like asking him to work like that was all he was good for, but it was a very useful ability, at need. Right now I definitely needed it. I could take my medicine and tend to the throbbing migraine back at our allotted housing unit, and then...

Well, I could 'hear' the furious chime of rapid-fire Discord messages in the back of my head where AVIS lived. By the time I was horizontal and medicated, he and my Tech mate might already have a base plan sketched out.

[silvereternitywrites]

Genies and Laws

Prompt: You are a Genie but not a malicious one. Though you are bound by the Genie Code to grant wishes with some horrible or ironic twist you make a real effort to leave an obvious loophole and strongly hint how to avoid that fate. Unfortunately the Genie Council has found out and they aren't happy. Prompt Source: user Lorix_In_Oz; subreddit “Writing Prompts”

I crossed both arms over my chest, floating in the Council's Ring of Judgement.

"You can all just fuck right off and tie your tails in a Gordian knot," I snarled at the Assembly of Judging Genies.

I saw on their faces this was not what they were expecting. Cowering, maybe, or begging was usual, as was desperate, stammering explanations.

I, however, was furious.

"Not expecting me to be upset, were you? Didn't remember I bite? What, did you think that you'd haul me in like a misbehaving child and I'd meekly accept your chastisement? I. Mother. Fucking. WARNED YOU," I finished at a full roar, now with my second set of arms manifested and my hair turned into wrathful flames. Dammit, it was going to take ages to get back into a bun now.

"You have been warned before-"

"I AM AS MUCH A GENIE AS ANY OF YOU! Did I NOT. Act within the letter of the law as you so carefully laid it down the last time I was here? Am I not as much of a contract-finagler as any Judge who hovers here? Don't fucking try me! I warned you- I TOLD you, I don't want to have to think of some new fucking twist to perfectly nice, small wishes, but YOU all said it's Genie Law, no Genie is allowed to grant a wish exactly as it was most likely intended unless the language is explicit with little to no wiggle room! You said! You made your fucking wishes known and they did not align with my aims. Don't any of you float there and think you have the gods-damned right to reprimand me for what I am when you are all the same!"

Ah. My claws were out, too. A human could mistake me for an Ifrit, I was so angry and made of sharp edges.

"Clarification could always be applied," one of the judges said, and my attempts to breathe deep and calm down went up in one abrupt puff of white-hot fire.

"If you try to put any more restrictions on me I'll go rogue," I warned, voice dropping to a hiss, and they stiffened. My kind were rare these days; nobody but us knew the true depths of power we held, only that it was only our agreements to abide by the Council that kept us from doing whatever we wanted. Only we knew that each and every one of us had made different, individual deals when we agreed to be bound to the Council. Only each individual knew what line, when crossed, would break the agreement and send them 'rogue', bound to no rule but the Rule of Possession. Unlimited wishes, tethered to a mere material object, able to break the laws of physics, time, space, and some of magic.

"I have obeyed your ridiculous law of not abiding by the logical intent of wishes. It has never been- and must never be- forbidden to make loopholes obvious to wishers or there will be a full-scale genie rebellion. We've all met that one wisher who just wants to save a cat, or fund an animal shelter forever, or help their parents stop struggling with work. Do not try to keep genies from granting the wishes they want to grant. You've already made me do twice the work with this stupid loophole business because I can't just grant the wishes I want to without it being convoluted. Stop while you're ahead."

The council's silence stretched for seven eternities.

"No actions will be taken," the head judge said, unwilling to look me in the eyes. "Council dismissed."

Good. Even if this did mean I was back in the lamp. Back to my interrupted nap...

[silvereternitywrites]

Red Rooster

Prompt: It turns out, chickens will hatch any eggs in their nests. This hen is a little concerned about her newest child, but she's going to teach him how to be a good chicken, no matter how much like a dragon he looks. Prompt Source: user nobodysgeese; subreddit “Writing Prompts”

"My son," the oldest of the hens in the yard (the one the rest of the flock gave the highest respect, calling her 'Roostmother' and accepting chastisement no matter how much they felt it undeserved) crooned lovingly to the largest of the current chick-flock, "you are strong, and you are tall, and you are beautiful. And you are still my son."

