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Topics - Zathoth

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1
"Just go over there, check the storage unit and bring back anything we want, you can let the police sell anything else."
"Mother, with all due respect, you haven't talked to me in two years and the first thing you want me to do is drive for five fucking hours and clean out your weird brothers fucking storage unit?"
"Elliot... please, I'll pay you."

And that's how I ended up in bumfuck nowhere, Havre, Montana, cleaning out my weird uncles storage unit.
I parked my car next to the Flemming Storage unit, the police was busy running around, looking for clues or whatever the hell police do. I walked around lost for a couple minutes until I found number 21. I opened the storage door and peeked inside.
Richard Thurston Blackman was an artist. I was not surprised to find the storage unit full of his weird art. Shelves lined with weird knick knacks, strange sculptures, boxes most likely full of paintings
I hate to admit this, as the guy was always 'the creepy uncle', but some of it is really good.
I remember from my childhood when he showed me fairies, tiny little humanoid insects set up like a butterfly collection. It's one of the few good memories I have of him. He's drunk and rambling about conspiracies, about aliens in the government and god being evil in most of my memories.
I opened a box to look at the paintings inside. He, despite the fact that he was crazy, was a realist painter. Even the most alien landscapes and bizarre monsters were painted in the most painstakenly detailed way possible. The painting on the top was of four Frogmen picking at the body of an old, dead man. Two of the frogmen are squatting over the dead man, who from the remenants of his attire and weatherbitten face looks like a fisherman. His torso has burst open and the gore is painted with heavy attention to detail. One of the frogmen in the backround are looking out over the dark sea and grey skies, while the remaining one is looking at the viewer with what looks like confusion.
They are all like this, really. The next one is the inside of an abandoned church. On the altar stands a Jesus statue with his arms outstretched. Someone has painted his face white, lips red, given him a ridculous red afro and finished it up by giving him a clown nose. The rest of the painting is just of an abandoned church, the window panes are empty, the floor is covered in leaves. Still clown Jesus smiles.
The next one is a realistic painting of a man going through surgery seen from above. His stomach is cut open and you can see his guts are visible.
Even his fruit paintings are of rotting fruit covered in maggots and flies.
I knew they were coming up, but my heart sank as I got past the paintings of rotten fruit and to what I know he considered his magnum opus: 49 paintings detailing the process of decay.
They are all of a young woman, late teens, maybe early 20s lying naked and dead on her stomach in the forest. The cause of death is impossible to see from the angle the first painting is made, but blood can be seen seeping out from her mouth. The rest of the paintings follow the process of decay, the final painting being nothing more than a pile of bones.
Describing them really can't do them justice, they always make me sick and dizzy.
I leaned myself against the wall to catch my breath.
What would I do with all this art? Bring it back to my mother? What would she do with it? I doubt she would even put it up, she always told me she never liked his art much, she'd probably just stuff it all in the basement.
Option number 2 was to run away with it and either keep or sell it. Selling it was tempting, it was high quality art and if I got lucky and found 'a connoiseur of the macabre" I might even be able to pay off my student loans.
It took me roughly two seconds to decide that the possibility of paying off my student loans was better than reconnecting with my mother.
Because fuck my mother.
Seriously.
Stealing her brothers art and selling it would be a start for punishment of how many times she fucked me over.
I went back to looking through the storage unit and found a photo album on one of the shelves. Flipping through it I found an odd mix of photos, there were family photos of happy, smiling families, not his own of course, we were too dysfunctional to even pretend to be happy. One girl showed up a lot, she looked familiar, somehow. Among these were photos of forests, ran down urban landscapes, abandoned buildings, graveyards and so on.
Thirdly of course there were weird art photos.
I put the photo album aside and reach for the next thing, it turned out to be a uncle style pin-up calender. The year on it was 3034 and it had nine months while each week seemed to have six days, the names of the months or days I did not recognize.
The first month (Srafas) had a cute little pale redheaded girl posing naked with her arms behind her head, her head turned to the side. She was caked in mud, her wet hair decorated with flowers while insects crawled over her body. Her face was obscured by a giant spider.
Second month (Bellaling) had a girl with short, dark hair lying in a suggestive pose on a slaughterhouse floor, blood could be seen on the ground and meathooks in the backround. She had wrapped herself in somekind of entrails and was looking at the camera, lips pursed in a teasing expression.
Lansing was a beach photo, a great white shark was lying dead on the beach and a woman with, long, curly blonde hair covered in scars was laying on her back in it's mouth. She stuck her tounge out while looking at the camera, her head resting on her only arm, the other one a stump.
Narhiil had a naked statue-esque woman covered in paint posing on an empty street, the buildings were on fire and she was wearing a gasmask.
Madoshin had a girl on her knees, looking up at the camera, her left eyesocket an empty hole, she is gagged with a piece of cloth and her arms tied behind her back.
Novoras, a tall woman sitting on a freshly exhumed grave, the previous occupant, wrinkled and decayed is draped around her in a mockery of romance.
Turanac was pale and raven-haired sitting in a meditative pose in the snow, her wrists slit, coloring the snow red.
The month of Yusek was curvacious, sitting with her legs crossed in a couch, every inch of her pinned with needles.
Sadroc, the final one, she was lying down on a medical table, the skin of her torso opened and her muscles on full display.
I decided that this was enough, I didn't want to see more of my uncles degenerate fucking art, I would just clean this out and be done with it. It ended up taking me most of the day and the sun was going down by the time I was done carrying everything to my car.
The last thing I found was a sack of cloth, it was surprisingly clean. It made a clacking sound as I picked it up.
In it, of course, was bones, the skull was easily identfied as human.
I laughed. I laughed as I closed the door to the storage unit, I laughed as  drove to my mothers house and dumped it all on her driveway, I laughed because it's all a fucking joke.

