A 350-post collection

Challenge #00889-B158: Nonse

With the amount of sense the last few hours have not made, I’m tempted to believe that this is all a simulation someone or something built into the universe for people foolish enough to have attempted what I did…

[AN: I am having intense internet trouble at the mome so I’m giving this to you from my phone. Forgive the lack of the usual formatting]

The trees were gathering water and farming people.

This… this was wrong. The sky was the colour of earth and the earth itself was blue. And… slightly marshy? But it was dry. A dry and supple sponge that nevertheless conspired to squelch.

A triffid on its leash was hissing at her. It looked exactly like the ridiculous rubber monsters of the movie. She guarded her eyes, just in case, and stumbled onwards down the soggy road.

One tree-child, naked as a jay, ran screaming from her. Yelling what sounded like, “Groot! Groot!” to the others.

She was out of range of the hissing triffid, at least. Shayde looked the lead tree squarely in its… face? and carefully, slowly, assumed a position of surrender.

Fingers interlaced and hands on top of her head. Kneeling in the squishy ground with her ankles crossed.

And, because she was two heartbeats away from messing what was left of her clothes, Shayde did the one thing that always helped her calm down.

She sang.

“Picture yourself on a boat on a river… with tangerine trees and marmalade skies… Somebody calls you, you answer quite slowly. A girl with kaleidoscope eyes…”

She peeked. Okay. This was good. They weren’t exactly aiming their weapons at her. But they were approaching with caution.

This was not the time to grin and show her sharp teeth. This was a time for staying very still and not doing anything at all threatening.

“Fimbalism finger fink,” the leader demanded. “Krelborn groot lalama!”

“Rapacious radishes,” she replied, and almost kicked herself. “Look. You cannae understand me. I cannae understand you. Mebbe a wee bit o’ pantomime?”

“Sconculous! Erid flelow carnarvon?”

Shayde sighed. This was going to be a long day. “Would ye believe, I’m mostly harmless?”

[Muse food remaining: 18. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

Challenge #00888-B157: Station of Babel

Everybody panics in their own language.

This was where JOATs came into the fore. Electronic translators had
their limits, and one of the most prevalent of those limits was
breaching the Understanding Barrier.

Grammar is important. Especially in a panic situation.

Thus, in an emergency, the most level heads of the JOAT community come to the fore.

stood on one of the plinths, using her own passive magic to make herself understood to all listeners. “Please proceed in an orderly

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Challenge #00879-B148: Tokens of Adulthood


They threw him a Going Away Party. Just like they threw him an
Adoption Day party on the anniversary of his arrival on Hippo Mining
Station. And, like all the things the mining crew did for him, it
involved available materials.

So far, he’d been given a pair of
The Drongo’s old work-boots - refurbished and ‘gussied up’ with a layer
of gleaming black ductape. This parcel contained fabric scraps from
Dode’s stash. Every colour of the rainbow,

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Challenge #00877-B146: Walk This Way

The ministry of silly walks.

“Absolutely not. That walk is the wholly-owned property of the Consortium of Steam.”

sighed and stood still. “Fine. It was just an experiment. What about this one?” Once again, she paraded in front of the motion capture

And once again, the alarm blatted.

“Don’t tell me. I
accidentally did Wilgro. I knew it. One more. One more.” This time, Ribuffo added the little fillip with the half-skip left step.

“That’s Wilgro with a

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A call home from college...

((Inspired by this rather strange image: ))

“…um… and one more thing.  Daddy, I’m dating… a black man.”

“Well, that’s no problem. I’m no racist; I’m not gonna be upset if my baby girl thinks her old man should have a future son-in-law with brown skin.”

“Daddy, we’re not even thinking about marriage yet!  But anyway… no, Daddy, I didn’t mean a colored person. I said black. He’s literally black.

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Challenge #00865-B134: One Blood-Soaked Evening in a Norse Battlefield

Valkire. They were the choosers of the slain in Norse mythology, see what you can do with it.

“OI!” Thagr the Unbelievable waved down a passing Valkyrie. “What’s the matter with you lot? I’ve been waiting for ages!”

The battle maiden sneered down at him and declared, “You are not worthy,” before attempting to move away.