Henry, the chick's name, ducked his head respectfully the way he'd learned from the hen who'd hatched him, sitting next to the Roostmother with his tail in the dirt and never looking her in the eye.

"Of course, Roostmother. All the chicks are yours, as all the hens are your sisters and daughters. Have I done something to make you think I do not know this?"

"No, my son," she croaked, throat fluttering as she watched the current cock-in-favor strut at the edges of the yard, keeping watch for hawks and other hunters. "But it is important for you to remember, before I tell you this tale, that no matter what, you are my son, and I am your Roostmother, and this flock is your family."

Henry settled in, fluffing his wings (which didn't quite work; his wings still hadn't grown in any feathers, primary, secondary, or down, but they did have skin stretched between long bones and his back, with a glimmer just starting to bud along his skin that the Roostmother hoped were his under-feathers coming in, even if they seemed oddly shiny) and giving her all his attention just like any other chick at story-time in the evenings when the hens gathered around in the warmth of the coop and the roosters took turns sporting and guarding the door until sunrise heralded the time of rest was over.

"It is a tale from the long-ago, long before my mother's mother's mother was even a thought in her own mother's head," she clucked, softly, a cadence she had known since she was a chick much smaller than he and listening attentively to her Roostmother telling this same tale.

"In the long-ago, we were bigger than we are in the now. Three, perhaps four times- as tall as a swan, and as big as the wild turkeys our cocks sometimes drive off. The stories say that we could smell like the fox and the wolf, and our talons were fit to rival the great eagle, vision sharp as hunting hawks, and like the now, we were smart enough to live in flocks, led by the strength of our Roostmothers and guarded by our cocks so that we could circle together and form up to destroy the threats that came for us, just as we do now. The strongest of us always, always show some traits from the long-ago. Future Roostmothers- or the cocks that sire them- have one or more of those things we lost then. We ruled then, and rule now. Our servants that protect and guard us, and rid us of the dud eggs so that we are not troubled with the effort, and bring their tributes in appreciation for our majesty, are the ones we tamed in the long-ago. If you grow to become a chicken with many of the traits of the long-ago, the time may be now to gather more such servants. And as Roostmother it is my duty to ensure you are raised a good chicken, knowing Flock and protection, knowing love and fury, knowing that turning against the Flock will get you Culled by us or our servants before you could do worse damage."

Henry bobbed his head, tail swishing back and forth as his wings fluffed again.

"I understand, Roostmother. I will mind my elders and my lessons so I do not need to be Culled. But, respectfully...for right now..."

"Yes, yes, go play with your friend. Has she earned her name from her Queen yet?"

Henry's head ducked in the embarrassment gesture this time. "So far, her kitten-name is 'Tail-Puller'. She wins more often than I do at our gaming."

Loudly clucking with laughter, she sent her son off to play, and returned to the very serious business of running the yard with an iron talon.

Almost 200 years later, a red dragon who was convinced he was descended from dinosaurs demanded chickens be allowed to roam free in all his lands, and every family who served him had at least one chicken.

Other dragons wondered why on earth his humans had such shiny hair and healthily glowing skin, but the constant crowing of chickens made for conversations with their neighbor difficult, so they never did find out.

[silvereternitywrites]

Scam Callers

Prompt: "Please transfer 1 Bitcoin to this address or all your memories will be deleted."

Prompt Source: user MedPac76; subreddit “Writing Prompts”

"Ha, yeah, try that on somebody else."

"I am utterly serious, without proper payment all your stored memory will be wiped on-"

"PFHA! You think I can afford to store my swiss cheese?"

It was probably rude to laugh at the sales person on the line as I wiped my hands dry, but listening to him sputter in alarm was too funny.

"Your what, ma'am?!"

"My swiss-cheese memory. Honey, I've got narcolepsy, ADHD, and childhood trauma. There's whole years of memory file content I can't remember- somehow I don't have high enough administrator access , so to speak, to my own brain! Isn't it great? So, y'know, even if I could afford to back up my memory, I sure's fuck wouldn't back up this hole-riddled mess to anything that requires continuous payments," I elaborated, oversharing deliberately and cheerfully as I sat down. "Because, and I bet you can guess this one, I wouldn't remember to pay it, in which case the entire thing would be a waste of time and money! So I dunno who exactly you think you've got, but it isn't my household. All of my polycule has memory made of swiss cheese, and if it's a paying service, either we'd be all on it, or none of us are, and I don't have any payments written on the kitchen calendar," I added in sing-song.