2
Your Stories / Pumpkin Story
« on: 10:55 PM, 10/22/17 »
Halloween was taken seriously on the street I grew up. Every late August decorations began. Plastic skeletons were hung from trees, creepy scarecrows decorated the otherwise pristine suburban lawns, giant fake spiders hung from giant fake webs and both reapers and clowns peaked out from every shadow.
Costumes were planned for all year. The more elaborate the better. I remember dressing up like a walking spider web and a bipedal crocodile complete with moving fangs. Even then I was never as extreme as the ones who made two costumes: one that was relatively simple for early autumn and then wore something truly extraordinary for Halloween.
Pumpkins were of course mandatory, but not until the first of October. They were all bought from the same farm about an hour away owned by a crusty old man and his family. He sometimes walked up to someone with a specific pumpkin, telling them that this was the perfect one to them. I never got it, they were all pumpkins, right?
The rest of the day was then spent with family and friends carving the perfect face into the pumpkin. There would be music, dance, games and snacks, but the focus was always on carving the face. It always struck me as odd that we spent so much time it as the faces always ended up changing as the month went on. They slowly twisted into almost cartoonish expressions of suffering.
It never really bothered me as a kid, it was just a thing pumpkins did, though it sure didn't make me eat my vegetables when I knew they felt pain.
It was only after I moved for collage that I realized that pumpkins don't actually do that. It was an awkward moment when my newfound friends explained to me that pumpkins don't move and the adults must have been pranking us.
I had this friend -Tom- who was convinced something weird was going on with the pumpkins. When we were around 12 or so he would take any chance he could to go on about his conspiracy theories for hours until someone told him to shut up about it.
One Halloween -I think we were 14- he awoke me in the middle of the night by throwing pebbles at my bedroom window. He told me he would go investigate and that I should come with him. I declined, I had spent all day sewing and I still wasn't done. I really needed to sleep and I wasn't going to go along with his silly games.
I can't remember seeing him again after that. I think his family moved away or something. I sometimes wonder what happened to him.
The year after the farmer went up to me with a specific pumpkin, told me he had grown it just for me. My parents smiled and bought the pumpkin. I spent the rest of the day not talking to anyone, not playing the pumpkin carvingday games, I just obsessively tried to carve the perfect evil grin into the pumpkin even if I knew it would warp into suffering.
It didn't.
By the end of the month the pumpkin had an expression of seething rage.

3
Your Stories / Windless (Ghost story contest entry)
« on: 09:21 PM, 09/19/17 »
I was taking a walk the woods a few days ago when I came across a field where the weeds waved in the wind.
Except there was no wind. I am not mistaken, I very seriously looked for any sign of a breeze, but there was none. I soon found out that even if I waved my hand or blew at the weeds the air would not move. I spent about an hour experimenting with this and came the conclusion that it was impossible to make the air move on the field.
Still the weeds danced.
I woke up the day after and went about my day. I went into town to do some grocery shopping. I was just comparing two large melons to each other when in the corner of my eye I saw two old ladies whispering to each other and staring at me. Randomly deciding on one of the melons I scurried away and quickly paid for it.
I sat down by my computer to write - the reason for my self-imposed exile the city in the first place -when I heard something knocking at my window. Startled I snapped out of the writers trance and glanced over at the window. It was only the old oak outside. I chuckled and went back to writing.
Waking up I found the door open and the melon in the living room. Nothing else was out of place and nothing was missing. I shrugged and went into the kitchen to cut up the melon but slipped with the knife and cut myself. Swearing I got my finger patched up and changed my mind about the melon and got outside instead.
The evening was silent and still, the flowers flowing in the wind, except once again there was none.
It hit me right there - standing on my porch - what was happening. I hurried inside and locked the door behind me. I am now huddling in my office, writing this with the door locked. The oak outside is dancing madly by unseen strings and something is creeping around my hallway, I can hear the floor boards creek.