“OI! OI! You can’t do this to me! I died in battle, I did. I’m entitled to entrance to Valhalla! It’s

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Challenge #00864-B133: Versatility

string, 1001 uses.

“Um,” said Rael.

“What?” said Pix.

“It’s more than a
thousand and one,” he said, reaching slowly for a handbook datachip and
slotting it into his reader. “The uses for string pile into the
billions, if not quintillions. Of course, some of it is dependant on the
originating fibre and the definition of ‘string’.”

Pix glared at him. “I might not have enough funds for an infodump, sir.”

Ah. Right. People paid to hear information. He was still

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Come up to the lab, see what's on the slab...

A Frankenstein-esque mad scientist (re)creates life from parts of the dead, and one of the first responses from his new (female) creation is an exploratory grope and a frustrated…

“Dammit, you could’ve at least tried to get a matching pair…”


“What? They aren’t the same size? But the clothing label on your donor said D cup…”

“This one is a thirty-five D,” explained the monster, juggling a bosom. “This one is a thirty D. The cup size

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Challenge #00846-B115: Vortex Realm

“Help! I’m trapped in a Craft Show.”

How many aisles must a man walk down? How many different booths could stock yarn? And what the hell was tatting?

Maisy stopped at yet another booth that sold merchandise almost identical to the last booth.

“…uuuuuuuuuuuugh…” groaned Paul, designated human packhorse. “My feet hurt. How big is this show floor? Can I please put this crap in our room and go for a coffee?“

“Hmm?” Maisy looked up from an array

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Challenge #00840-B109: Penfold... Hush.

If we never meddled in powers we did not comprehend, how would we gain comprehension?

“Uh… by examining them with science? Preferably by non-invasive, passive means first?” suggested Penfold.

Blenkinsop glared at her. “Honestly. You’re such a wet blanket.”

“Wet blankets survive fires, Blenkinsop. All I’m asking is that you pay attention.”

She sighed and folded her arms. “Really.”

“Yes. There is a reason why you found these tools and instruments in the middle of a ruined temple. In

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Challenge #00838-B107: Pret a Porter

Creating accommodating clothing and furnishing and such for the possibility that the wearer/user is taller or shorter or fatter or thinner than the average human being seems difficult enough for most modern manufacturers…

…what if they suddenly had to accommodate customers possessing other outside-the-average features… like additional pairs of arms, a snake’s tail instead of legs, an extra head or two, wings of various types, centauric forms, or other formerly-just-mythic anatomy?

The familiar complaint, “Oh, they never have anything in

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The Telephone Game, Divine Edition

A religious organization (modern or fictional), after following their particular holy text (or at least it’s translated editions) for centuries/millenia, if given a drastic and alarming shock one day, when their deity appears to tell the vast majority of them, basically, “Who told you I said all this? I never asked you to act like this at all, most of it is your own ideas! You’ve got everything completely wrong!”


The day of Festival was in full swing.

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Elvis has left the building

It’s August 1977, news has spread that Elvis Presley has died. For Amy & Zerachiel this is a problem. Niether can find them. Their department heads are furious, the records show that the King has just dissappeared and if Amy and Zerachiel can’t come up with the goods they’re fired. Might be that he’s not even human, mortal or even subject to either of their departments.

Amy = plain clothes demon
Department = Hell, collection agency

Zerachiel = plain clothes angel

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Parents just don't understand adventuring...

“You think because you killed a few dragons that you’re some kind of big man? Too big to show your elders respect? I’m your mother, I once wiped your poopy bum with my bare hands, so I’m not impressed by your antics, mister ‘vanquisher-of-armies’.  Why don’t you ever visit, or at least write now and then?”


Hrothgar the Mighty - Conquerer of All, Ruler of
the Five Kingdoms, Dragonslayer, Master of the Mighty Voice - took off

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Challenge #00819-B088: True Words

Beware the happy person with power tools.

There was a sign over the door to the maker-space. Warning: Happy people with power tools inside.

Shayde thought it was a joke until she stepped in. Sure, it had been a few years since she got together with fellow nerds and a bunch of tools to create something. At least, in subjective terms.

In real-time terms it had been closer to five hundred years.

The very concept of maker-spaces had changed while she was

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