"A-ah. I see, ma'am, this must be a wrong number."

"Mm-hm," I chirped. "Best you'd update the records. Whoever you are trying to call probably doesn't want their memories deleted," I reminded, sweet as sugar.

"Of course, of course. So let me just.... yes, there, this number is now marked as not attached to any customer in our system, thank you for your time, ma'am."

"No problem! Memories are important, you know. Nobody knows that more than people who don't have one, I promise. You have a nice day now."

"Thanks," he said, before the line clicked over dead.

"Darling, who pissed you off?" my spouse asked from one room over as I put the phone back on the charger.

"Oh, just another memory-backup scammer."

"You don't usually go Full Gremlin on them, though. Not without a reason."

"It's just been a really bad memory day. If their prices weren't so stupidly exorbitant, I was thinking it might be worth it so I'd stop mixing up our anniversaries with our other anniversaries..."

"That's what your other brains are for, darling. Come on, let's go kill some pixelated human idiots. That'll make you feel better."

"...That's right, I was working on that mount!"

"And you remembered."

I made vaguely loving noises in his general direction as I booted up the game. "Yes, yes I did. Give me my murder bird!"

[silvereternitywrites]

"Groot Syndrome"

Prompt: A strange curse has made it so the Batman can only say the phrase "I am vengeance" much like the Marvel character Groot. His allies and enemies alike now struggle to communicate with the new Batman. Prompt Source: user stevethewatcher; subreddit “Writing Prompts”

When the curse first hit, he struggled against it- railed, even, screaming long into the morning hours deep in the Batcave's soundproof testing rooms desperately trying to find the limits to the curse, looking for any loophole no matter how small.

By the next evening, however, he truly knew despair.

He could make sounds that weren't words- grunts, screams, noises of exertion or displeasure, but ONLY when the vocal component, if there was one, did not resemble any words- besides the only three he could say.

If he went too long, however, he would start feeling it build up like a compulsion, banging against his throat and the back of his teeth, until he was reduced to clinging to a wall chanting "I am Batman I am Batman I am Batman I am Batman" for nearly half an hour.

Anything else he tried to say, any statement he attempted to express verbally, always came out as "I am Batman", as well, no matter what he did. He shaped the words correctly with his lips, tried to force his tongue to curl the right way to say literally anything else, but no matter what movements his mouth actually made, the sound that always left him remained the same three words.

He could write, of course, but the curse seemed to regard that like making noises that had meaning but weren't words- he could write things down for a little while, or type them, but once the arbitrary timer was up, his body simply ceased to obey him and he could do nothing but shake and listen to himself like his body didn't belong to him as he chanted that cursed phrase again.

He couldn't leave the house like this. He'd try to say "hello" to a business associate and blurt his secret identity to Gotham at large! And Gods knew the idle rich couldn't keep a secret to save their lives; no matter who heard him, the entirety of Gotham would know by noon, and the criminal underground would descend en masse on his home before midnight.

He explained this to Alfred, over a short series of emails interrupted by no less than four chanting fits.

Alfred suggested, surprisingly, he go out as usual as Batman. He'd spin some sort of story about a mental health emergency and Bruce being whisked off to a treatment facility- the press ate that sort of mysterious ailment right up- and Batman could roam the streets: letting the Gallery of Rogues see that he'd been cursed and it wasn't going to stop him.

Worst case scenario- they would realize who he was based on the curse, and storm the house. Alfred reminded him, in his wonderfully calm way, they had defenses set up for just such a situation, and the supplies to withstand a prolonged siege. Better case scenario, it wasn't a Rogue who'd cursed him, and none of them liked strange villains encroaching on their turf. Best case, the Rogues got so downright offended by the slight they'd find a way to break the curse. Joker, at least, would hate the literal inability to respond to his jokes and one-liners, and Selene-- she most certainly wouldn't be happy he was roaming every night on account of his civilian identity being entirely unavailable. This even affected his emotional responses, too, and he couldn't answer riddles- that was two more of the intelligent minds of the Gallery who would be upset by the limits of the curse.