I just heard the office door unlock

4
Story Critique / Mansionhead
« on: 09:17 PM, 08/14/17 »
Hey internet, this is Daniel Reynolds, some of you may remember me as Dan from the paranormal investigations channel Dark Specters. Before I begin this I want to come clear about something: The entire thing is made up, Erica is a brilliant video editor, and anything that seems real was made by her editing skills. I want to say sorry, but I won't. I will however thank everyone who supported us on patreon, skeptics and believers alike.
As you all know we stopped the channel after Todd fell down the stairs of the Shadowplains Mansion which was going to be our 20th episode. No it was not a ghost, no one even think it. The stairs were rotten and we were stupid going up there in the first place.
The thing is... well, I never really left.
It started a couple weeks after the final episode. I was walking my regular route home from work when the street warped into the cramped and crooked hallways of the Shadowplains Mansion.
I wandered for hours through dark corridors lined with paintings, candles and old, oaken doors when I gave up and with tears in my eyes fell asleep on the old, moth bitten carpet that covered the floor.
A mall cop woke me. The next day was hours of questions, what was I doing there? How did I get in? Was I on drugs? Had I stole anything? I answered no on all the questions, but to be honest I had no idea.
The next time it happened I was on the top floor of the mall with Erica when reality fell away and I was stuck on an old balcony overlooking a giant, decaying garden. The gargoyles framing the balcony turned their heads and seemed to be grinning at me and then... I was back in reality.
Erika looked at me confused "Did you disappear for a second?" I answered that she must have imagined it.
It has been happening more often. Closed rooms turn into gothic studies, a skeleton sits by the desk, illuminated by an open fire and candlelight. Its jaw falls open and it laughs at me silently.
I have several times woken up in ancient king sized beds, lying next to an unseen presence or hearing the laugher of children. Walking through parks I find reality flip like a pop-up book and transform into the wittered gardens of the Shadowplains estate. Crows circle over me and the corpses of flowers stalk me.
And the basements... I do not go down under ground anymore under any circumstances. The things I have seen down in the Shadowplains basements I don't want to even think about.
But it is in the eternally winding hallways I mostly find myself. Surrounded by doors that are either locked or containing things more horrifying than the hallways of paintings staring at me. I hear footsteps just beyond the corner I just passed. Some eldritch Minotaur always following me through this bizarre maze, but preferring the thrill of the chase to the catch remains unseen.
I fear the day The Shadowplains mansion folds up on me, but never lets me return to the real world, the day I will be sentenced to making the mansion my home.
It's fucking ridiculous, the Shadowplains was never real, it's just a bunch of stage flats we built to create the illusion of a real haunted mansion. It was over the top gothic on purpose.
And oh I knew Todd and Erica had been going behind my back, I made the steps too thin on purpose as revenge. Todd are you doing this to me? Is this your revenge? Of course not.
There is no such thing as ghosts, it's our minds that are haunted.

5
Bad Stories / A Slimy Creation Myth
« on: 07:50 PM, 07/10/17 »
In the beginning there was only Slime. The Slime existed in a slowly quivering state for aeons until it suddenly grew a consciousness.
The Slimebeast yawned as if it just awoke from a long nap and looked around confused. He could see only himself stretching from one end of the universe to the other. This was amusing enough for a few aeons but Slimebeast grew bored and decided to shape the cosmic mucus into new shapes.
The first thing Slimebeast created was a star, it shone greenly in the divine goop. The second thing Slimebeast created was a rock to orbit the star. The third thing he did was to create life.
Life exploded upon the rock and everything was suddenly overpopulated so the fourth thing Slimebeast did was to create violence and he stared in disgust as the animals rendered each other asunder and he saw that it was good.
Man was created when a beast stared upon the sky and realized in horror that He Was Small And Meaningless. He instantly took shelter under a rock and tried not to think of what he had seen, but it was too late. The man told all others of what he had witnessed and they too knew that They Were Small and for this revelation they killed him.
The first mans anger however kept him in the corporeal world and so came to be the first ghost.
It was a dark night and some humans were gathered around the campfire and one man who had been haunted decided to tell an untrue ghost story based on the ones he had heard before. No one of course believed him.
It was not until the night after they found a man lying in the ashes, this man, born from ashes and lies taught humanity the proper art of lying.
Together the story teller and the first liar perfected the art of the stories.
Meanwhile Slimebeast was paying attention to a completely different rock around a completely different star, but back to earth.
The Liar saw a bird crying under a tree one day and asked her what was wrong.
"Oh I so love the storyteller" she said "but I am a bird".
"Do not worry" said the Liar and lied so hard she became a human. The bird thanked the liar and ran off to kiss the story teller who wasn't instantly smitten by her. Seeing this The Liar wanted a woman of his own and lied so hard he made one.
The woman wanted to lie to the world as well, but not to the ear, but to the eye. She went to the deepest caves and the highest mountains but could find no way to lie to the eye. Slimebeast was kind of bored of that new planet and he dropped a vial of ink onto earth. The vial of course broke and ink flowed everywhere until it took the shape of the very first drawing. The drawing and the artist collected all the ink and together learned how to lie to the eye.
Thousands of years went by, the first ghost had opened a restaurant that put on spooky plays every now and then. It had attracted all manners of bizarre guests, in fact it's reputation had spread as far as to outer space.
The restaurant was great, but a little creepy, in fact it was maybe a bit Too Spooky.

