Kaiju Creepypasta: Baradagi Part 3: the Giant ClawKaiju Creepypasta: Baradagi Part 3: the Giant Claw2 years ago in Horror More Like This
I pointed over to the tape on top of the pile. It was completely unmarked, as were the rest. “Let’s check that one out first, shall we?” I asked.
“Fair enough.” Mumbled Arthur. He quietly popped the first tape out, and went into the next room, returning in a minute with a piece of masking tape and a sharpie. He slapped some tape on the edge of the cassette, and scrawled something on it before showing it to me. It read “B-Garasharp”
“The ‘B’ he explained, “marks proof of Baradagi. We might put something else on the tapes if more patterns pop up that we notice.”
I shook my head. “More patterns? You got any coffee, Red Bull, Mountain Dew? This could be a long night…”
He strode into the other room, but was back in a moment with several massive bottles of Mountain Dew in his hands and a big grin on his face. “There’s plenty more where those came from.” he chuckled as he set them in f
MKvsMarvel: Spider-ManMortal Kombat Vs. Marvel UniverseMKvsMarvel: Spider-Man3 years ago in Profiles More Like This
His normal "616 Universe" appearance
Alternative Costume 1:
The black/white Symbiote costume
Alternative Costume 2:
The "Ultimate Comics" Miles Morales costume.
Web Ball: Spider-Man throws a web ball to ensnare the opponent temporary. (Enhanced Version is called "Web Blast", it's last longer and does damage.)
Web Swing: Spider-Man swings forward and kicks his opponent, can be done in the air. (Enhanced Version is called "Web Stomp", after it connects, Spider-Man stomps onto the opponent's chest.)
Spider Sting: A flying uppercut. (Enhanced version is called "Spider Bite", her finishes with a single fisted smash.)
Web Glide: Spider-Man shoots a web to pull himself across the screen. Can be done in the air. (Enhanced Version is called "Web Closeline", it can be delayed, hit the opponent and can be can't be blocked at full charge.)
Web Throw: Spider-Man grabs his opponent with a web and swings them around before fi
ReflectionsVal's pursuit led him to the foul beast's domain. The hollowed-out cavern reeked of blood and rancid meat. The dim light he had seen as he charged through the tunnel after the monster could now be identified: torches. Rows of mysteriously lit torches lined the walls of the huge cave. At its center was a substantially large labyrinth of mirrors.Reflections8 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
He spotted the beast entering.
He spun his silver broadsword in his hand and hurried in behind it.
His garb was a simple blue and white crusader's leather with thick armored pads and reinforcing steel studs. Lightweight and flexible, but quite effective defense against blunt blows and – in a pinch – the slashing claws of the unholy spawn of the earth. All monster-hunters wore a similar variety in Val's experience. It would serve him well in these close quarters of the mirrored maze.
Right, left, forward, left, right he turned, always catching a glimpse of the beast's tail as he wove his way through the corridors. Every so often he sp
The TrundlerThe Trundler9 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wants anywhere near it; it radiates an eerie sense of calculating watchfulness.
And at night, it wanders.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. Bitter, broken tangles, grotesquely mov
Lost Planet: The Blue Eye Chronicles 1Prologue:Lost Planet: The Blue Eye Chronicles 12 years ago in Sci-Fi More Like This
The 2nd year since the Over-G war (A.O.G. 2). The corrupt military force of the planet E.D.N. III, the NeoVenus Construction (NEVEC for short), refused to give up their effort to harvest the planet's entire supply of Thermal Energy, the latest source of power that replaced fossil fuels altogether. In their way however were a rogue alliance known as the Ex-NEVEC, as well as rebels who came to be called Snow Pirates. However, all of these factions still faced the native creatures of E.D.N. III, the Akrid. 2 years ago, NEVEC's plot to harvest a high amount of T-Eng from what was called the Over-G Akrid had been sabotaged by the combined efforts of Ex-NEVEC and all the Snow Pirates on the planet. This did not, however, end the tyranny of NEVEC.