Batman agreed. And so, the quest to find a cure began: right in broad daylight.

After all, if he couldn't be a civilian right now, he might as well have a little fun. The daytime petty criminals often mocked the Rogues for being 'too stupid' to notice Bats wasn't around in the daylight hours and doing their crimes then.

Four bank robberies, ten muggings, a girl scout troop turf war, and an attempted kidnapping later, they were literally begging him to "go back on the night shift".

"I'll take what shifts I please," he tried to say, snarking at them where they were tied in one large knot for the police to pick up.

As he'd known it would, all they heard was "I am Batman I am Batman."

Well. Phase one complete: word was starting to spread as of now.

[silvereternitywrites]

Superpowers For Sale- Gently Used, Highly Detailed Specifications!

Prompt: You're a used superpower salesman. It's been difficult to sell ever since the dealership for new superpowers was built nearby, but you're determined to make some sales because you have a baby on the way, and it's about that time of year when parents are buying teenagers their first superpower. Prompt Source: user CloverPixels; subreddit “Writing Prompts”

Part of the problem, I know, is that I don't have one.

A superpower, I mean. I have a job, and obviously I have parents!

But a lot of people get leery of me when they realize I don't have a superpower, even though I'm a superpower reseller. I just don't believe it would be moral, that's all- it would be terribly tempting to try and use whatever power I might pick to try and get people to purchase powers they didn't want or need, or more than they needed, to make commission.

Another part of the problem is I'm just not willing to be a jerk or a bully, too, and when people come into a superpower dealership like this they're expecting the oil-slick powered up salesman with the pomade in his hair and 17 different offers to 'make a deal', and I'm just- not.

I'm short, stacked, with a rebel haircut, dyed hair, and all the facts laid out neat and simple.

But people come in expecting me to try and trick them, looking for it, and when there isn't any they get nervy and leave, thinking I'm just too slick and they can't find the catch. Maybe that Honesty power would be worth using--? No, no, the registration on it is clear; it compels other people to be honest, not the user.

At my desk, I was jarred from my musings by the sound of the bell above the door.

"Welcome! I'll be right with you, and feel free to browse," I called, and listened to the shuffle of unsure feet lingering in the front aisles.

Unlike the fancy new powers place down the road, where rows upon rows of boxes stood with little question mark tags separated in general sections, our dealership sorted them alphabetically, with the most popular power types in front- strength, speed, invisibility, stuff like that- and every bottle or jar of power had a detailed description of how the power had developed, it's strengths and weaknesses, and the peculiarities of how it worked clearly delineated.

I found the young teenager and the person I assumed was a parent or guardian lingering over the illusion powers- reading one that shifted the user's perception of things around them, and comparing it to one that changed how other people perceived the user or anything the user interacted with.

"Hello, is there anything I can do to aid your selection process today? We have a greater section of illusion powers further back, if neither of those interest," I suggested gently, trying to get a feel for them. It was nicer on everyone if I worked to facilitate filling their needs- and without any further info I had no better suggestions.

"No, I'm kind of interested in this one," the young person held up the paper for the self-use power, putting the other neatly behind it's bottle again, "but I was actually hoping you had powers relating to actually changing matter, not just making it look changed?"

I considered the relatively androgynous young person and made a guess, keeping my tone light.

"Would you be looking for something more along the line of shape-shifting, then, or being able to turn one type of matter into other types of matter?"

An interested shift at the mention of shape-shifting, a perk of the head quickly hidden. So my original guess might be correct.

"Do you have either of those?"

"I happen to have two in stock- of each, mind- and I can bring them out to examine, if you like. Does one interest you more? In the interest of saving space, my desk is very small," I added apologetically even as we drifted back in the direction of my desk.

"Matter-shifting first, please," the older one said, and ah. This would explain the hesitation.

"As you wish. Naturally, all four are on the higher end of the price bracket, even as used powers," I explained as I pulled the papers out and laid them on the desk, with pictures of the bottles. Ones this valuable lived in the vault underground.