6
Your Stories / Wet Love - Love Pasta entry
« on: 07:05 AM, 04/21/17 »
I once did some work for an aquarium over the summer, mostly cleaning bathrooms and feeding fishes, nothing big. I spent my days mindlessly cleaning with music or podcasts in my ears. It was dull, but at least I only had to care about myself and the marine life.
While the aquarium wasn't big enough to seriously murder my feet while walking around, it had some interesting creatures like electric eels, manta rays, sharks, they even ran a dolphin show every two hours. The handler was this cute brunette who adored the creatures and knew how to put on a good show. If she hadn't been my boss and about ten years older than me I would probably... tangent, anyway.
There was this one guy who saw about every single, fucking dolphin show. A hyperbole, but he saw the show, a lot. He looked like a generic businessman, dressed in a cheap suit and carrying a briefcase.
The show was great, but it was mostly the same thing so there was no reason to see it more than once or twice, unless you worked there and wanted to ogle your hot boss in a swimsuit.
Hey, maybe that's why he was there, I sure as hell couldn't judge.
One day - after a show - curiosity got the better of me and I went up to him to ask why he saw the show so often. He nodded towards the dolphin pool and said "I'm here to see my girlfriend."
That made sense, Dolphin MILF had never mentioned any significant other (though I was disappointed upon hearing that she was straight, don't judge me), but it was none of my business.
I started seeing him more often, standing in front of the dolphin tank (it was downstairs, the show floor was the floor above, I'm sure you have seen something like it) and he seemed to be talking to himself, or a dolphin. He spoke too quietly for me to hear him so I could never tell. It was weird, but they weren't paying me enough to care.
A couple weeks later, I was going through my usual morning routine of cleaning bathrooms and listening to Black Sabbath when I heard a scream coming from the dolphin tank. I ran up-stairs and saw Dolphin Milf staring in horror at something in the water.
It was the weird guy, the one who came to see every show. He was naked, bloated and very dead.
I called the police and sat down to comfort Dolphin MILF. She told me she had never seen the guy before, nor was she, as I soon found out, straight... yes, preach about taking advantage of someone emotionally vulnerable, I don't care.
As I was making out with my boss and being showered in her tears I saw one of the female dolphins puffing at the naked corpse - and I swear, the goddamn bitch was snickering.

7
Story Critique / Sleeping Snow, Dreaming Snow
« on: 03:36 PM, 03/17/17 »
I walk naked through the white woods. The snow is blowing all around me, but I do not freeze. I see a raven tearing into the corpse of something. There is blood in the snow.The raven flies into the air and lands on my shoulder, the talons dig into my skin. I bleed. The raven tells me to open my mouth. I do and it feeds me, shares it's prey with me. I walk. I reach a cottage. Seven strange and deformed little creatures come up to me and lead me inside the cottage. There is snow inside. In the middle of the room stands a bed. A woman lies upon it, naked, sleeping. She is beautiful. Her skin is whiter than the snow, long hair like flowing night and her lips redder than blood. I need her. The seven, tiny monsters urge me to go to her, to kiss her, to taste her, to feel her. I do. She awakens and kisses me back. Her lips taste of blood and-


Leila slowly returned to reality, blurry eyed and hungover. "Where the fuck am I?" she mumbled to herself before her sight readjusted to waking life and saw the the moldy shithole she and her band knew as the rehearsal space.

She had been sleeping in the ancient pile of fabric that had once been a sofa. She saw that Rick - the drummer - had chosen a more comfortable and less disgusting place for rest: On the floor, in his own vomit.

Leila slowly sat up, trying to ignore the vertigo. Having won the first battle of the day she got to the second one of waking her drummer

"Riiiiick" her normally beautiful voice came out as thin, whiny croak. It hurt. The drummer was still comfortably passed out.

"Riiiiick!" She tried louder this time, still no sign of life in the drummer. "Fuck, are you dead?"

It was a sobering thought. Leila got up on her feet and shook the drummer awake. It seemed to be working.

"...mmmm... wwwwhat?" He awoke with a start. "What!? Leila... where are we?"

"Rehearsal. Do you have any memory of what happened yesterday?"

"We played at... ummm... Lucky's? I think it was Lucky's. And then-"

"We got absolutely, hilariously, shitfaced. I noticed."

Rick noticed his choice of pillow and with disgust went to wash his face and get a mop.

Leila pulled out a chair and sat down, still being a bit too hungover to think straight.

She heard Rick shout in surprise from the bathroom.

"Are you ok?" she croaked as loudly as possible to get through the sound isolation, which wasn't hard, whoever had done the sound isolation had done a shit job.

"Yes, it was... it was nothing. Just got spooked by my own reflection" came the reply.

"Hah!... what the fuck did you take last night?"

Rick returned to the room with a mop "Shut up."

An awkward silence fell over the room while Rick mopped up the lost contents of his stomach.

"Hey, Rick... weird question... did you dream?"

"Yep, fucked a hot brunette in the snow, you?"

"... yeah, pretty much that..."

The realization that they had the same dream slowly sunk into both of them. Rick mopped up the remaining vomit.

"So, Lala, want to get a hamburger or something? I'm hungry."

"Don't call me that and yes, burger sounds nice."


Wayback-Burger was a smaller, family owned place. It was decorated in a manner to invoke anachronistic nostalgia. Pictures of Marilyn Monroe and James Dean mixed with pictures of The Beatles and David Bowie. The soundtrack could go from Elvis, to Black Sabbath, to Frank Sinatra, somehow seamlessly. The food was real, not the vapid crap the fast food joints served, no. The burgers were so overstuffed they had a stick through them, the meat was made from meat, real, proper beef and not dog food disguised as food for humans.

Rick had ordered three burgers, a whole plate of thick, delicious fries, spicy chicken wings and a large strawberry milkshake.

Leila was staring at him from across the table? "What?" he mumbled, his mouth stuffed "I'm a drummer, I just threw up, I need the fucking energy."

She rolled her eyes and bit into her hamburger. "mmmm... heaven between two buns..."