A heavily damaged GAB-25M Cakti Vital Suit limped across the frozen tundra. Normally, the Cakti model could transform, but the damage to this unit made such a function impossible. The pilot, a soldier of the Rogue NEVEC alliance
Butterfliesi do not look out my window.Butterflies9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
there are butterflies all around the car.
soft, inviting colors seep into my vision through the corner of my eye, the flutter of paper thin wings seemingly defying the constant noise of the idling car engine and reaching my ears.
i do not look out my window.
they must be beautiful, i think.
they must be enchanting.
they're probably very small. really cute, i bet.
i do not want to see the butterflies.
i do not look out my window.
instead, i stare straight ahead at the rear of the passenger seat, waiting for my mother to return to the car with my refilled prescription, the one that will make the butterflies go away and return the feeling of security to me.
Stuck The car sputtered and shook as it came to an almost silent stop. The engine had gone silent as the horn beeped loudly through the dark night. The orange gas light blinked mockingly at the woman behind the wheel. It was making fun of her; she knew it was making fun of her. Grabbing the black cellular phone on the passenger seat, she looked at it with full intention of calling somebody to come help her.Stuck2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
“Oh, what the hell?!”
The “no service” sign was mocking her at the same exact time. The horn beeped loudly as she slammed her head against it once again. The day was out to get her in general. She had arrived at all her classes late, and her son was sick with the flu. The babysitter was able to watch him as she went to her late night classes. Giving a heavy sigh, she lifted her head off the wheel to look out the window. Drops of water pooled on the windshield as rain started to fall in a pitter-patter pattern. She didn’t quite understand the message th
Godzilla: A Heart Ruptured (P.1)Godzilla: A Heart Ruptured (P.1)2 years ago in Sci-Fi More Like This
Authors Note: This story takes place within my timeline and connects the Heisei Godzilla series with the Mothra Trilogy.
A.D. 1996, Approx. 15 days following Godzilla’s Demise
I: Lack of Remorse
“You’re here for a reason, Miss Saegusa. General Aso ordered you psychologically evaluated.” A stern male voice reached from the darkness, like a ghost-hand ripping Miki Saegusa from her nostalgic stupor.
Miki simply nodded, yet maintained staring at the plaque on the wall above the resident Psychologist’s desk paying heed to Godzilla’s death merely two weeks before. The entire city seemed to be cloaked in the post-radioactive glower of Godzilla’s end. Japan had been the center of the world for a few brief days as the possibility of Godzilla’s meltdown condition destroying the world seemed inevitable. Now that it was over, everyone seeme
BS 2 - Ker's EntryBS 2 - Ker's Entry6 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Loud noises of explosions along with the bright flashes of the following flames, like music in his ear and the greatest celebration fireworks for his eyes. Same with the screams of panic and pain. Irken screams. Maybe other alien types too but they were irrelevant. What counted was the Irkens and their body counts.
He laughed maniacally like someone who just finally got a joke and in desperately need of a tight fitting straightjacket. Which wasnt completely off when it was about this certain albino specimen of a loony Vortian on the loose, standing his 4'3" tall on the random wreck of what could have been a transport unite once, still slightly burning from the explosion which had turned it into this stage. This was his happy place, in the middle of the raging chaos he had created himself. His attention span or lack of same had already made him long gone forget where he was and how he had gotten there. All he cared about was it was Irken area. With lots of scream
Video File 616---Search: Video File 616---Video File 6168 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
---Title: Group Research---
--- Research Topic Subject: Psychosis, Cannibalism, Delusional Insanity, Murderous Insanity, Possible PAK Defection, Possible Over-activity in the Brain---
---Patients: Gar, Neep, Sideos, Sirra, Tika---
---Access Level: High---
---Please Enter Access Code---
---Access Code Accepted---
---Beginning Video Feed---
Dr Feto sighed as she sat on her small, red cushioned chair. The seat had back cushion then small curved support, then the seat. It looked rather like a cheep office chair.
'Why am I always the one to be picked to deal with the psychos?' She wondered as her eyes watched the door with a bored interest.