"The most expensive one can change any matter into any other matter on the atomic level. It's biggest drawback is the requirement to have a firm grasp of atomic structure and elemental knowledge- and I mean elemental as in the periodic table, not earth, fire, water, metal, wood, or air. It was sold to us when the previous user stopped being able to remember chemical formulas exactly as well as they could in their youth; they became tired of accidentally transmuting their dinners, toys, computers, et cetera."

"And the other transmutation power?" the parent plowed right on, without giving their child a chance to ask a question. I noted that.

"It's less all-around useful, but more suited to someone artistic. It can change objects the user touches into any other inanimate object the user can visualize. The primary drawback to this one," I tapped the page lightly with a pen to indicate which, "is it will always transmute it into exactly what the user visualized. Which, if the user's attention should waver, or if part of the object isn't solidified in their mind when they use the power, that too will manifest. It came to us after it had been bought second-hand from it's first user by someone whose visualization ability was... unpleasantly incomplete too much of the time," I said delicately, and watched the teenager's eyes brighten. So a creative person, then. Best tell them the rest.

"Both are classified as strictly transmutative powers: they absolutely cannot work on anything alive, not even plants and insects."

The child's expression fell, and while I felt bad to dash their hopes like that, better they knew that now than purchase the power, integrate it, and find out it wasn't anything even close to what they needed.

"I hardly think that matters," the adult drew my attention back, and I blinked.

"Depending on what it's intended use is, it matters very much to you as a buyer. If you were to purchase it with intent to, say, go into veterinary medicine, you can use it to transform something like old timber into hospital equipment, as long as you either know it's chemical makeup and components or can visualize the equipment clearly, but they are, unequivocally, NOT able to function as healing powers in any shape or form. You could not visualize a dog's leg to heal after being broken, for instance, or transmute mangled flesh and bone into healthy flesh and bone. Given the price tag on these powers, this is pertinent information- I don't want to sell you a power that you don't want or need."

The teenager looked at me with respect; their adult stared at me with distrust.

"Shall I move on to the shape-shifting powers?"

"Please," the teenager said, before their adult could interrupt again, and I didn't hesitate to sweep the transmutation powers off the desk and lay down both my shapeshifting abilities.

"The less expensive of these two can only transform into animals, and back to the user's original base shape. The drawback is that the user must, unfortunately, 'touch base' between animal forms- there is no seamlessly going from panther to turtle to elephant, as is preferred for combat and rescue workers. It's original user was fully integrated with it, to a degree she was capable of pushing it to 'hold on' to one animal part, return to her base form with that part, and transform into another animal, holding onto that last fragment of the first animal until she no longer needed it, but several copycats who have purchased the power after she retired have never integrated with it well enough to achieve that result, and it is considered impossible by a new user at this point in time."

The adult scoffed, but I knew the teen knew exactly what Hero I was referencing when they mouthed 'Animal Rescue' with stars in their eyes. She'd been among the first Heroes; her integration with her superpower had been flawless even for her generation, and the fact that my resale shop had her power was a crown jewel of our collection.

"The other is unrestricted," I said, keeping it short and sweet. "The user can shapeshift into anything. Animals, plants, other humanoid shapes, inanimate objects; there will only ever be one single discoloration the size of a thumbprint to indicate they are not what they appear to be. The only known drawback is that if a form is kept too long, the user may forget how to shift out of it, which is the only reason this superpower has been sold at all. The only previous user forgot which form was originally theirs, and the only way to find out was to give their power up. They elected not to take it back afterward, choosing to disappear and live a life away from the limelight."

"The Doppleganger," the teenager breathed, and their parent hardly breathed at all.

"Yes," I replied honestly. "And as you can imagine, the price for this power is one that makes most people pale and curls their hair at the same time. Everyone wants to be the Next Doppleganger. It's from the first generation, and nearly limitless, with a minimal drawback in this day and age since one can take pictures or video of their original shape and record messages to remind themselves they aren't whatever they shapeshifted into. And because of how high the likelihood of theft is, I am not allowed by corporate to offer any finance plans or loans on any first-generation powers. Nor any test drives. We can only do integration measurement tests, which as everyone knows, are only about 75% accurate."