Rick stared at her.

"... not a word."

He went back to his burgers.

Leila bit into her giant cheeseburger and looked out the shop window. She saw an empty, cobbled street, a naked brick wall covered in obscenities to hide the obscenity of its nakedness, like waking up and finding that someone had fixed your makeup and then drawn dicks all over your breasts. The snow danced gently towards the ground, longing to cover the streets, to be stepped on, to be dirtied and to finally - melt.

Staring at the white snow Leila almost saw her own reflection morph into, or possibly blend with the features of the woman from the dream. Her shoulder length, purple hair turning long and ashen like ropes or black snakes, her freckled face turning perfectly porcelain.

Mirror Mirror...

The illusion however was broken and replaced with another, of a tiny, cloaked figure hobbling over the street. The prints it left looked more like twisted hooves than feet. As the Dwarf walked past the window Leila met its only eye it tried to hide under the hood.

"Lala?"

She snapped out of the trance. There was nothing inside the window, there was nothing outside the window, it was all images floating in her eyes.

"Are you alright?" Rick asked, concerned. He was two thirds through his meal.

"Yeah I'm just..." she trailed off and rubbed her eyelids.

"Whatever it is I hope we'll get some lyrics out of it."

"It's not my fault I'm the only one in the band who is somewhat literate" she shot back, without thinking.

"Woooooow, true, but where did that come from?"

"Sorry... I'll... I'll try to call the others. Have you gotten anything?"

"Nope, no texts at all, no idea where they might be."

Leila took her phone out of her pocket and called Tom, the guitarist. She was met with a blistering guitar lick and his cocky voice saying

"Sorry, can't answer now, busy being awesome, leave a message after the beep" another guitar lick, beep.

They both rolled their eyes and neither of them said "I hate his answering machine", they didn't need to.

They had even less luck with Logan, the bassist who didn't even have an answering machine.

"Maybe they got even more hilariously shitfaced than we did?" Rick said and failed to defuse the tension.

"Have you ever seen Logan seriously drunk? He could chug an entire barrel of scotch and still be able to walk in a slightly curved line" Leila countered.

Rick was silent.

"I'll go home, get some more sleep, see you later."

"Sure, sleep sounds like a good idea."

Oh how I shiver as she rakes me with her claws, how sweet the taste of the blood that runs from her lips, how I melt as her fingers hook my insides, how I howl as she claws out my heart.

Leila was sure she wouldn't have been able to fall asleep when she got home, but lo and behold! She had fallen asleep, still dressed. She swore at her mistake, her underwear ruined by her dreams. As she undressed and opened her wardrobe she decided that they wouldn't be worth saving and threw them in the trash.

She looked out the window as she got redressed. The moon hung full and pale in the night sky, like Snow White's face in the dark hair. "Fuck..." she swore again, to herself again "I really need to get laid."

There was a bustle in the hedgerow below her window, she didn't know how she heard it, but she did. She walked over to the window and saw 7 cloaked little figures staring at her from below.

"Do I look like a fucking prince?" she shouted at them. The Dwarfs either did not hear her, or they did not care. They kept staring at her, unmoving.

She sighed and muttered "Fine, no reason fighting Fate when Fate has made up its mind."

Leila grabbed her winter coat and walked down the apartment stairs, she was almost surprised to find the Dwarfs still standing where she had last seen them.

"OK" she said "lead me to Her, I'm ready."

The figures started hobbling away in single file, snarling an off-beat tune in perfect synchronization to their shuffling, but one Leila found it impossible to find the rhythm to. Every time she thought she had it, it changed, or was lost, or she never found it in the first place.

The wind picked up the further the Dwarfs led her and soon turned into a blistering blizzard, blowing through her coat. Leila found that even if she was freezing she didn't really care.

She was lost, this confounded her. The town was small, but she had no idea where she was. The blizzard obscuring every noticeable landmark.

They stopped in front of an abandoned warehouse. Dwarfs disrobed and led her inside.

They were all angular things, like a cubists nightmare with the wrong number of misshapen everythings. Too few eyes, too many mouths. Too many noses, too few ears. Everything in the wrong places.

The warehouse was full of snow, snow and frozen figures lying dead and naked on the floor. Leila recognized her band mates among them and chuckled. All that worrying for nothing.

Snow White laid in an ornamented bed in the middle of the room. Her hair so black the darkness seemed pale, her skin so white the snow seemed dark, her red lips full like a juicy heart. The peaks of her breasts rising and falling as she slowly breathed.

Leila undressed with the Dwarves watching in silence. She shuddered, not at the cold, it did not bother her anymore, but in anticipation. She walked across the snow covered floor towards the bed and watched the sleeping beauty, then she bent down to kiss the princess awake and doomed the world.

8
Your Stories / Fuzzy Present (Santa Pasta)
« on: 01:26 PM, 12/25/16 »
I was 7 years old when I started bothering my parents for a puppy. I was too young to understand breeds and just wanted a big pile of fluff to be friends with. My parents however were of the opinion that a family of three was large enough and would not buy a dog.

After my birthday where I had thrown a fit due to a lack of furry presents I was looking forward to Christmas. It had started to snow early and the world had been transformed into a shimmering winter wonderland where everything was possible, even puppies. My mother - always the manipulative genius - suggested that I should send a letter to Santa, asking for a dog. Her logic was that if Santa did not give me a dog he must have a good reason for it. So we wrote a letter and posted it.