Feto was an averaged sized irken with pinkish-red eyes, long female eyelashes, light green skin, a slim frame and a pair of neck length curled antenna. She was wearing her researc
VerbatimOn June seventeenth at 2:33 PM, Jacob Fantana falls off the roof and hits his head. This is the approximate time that Cory later gives him. It is a particularly nasty fall: The house they had been roofing is two stories, built on a hill. At the hospital, the doctors wreathe thick gauze around Jake's head and subject him to a series of tests. Rachel cries as Dr. Dubey explains that x-ray computed tomography has revealed a mild skull fracture and bruising on his inferior frontal gyrus. Jake stares without interest at the diagrams and fiddles with his bandages. He attempts to console Rachel, but he is embarrassed, and worried about his insurance copay.Verbatim8 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
They keep him overnight for observation. As Rachel drives him home the next day, she repeatedly reaches over to touch Jake's hand on the armrest. He smiles politely and grasps her fingers in return. Through the window, he watches the bland streets of Sandusky pass by. The brakes on Rachel's Lumina whine quietly at every stoplight. Ja
RebootI punched a kid twice in fifth grade for trying to see up Gemini Hetherington’s skirt when her twin brother was home sick. The Hetheringtons could get away with things like that if they ever lifted a fist in the first place, but for a Holthausen it was like a criminal offense, and all of the better-neighborhood parents gasped at the news and wondered what went wrong in my development. I sat in the car while the principal spoke to my dad about it. Through the window I heard him warn that I would no sooner be punching Walt Burtons in elementary than pulling a knife on a man for his wallet in adulthood, and that immediate correction was necessary unless he wanted me to wind up in jail with the rest of the scum of Airedale.Reboot10 months ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
While my dad tried to calm the principal down, Gemini Hetherington tiptoed up to the window when her nanny was distracted. At first she signed ‘thank you’ to me through the window. She breathed on the glass and drew a heart on the foggy circle. T
"ORGANIC" - Part 07"ORGANIC" - Part 074 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
H̵̫͙̰͎̯͈̹͈͙̤̫̺̭̼̗̄͑ͪͥͦͯ̎ͭ̓̇ͮ̅̏ͥ̀͑͑́̕̕͢ ̷̌ͬ͂͂̒̀ͪͧͧͩ҉̳̹̙͚Ê̸̡͕̩̠̜̦̍͋̂̈̄̒̕͟ͅ ̧͙̩̥̞̗͍͙̥͔̝̟̐̈ͧ͋̃̈̏́͊̋̕͝L̢̝̥̟̠̳̰̹̟̮̜͍̅ͨ̽ͦ̏ͪ̈ͩ̓̕̕ ̶̉ͤ̆̓ͤ̃̈́̐̓̐̽̐҉̸̳̹̜͈͓̰̀Ṕ͇͈̯̹̖̃̆̓̃̍ͥ͐ͣ́͢͢͝ͅ ͨ͒̓ͪ̀̏͢
One Wrong Turn... The world was outside that door. The sounds of anger and hate and righteous fury and chants of passages of their holy books drifted through the great gao door, teasing and taunting Kiv, reminding him that his end was soon. Yet he didnt care. It didnt matter to him that his death was approaching; death meant little to him after all. He was trained to harness and master death. They could stab him with every sword in the kingdom and it wouldnt even faze him. They could shoot him full of arrows and chop off his limbs and cut out his heart and he wouldnt even feel it.One Wrong Turn...6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
But that one weapon that sword wielded by Bræk, the hated Beadolēoma. That was different, that was powerful and it had killed the only person in Kivs life whom had ever cared for him.
The old man was so still, so quiet, so dead. Considering they were supposed to be necromancers, seeing someone so li
Finding the Light - Chapters 11 - 14 (Final)Previous installments:Finding the Light - Chapters 11 - 14 (Final)2 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Chapters 1 - 4
Chapters 5 - 7
Chapters 8 - 10
Finding the Light - Chapter 11
We emerge into a snowy field under a gray sky, but I am too enthralled by what I see to notice the sudden biting cold.