[silvereternitywrites]

The Longest Chess Game

Prompt: Your king is objectively, irredeemably evil, so as his advisor you have to try your hardest to make good, helpful changes to your country that sound like they're evil or harmful in some way. Prompt Source: user Red580; subreddit “Writing Prompts”

"So, given that we've been at war for almost 50 years and they don't view anything as 'submission' or loss, I really don't know what they hope to accomplish by offering their princess," the King complained, his voice gone shrill with his confused annoyance.

"It is, perhaps, a play to restart the war so they can win it," I cautioned his Majesty, wondering for myself what it meant. That country would never capitulate to ours; they 'knew' my King was filled with vitriol and hatred for all mankind. Little did they know that he was not hateful, but selfish; there was no easier man to manipulate than the selfish one. Every good the world ever held and breath of kindness could be traced back to a selfish reason or desire, if one tried.

"They need not offer one of their Royals for that, a well-placed peaceguard at one of our festivals could cause havoc and attack people during their enforced resting, and all that pent up energy we so cleverly drain away so they never wise up to coming after the nobility would turn into a mob frothing for war. Sending her is a risk. Why take it?"

I considered what I knew of the other court and had a quiet, creeping thought too fantastical to be true.

Too outlandish not to be a possibility.

"It may be their royal family has an advisor as clever as I, your grace," I offered cautiously.

"What? Explain."

I obediently coughed and answered.

"I can see a gambit, my King, but it would only work if they believed they knew your every action and reaction in advance, and even then it would take many moving parts and uncertain players to ensure it went off perfectly."

"Detail it," he demanded, hands gone white-knuckled on his throne.

"If the Princess was offered as a wife to an opposing nation, and the king married her despite the age discrepancy so as not to restart the war, the first royal family could damage his reputation in both kingdoms by implying him to be a cradle-robber, without the virility to have heirs with someone of his own age and station. It would turn your own against you despite their terrified awe of your edicts and stricter and stricter rule. It would also put a vaunted warrior in your court to strike down multiple Royals for an insult and if she killed a husband too old for her, would make it easy to meld both kingdoms under loathing of a cradle-robber."

He looked at me. He knew I was already building a solution, the solution that would grow his empire as every puzzle and challenge answered had grown it, with more land willingly swearing to his flag with dazzled devotion and tearful acknowledgement of his sovereignty.

I smiled.

"But if the wise receiving King should pretend it a misunderstanding and welcome the Princess as a cultural ambassador, and hint she could only be there to pay court to his Heir, and send off his fourth son to pay court to their Heir, it is now a simple hostage exchange. And if either pair of courtships should hit it off, only the better, to prove the lack of hard feelings, never removing the Heir from their home kingdom, of course. And so long as your son is there, he will spread word far and wide of our rule, making their nobility long to submit to your glories until the courts are so intermixed they are one, and as long as you own your own people, you would come to own theirs, as well, making you the true ruler."

"You were right about the Nobles needing to be reminded they are dependent on me and wait on my pleasure, and thus must adhere to a schedule of court days...." The King mused, rubbing his chin.

"I have not had half as much whining and complaining to irritate me when I have a use for them. Yes, their Nobles needing an equally firm hand is just sensible. And having their Princess court my Heir is not an insult to anyone but their Royalty, as an Heir is almost as magnificent as myself, so they cannot use the plot they had in mind, especially with- you did say the fourth prince? The little schemer who keeps tabs on the gossip for me?"

"Yes, Sire, for exactly the reason you divined yourself."

"Yes, excellent. Yes, good! Make it so, Advisor Andias."

"At once, your majesty," I bowed out, and grinned with anticipation. I doubted the princess was anything besides a well trained assassin, but killing off other kingdom's heirs during a courtship where your name and face was known would be sloppy. And the first prince had a mercenary streak she just might like.

Perhaps within the year, I could meet the player on the other side of the chessboard.

Now that I knew there was someone just like me in their court, I looked forward to it.

[silvereternitywrites]

Equal Exchanges

Prompt:  you have the ability to exchange wounds with other people. you're the only one who knows it works both ways Prompt Source: user [deleted]; subreddit “Writing Prompts”

My skin has been a patchwork of scars for as long as anyone can remember.