Fast forward to the night before Christmas eve. Our house was decorated in snowflakes and Santas and reds and greens everywhere. In the the center of the living room stood a might Christmas tree covered in lights and glitter.

I had been asleep in my room when I was suddenly awoke by a thump coming from the living room. I held my breath, knowing that this was Santa coming to deliver my new friend.

A few moments later I heard snow crunching outside my window. Looking out I saw the back of a fat man dressed in red, with a weird cap on his head that ended in a ball of fluff -waddling away from our house.

I somehow fell asleep.

I awoke at the first rays of light and like the most annoying alarm ever invented I awoke my parents, shouting about christmas and presents. They slowly got out of bed and into the living room.

Inside the living room they were both confounded over big, present, tightly wrapped in blue paper that was sitting under the christmas tree. After having a silent argument over what to do with the present they finally let me open it.

I savagely tore through the paper and opened the cardboard box.

Inside it was a puppy.

9
Your Stories / Victory Bell
« on: 04:09 PM, 11/29/16 »
This was my entry for the pokepasta challenge.

 Bellawesome was an obscure lets player with a somewhat close knit group of watchers. While some left there was always a trickle of new watchers coming in. Bell mostly played JRPGs, some fighting games and Pokemon, mostly Pokemon, so much Pokemon. She had a habit of filling her teams with mostly Grass, Bug and Poison types, always picked the Grass starter and preferred slowly poisoning her opponents to death as opposed to more sensible Pokemon Trainers who defeat everything as fast as possible. As you can imagine she hated fire types.
 Bell herself was ditzy, but never as loud and hyper as more popular lets players. Cute, with long hair in more colors than a rainbow eucalyptus and narrow, dark eyes. She loved horrible word plays with that wasn't obvious from her name, a love her viewers shared. Word plays such as always naming her Victreebell Victory Bell (For whom the Victreebell tolls?), a habit that led to someone speculating that her name was Victoria. Her tendency to slowly poison her opponents to death lead to the theory that her name was actually Jessica and of course there was the obligatory question to ask if every boyfriend she mentioned was a beast.
 We were horrible, other things like call her tweets 'chimes' and everyone having low resolution avatars I had taken with my Gameboy camera didn't make us much better.
 One day in late October she chimed a picture of a grey gameboy cartridge with a white label that said pokemon all in lower case comic sans. "Someone sent me this #obviously haunted cartridge? #thanks for sending me curses gais".
 Later that evening she brought out her Gamecube with the Gameboy player attachment and hooked it up to the stream. The game begun in Celadon without any intro screen. The first thing she did was to go into the start menu to check her pokemon. She let out a grumble and frowned into her face cam when she saw that her team consisted of Charizard, Rapidash, Arcanine, Flareon and Ninetails and went on a typist rant on how fire types are impure and inferior. Someone typed "Shut up Grass Hitler" and her typism turned into laughter.
 It was then we realized that Celadon was empty. The huge mall was abandoned and so was the Mansion and Game Corner, the only NPCs were Sister Joy and another woman in the Pokecenter.
 "Rumor is that Erika is hiding something in the trees behind her, you will need this." Said the mysterious woman and gave us Cut, which Bell instantly taught to Charizard and walked out the door. A battle started instantly against a Victreebell and being both unable run and not having any Pokeballs she used Flamethrower and the battle was over as soon as it began.
 About every ten steps a battle would start and not having any other options Bell used Flamethrower and was done with it.
 "I am not going to toll-erate this" she said with a frown on her face and a wave of relief went through the chat. While she was starting to look angry everyone knew she wasn't after that pun.
 A lot of burning of innocent plant life and a cut tree later she finally made it to Celadon Gym, which was, like the rest of the city, empty. Bell went up to one of the trees and pressed A and the tree disappeared only to be replaced by a set of stairs.
 Down the stairs was a white corridor going to the left with signs adorning the top wall. Bell walked up to the first one, pressed A and was met with a low resolution image of what looked like a man; naked, tortured, blindfolded, gagged and chained to the wall behind him.
 Bell jumped in shock while the chat exploded into profanities. Looking seriously unnerved she continued walking down the corridor and looking at the pictures, all Gameboy quality  images showing similar things to the first one.
 Erika stood at the end of the corridor, looking at one of the pictures. As Bell approached her an exclamation mark popped out of her head in surprise.
 "!
Who... who are you?"
 And then the battle started. Erika opened with Bellossom, but was instantly burnt by Charizard. Next was Victreebell, Tangela and lastly Vileplume, but they were all knocked out in a single round.
 "No... you know my secret. What now?"
 Red stood in front of Erika until the screen flashed and she disappeared, then the game shut down.
 Bell looked scared, like she was on the verge of tears. She excused herself, saying that there was something she needed to do and ended the stream.
 That was the last time anyone saw her.

10
Your Stories / The Weaver of Nightmares
« on: 01:18 PM, 10/31/16 »
Ladies and gentlemen~ I introduce to you, sent as a file, because I had way too much fun with the formatting, my nightmare vignettes.