Despite the fact that I am seeing the remains of a lost civilization, it looks so very much more alive than mine, as if the ruins have lain abandoned for only centuries instead of the millennia in which ours stood.
And there is living cloth here!
I first see it as a wide ribbon stretching across a gap in a stone bridge very high over our heads. Against this backdrop I see a curious creature in the air. It looks like a carpet curled back on itself and trailing streamers, all in the same red and gold colors as my companion's cloak and scarf.
"Oh, it looks so lovely! It ... oh no ..
MercyOh sweet God how the grasslandMercy4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
ignites in moonlight tonight
I must thank you for creating
her tangled fingers' slow pace
through the handsome rain Her
trochaic kinesthesia to rhythms
in Stravinsky's The Rite of
Spring Is this how you meant
for us to love you Yahweh
Tumbling clumsily down hills
of sheets into perpetually
immutable silence I could love
you like that I think I've been
practicing on this Savanna
for days and months Lost in
her crystal canvas Rolling crests
and troughs And when she touches
me Oh fair Lord I'm dragged into
your city past Gethsemane's
pulsing green and gold
Please hold us together
under this luminous stretch
Oh Father We are live
unclothed Our reflections awash
with the skin of your sun
Not All Things Will FadeWith a sky that struggles to offer unpolluted clouds, streets rich in garbage-filled potholes, rivers with more diseases than water, and more car thieves than there are cars, no sound mind would remain in this town willingly. Out of the few compliments I've gotten, none were for my sanity, so no wonder I'm here. Among the bunch of senseless decisions I've forged a life with, what's another to the list? Anyone with the smarts Nature reserves for rocks would abandon this wasteland now...But back in the day, before factory owners jumped at the chance to screw it over? Still nothing to brag about, but it was decent enough. A quiet city to watch the days go by, to try and be happy within the imprisonment of everyday mediocrity.Not All Things Will Fade1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
Had she not been here, that is.
Routine made an art out of slaving townsfolk. She made an art out of giving Routine both middle fingers! Literal art at that, for no interaction with the outside world went ignored in the one of her own. Wherever she took a step, her c
The BeginningHe told them, of course. He told those idiots everything, the whole damn story, including the blunder he'd made, and its consequences. Looking back on it later, he realized he had probably been in shock the whole time. It made sense, anyone would have been.The Beginning1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
Soph was about twenty years old, and he'd been that way for a couple of years already, ever since the Hoarde had started attacking humanity from the past. Every day that passed, they ate at another day in the past. It sickened him. Those creatures had absolutely no regard for proper time and causality protocols.
It didn't seem to affect anyone else that way, though.
The Hoarde was the result of a human creation, of course, like everything bad in the world, though no one else knew about them. Then again, no one else had undiluted access to the power of creation. Even he didn't know much about the Hoarde, only that they appeared through some tear in The Fabric of The World and started killing people off. They appeared at some point in
"ORGANIC" - Part 02"ORGANIC" - Part 024 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
SC!ENCE IS V!CTORIOUS.
"This is ridiculous!"
"What is?" Ambrose asked, his attention swept back into reality by his friend's familiar voice, still staring intently at the TV screen. A young Steel-type Pokemon rested on the sofa arm beside him - it was a pudgy little Aron.
"This!" the other young man in the room snuffed, navy eyes alight with impatience as he gestured to the television, "I can't believe the fuss they're making over a Pokemon that looks like it came out of the damn 80s. Couldn't they focus on something more worthwhile?"
"Oh, come on, Ichorus. It isn't like this is kid stuff. They turned a Pokemon made entirely of programming into flesh and blood and squishy stuff! I think it's pretty neat,"
"Ambrose," Ichorus sighed, giving his friend one of his famous degrading looks, "You would think that watching paint drying was 'pretty neat' too."
Ambrose scrunched up his face in irritation, trying to ignore the other and focus on the footag
A Battle of Extremes(MR. CYNICISM, MS. SINCERE, and DR. PASSION congregate for battle.)DR. PASSIONA Battle of Extremes2 years ago in Comedy More Like This
Where's all the booze, guys? Where's the music? I thought this was supposed to be a party.