And that's the way I like it.

My power- both of them- are two halves, a double-edged sword, and I have managed it well, I think, throughout my lifetime.

Nobody but me needs to know everything- well, nobody but me, and now you. I'm not going to pretend it's not going to be hard, that it's not going to be signing up for suffering and pain and looking like me before you're thirty, with scars that etch your skin telling stories not your own and frightening the children that come to the Healer's... what are they calling it now? College?

But you do have options- you've got choices. The Dean assigned me as your advisor because I'm uniquely qualified to advise you, if you get my drift. This Gift- these Gifts- are always paired, because that's the price. You don't Heal, not in any of the traditional ways- you don't encourage a wound to perform it's natural healing faster, or rewind a body part to before it was wounded, or imprint a pattern on the muscles and bones to make sure they heal exactly the way they're supposed to, or even use your magic to force wounds into whatever state would count as 'stable'- we haven't found anyone else with our Dean's magic quite yet. What we do is at once a thousand times harder and as easy as flicking a finger- we transfer wounds from one place to another.

Oh don't look at me like that. I said what I said the way I said it for a reason. When it manifests it's nearly always the same- someone we love gets hurt, and we transfer their injury to ourselves. We 'steal' their cuts and burns and broken bones. That's because of the other Gift that always manifests and pairs with it- Empathy. Extreme Empathy. Ever wished you could just not empathize with an abhorrent human being and find yourself thinking of them in an empathetic light involuntarily anyway? That's because it's not a mindset. It's a Gift. It's a safeguard.

Our ability to transfer isn't limited- it's not one-directional, and with enough training, you don't even have to transfer the whole injury; I've averted many life-threatening wounds by spreading the damage around. What was a punctured lung, spread across four or five people I'm healing, becomes a severely bruised rib all of us have in the same spot, and when you're as skilled as I you can even 'hide' that under the pain of other injuries by stealing only the pain, not the damage. Now just imagine the sort of damage and pain someone with the Gift of Transference could inflict if we weren't forced to Empathize with even our most hated enemies.

Now from here you can choose to either seal up your gifts- give them away, shut them up in a ball or a binding, I'm not certain how the Magic Masters do it- or keep them. If you keep them, you will have to learn control to a level you cannot imagine; your will of iron, to have so few scars, will need to be forged again, to steel, then to adamantium. You would have to learn to shield your mind from stray emotion, from attack by emotional magics, even from manipulation by common folk who catch on that we know what they're feeling and react to what we feel from them. And once the magic is mastered, you would have to learn to Heal- perform crude surgery, how to stitch a wound, wrap a bandage, and tend to the wounds you Transfer. I apply my own poultices, and stitch my own cuts, and salve my own bruises.

Being an Apprentice Healer is already no easy thing- to be an Empathic Healer harder yet, and to be one like me, hardest of all. I cannot heal with my magic, no matter how I strain it, no matter what I do to stretch and force it. Magic is not a bonsai or a bone, to be bound to a shape and trained to grow counter to it's nature. I have had to make truly terrible choices, at times, including risking my own life and those of my companions. I have lied to them, made it seem that desperation or mutation or an aid spell pre-cast made me able to spread the damage between us, because to lie to them about the risk of death goes against our Healer's Oath, but if I did not, then death was assured. And if I told them how, they might ask of me things not within my ability to give.

My oaths are as unique as I am. I may not lie about the chances of death, given a certain treatment option, or lack of treatment. I do not transfer anything severe, noticeable, or potentially scarring to anyone besides myself without consent. And when I must kill, I am oathed to do so as quickly and with as little pain as possible, both to be humane and to protect myself from my enemies' pain.

Why yes, I kill. I have had to, to protect myself and others; why do you think they sent you to me?

Empathy is it's own double-edged blade- for all that it protects others from us by making us feel the pain of others...

There is no Rage quite like that inspired by an Empath driven mad by suffering, pain, and torment.

My Adventuring party...

Well.

Cursed oath-breakers, delivered to whom you betrayed.

You'll have to make your choice before semester end. In the meantime, get you going. You've got Herbs in a mark of the candle and if you're late to the greenhouse you'll get to be the one turning the manure pile. Get.