11
Bad Stories / The Origin of Skill Flea
« on: 05:52 PM, 08/31/16 »
One morning John awoke to find himself transformed into a giant flea. At least he was pretty sure has was a flea, he may not exactly be a flea, but a kind of flea like humanoid. That was how he felt, partly human, partly flea, lying on his chitinous back on his bed.
John rose and skittered over to his bathroom to look in the mirror. He tripped, not being used to the four insect limbs now protruding from his lower body. He looked at his arms and saw that he still had something resembling hands and opposing thumbs. Convenient.
He crawled on all six towards his bathroom and managed to use the sink to heave himself up and looked at his newfound fleaness in the mirror. He was indeed a flea. A blood sucking parasite with super jumping powers. Which, to be honest, was a huge upgrade from being a parasite of the earth itself without super jumping powers. At least he thought he had super jumping powers, he still hadn't figured out how his legs worked, but all in due time, John the flea thought to himself.
He slowly wobbled out of his bathroom, almost getting the hang of this entire new fad called walking, before he promptly planted his face into the floor.
Had there been an audience there would have been laughter, but had this been a play no one would have been crazy enough to put it up. So there was no laughter, only the sarcastic sighs of the potted flower in John's window who was smoking a pipe.
"It was only a question of time hmhmhmhm" the flower hummed between the huffs and the puffs of the pipe.
"What was, you pot... head... foot?" John tried, but his insult not quite working.
"uuuuummmmm.... you being transformed into a giant, blood sucking parasite with super jumping powers" the potted flower hummed again.
"You are not supposed to talk" said John.
"No, hmhmhm, I am not" said the flower, and took another puff of his pipe.
"What am I supposed to do?" John asked the flower who was calmly picking lice from his petals.
"There are....hmmmmmmmmmmm... several paths for you." Said the flower. "You can fight crime, you can commit crime, or you can start a circus....hmmmm.... or I guess you could do all three....hm..."
It was there and then John decided to take the moniker Skill Flea and put up a circus to help him commit and/or commit crime, depending on what he felt like with his newfound blood sucking and super jumping powers.
And we all know how that went.
Good night kids. Don't let the Skill Fleas bite. If he does, remember: that is why you have a gun next to your bed.

12
Story Critique / Glitches
« on: 06:00 PM, 07/20/16 »
It was few weeks after Pokémon Go had conquered the world, among the news of players falling down cliffs, finding corpses and crashing their cars I started hearing rumors of something stranger. Stories from all over the world about people found covered in objects. It started with mundane things, someone had been covered in pants, someone else had been found covered in wedding bands and one incredibly lucky woman had been found covered in 100 dollar bills. Problems however arose when someone realized that all the bills all had the exact same serial number.
Someone who had been tasked with counting the objects had found that there was always 129 of them, 129, identical objects.
The cases continued. One man was found dead, pierced with keys, 129 of them, all leading to his apartment. One woman had her head burst open from being filled with quarters and another woman had been crushed when her apartment had suddenly been full of fridges.
The destruction got worse. A highway was blocked after a literal 129 car pileup, all the same car and an entire neighborhood was destroyed after an entire house had been duplicated.
It was despite knowing this that I one surprisingly warm, sleepless night took a beach walk to catch some Pokémon. As I walked I saw that a Kangaskhan was near. As I walked towards it I noticed that the trainer on the screen started walking backwards, still towards where I was walking, but moonwalking across the map. I kept going, feeling the suspicion sneak up on me, but still being sceptical that this was really happening. The screen then slowly started to break up into white pixels, starting at the edges and crept closer inwards. The trainer, still moonwalking, was falling apart into squares as well. As I looked up from my phone I saw that the world around me was falling apart into white pixels as well. My cellphone screen only showed white static.
The air felt dull and artificial. The world had completely fallen apart around me.
The world flashed for a moment and It was right in front of me, the familiar L shape. Even eyeless I knew The Emperor of Glitches was staring at me.
Then I opened my 129 mouths and I screamed.



Below is the original draft, for the ones who are curious.

Clunky writing, some logical holes and Dead Palette telling us not to write Pokemon Go pastas aside I had a cool idea.


It was a few weeks after Pokemon Go had started taking over the world. Among the news of people falling down cliffs, finding corpses and being robbed I started hearing a stranger story. There had been people found collapsed and covered in things. Someone had been covered in pants, one unlucky fella had been pierced with keys and one very lucky woman had been covered in $100 bills.
Looking deeper into this urban legend I found that everyone had been found along shorelines and while they didnt have amnesia their memories seemed scrambled. One man swore that he had been a bird when he was a baby and had became a man due to a mix of hamburgers and water. Most of them were not as bad however, more in the line of swearing that events happened in the wrong order. Even if memory often does that it was absurd things such as having gone to college before being able to talk or pronouncing their names as unintelligable gargles.
The things that had covered the 'victims', lacking a better word, someone had find were exact replicas of something they had been carrying. The pants had the same wears and tears as the pants the man had been wearing, the key pierced man was pierced by keys that all led to his apartament, money being what it is was was harder to tell if it had been the same, but apparently someone had looked at the bills underneath a microscope and found some very strange similarities.
Even stranger was that someone had counted the items and found exactly 129 of them, counting the original.
So late one night I walked across the beach, trying to find some water pokemon, or maybe a Drowzee when the map started messing up in a spectacular way. It slowly started to disintigrate into white squares, the further along the shore the worse it got. As I walked the trainer started walking backwards, even him starting to disintigrate into squares.
The map was more or less useless now, just a mess of squares fluttering around the screen.
I looked up from the screen and saw a very familiar L shape in front of me, distorting space  space around it in odd, unexplainable ways. The Emperor of Glitches, the one that should not be: Missigno.
We stood there, staring at each other for a few moments, then I opened my 129 mouths, and I screamed.