This is a battle, not a party, good doctor. You may want to remove your lamp shade so you can be prepared to fight.
I didn't hear anything about no violence at this here get-together-battle-party-what-have-you.
That is the definition of battle: Where two or more parties come together and -
- come together and make a whole lot of excitement between them. See? That's what I'm saying.
I should have anticipated such a gross misinterpretation of the facts, given your appalling track record with regard to such things as facts.
I'm sure it was an honest mistake, a result of a miscommunication. We can all be friends still, right?
Aside from the battle, of course.
I wouldn't have it any other way.<
A Turning Point in the Clockwork WarA war of attritionA Turning Point in the Clockwork War2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
depends on supply and drawdown,
how much you have and how much you use up.
With personnel, the balance concerns
the influx of recruitment versus
the outflow of casualties, deserters, invalids.
There is only so much loss
that a fighting force can sustain
and still fight.
Pilot Claude Archer was the first
to challenge his invalid discharge.
"I don't need legs to fly," he said,
patting the healed stumps of his thighs.
"My Osprey runs on elbow grease."
The members of the discharge board
paused and looked at each other.
What he said was true.
The Osprey-class fighter jets
relied on hand controls,
and a sharp eye and iron nerve.
Fingers flicked through the stack
of discharge papers -- so many, many pages.
So many soldiers lost, never to fight again.
They could not afford to let slip even one
who might be retained, somehow,
to face the front line once more.
Far less could the war effort spare
one of its best pilots.
So they put Pilot Archer back on the roster,
Where Seagulls Dare “There’s no escape, you know.”Where Seagulls Dare10 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Thomas put his head on one side, slapping the water out of his ear. “Sorry?”
“There’s no escape...from the island.” The heavily bearded man gave him a stare. “The same rocks that sank your vessel have defeated my every attempt at floating a raft.”
“Oh.” Thomas wasn’t sure exactly what one was supposed to say in this situation. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“There’s food enough to get by here, if you don’t mind bitter roots, insects, sour berries. That’s almost the cruellest thing.” Beneath his stitched-leaf hat, his eyes gazed out to sea. “Compared with the open ocean, this place offers a fair chance of survival. But can it really be called living? Trapped here...on the island?”
Anthropomorphic: an Interview with the Wolf ScribeThe day is Wednesday, though they are calling it Wolfsday now. The wolf known only as Scribe sits at a desk, tapping the sheet of paper in front of him with a single digit of his paw. Despite what his name suggests, he is the liaison between the wolf leader and the US, and is a wolf of high notoriety. He read the transcript of my interview with one of his kin multiple times, and is meticulous about the details. Apparently he approved of my work, since he agreed to meet. It is important to note that he requested this interview, not the other way around. His accent suggests he was originally British.Anthropomorphic: an Interview with the Wolf Scribe1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
When did the change take you?
That question has been asked hundreds of times now to hundreds of us.
And I’m asking you.
And I’m not answering. [There is a shuffling of fur as he adjusts himself]
Was it painful?
Very. Some didn’t survive the transformation. The old, anyone that wanted the change but didn’t understand what they were
Under the Willow TreeHomeUnder the Willow Tree1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
Once upon a time, a very, very long time ago, there existed a young girl who loved to paint. She did so many things with only the tip of her fingers. She painted the sun orange, the oceans blue, and the grass green. One day, she noticed a paintbrush lying under the willow tree.
"What is this?" she asked, for she had only created with her fingers. "Where did it come from?" She received no reply.
She was a curious girl, and instinctively dipped the point into her maroon paint. Streaking the brush across her paper, she gasped.
"It works so much better than my hands!"
She swooped and swooped with the brush until the sun dipped, and smiled the whole time. It was growing dark, however, and the girl was tired. She collected her things, sealed off her paint, and slept beneath the arms of the willow tree.
The young girl grew accustomed to the paintbrush, and began to favor the instrument. She drew nature more vividly, and the grass was a brighter shade of green. The ocean and sky bl