13
Catlazers
I dont know if anyone heard this song, but I turned on the radio this morning to find that they were actually playing good music for once. The song was so cheery I felt great all day after hearing it. So of course when I went home I searched for it, but all versions I can find are less upbeat, does anyone know if there is a remix or what?

The rainbow comes for everyone to take all your tears away~

So catchy.

Xyllo (Moderator)
I just listened to it. It is really good, but the only version I could find had the vocalist sounding kind of sarcastic. I think it worked with the lyrics being that cheerful, but it was odd because of how upbeat you describe it.

And I agree, the chorus is catchy.

Akuma no Uta
I dont know what you guys are on, but I was surprised hearing Noise Rock on the radio
It is really, really good. Anyone knows if they made anything else? I can only find this song.

Catlazers
This is so odd. Now I can only seem to find the noisy version Akuma heard.
I really like the solo in this version though. So Zappa.

Xyllo (Moderator)
Is the band messing with us by changing the song or what? That would be interesting. Never seen that before.

Akuma no Uta
Purple Moon: The band that only has one song, but like 40 different versions of it.
It just got heavy as fuck. SunnO))) aint got shit on these guys XD
I think the chorus changed
The rainbow comes for only you to give you all the pain it stole
wat

Akuma no Uta
sorry for double posting, but it has ben a week. Has anyone seen Catlazers?

Xyllo
Not since last week, no. She probably just got caught up in something.
The song is back to the up beat version if anyone wants to hear it, by the way.

14
Story Critique / Junkies and The Wall
« on: 02:28 PM, 04/15/16 »
The mother of two of my childhood friends was a drug addict. Now I actually never saw her do anything heavier than incense sticks (which I hated the smell of), but no one beat around the bush with me about that. She was a drug addict, which is why her son wasn't living with her.

I should probably talk a little about her children. The youngest daughter was a blonde little girl who was living with her mother and was a few younger than me. Me, her and another friend was often running around the neighborhood and playing around. Her son was a few years older than me and lived away somewhere with another family. He had developed his own fighting style, you know, as far as a teenager can develop his own fighting style and took me under his wing. He was probably not the greatest of influences, for example he once decided to make a camp fire in the middle of the woods and my poor mother had to get the loose fire under control and while I remember nothing about the fighting style he taught me he did teach me climbing. I scaled walls as a child I have no idea how I even would begin climbing now. He even made me a black mask out of cardboard once I "graduated". It was a nice gesture. Something I treasured for years until a friend thought it would be a good idea to try on a cardboard mask that had been made for a ten year olds face and broke it. Still a little pissed about that...

Anyway. There was also supposedly an older daughter who I never saw, but she isn't important...

Then they moved away. I lost contact with her kids and that was that, but I did hear from the mother twice after they moved.

One time she just entered our house. Too drunk to walk straight and obviously nostalgic for the time when her kids having friends made her have friends by proxy. My mother managed to get her out of the house and left her somewhere. I am not sure what happened.

The second time she called our phone. Her voice cracked, probably high on something and desperate for help. She wanted to come over for a while, but no way I would get caught up in her junkie troubles, no. Roger Waters was playing The Wall in Gothenburg anyway and I was going to see him. Show was great, by the way.

I later read in the paper that a woman had been found dead, grasping an incense stick. I know there was nothing I could have done to help her, but I do feel a little guilty for leaving her to die.

15
Story Critique / The Clown
« on: 06:52 PM, 04/14/16 »
It was an early summer evening and The Circus had just opened for the public. Parents, children and others of all ages and sizes stood in a line to gain access to the circus grounds. There was a loud chattering and some arguments when parents tried to convince the ticket takers that their children was really a few years younger to save some money on the entering price.
There were lights, music, colors and children crying to get some of that sweet, colorful cotton candy.
The crowd made its way inside the colorful circus tent, still chattering loudly until the lights went out and the spotlight illuminated a slightly overweight middle aged man going over tonight's show with a powerful voice.
And what a show it was, oh yes. There were jugglers juggling chainsaws on unicycles, a pair of tightrope walkers dancing a waltz several meters up in the air, animal tamers, sword swallowers and acrobats.
Everything went silent as The Clown entered the stage. It did a little dance and promptly faceplanted into the dirt. The audience let out a cacophonous laughter. The Clown got back up and smiled at the audience with that face that was wrong. The large, red nose, the white face, the ill-fitted clothes. All of it a parody of humanity. The Clown tried to ride a bull and fell off into a previously placed pie and the audience once again erupted with laughter. As the show went on the clown grew stranger. The nose bigger, the smile wider, the clothes sackier and stranger. The audience were no longer laughing. They were silent, emotionless husks devoid of life. What they once had they had lost in the Wake of The Clown.

I had an interesting idea, I dont think I made it work, but it was an interesting idea.

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