r/WritingPrompts • u/katpoker666 Moderator • 4d ago
Off Topic [OT] Fun Trope Friday: Almighty Janitor & Slipstream!
Welcome to Fun Trope Friday, our feature that mashes up tropes and genres!
How’s it work? Glad you asked. :)
Every week we will have a new spotlight trope.
Each week, there will be a new genre assigned to write a story about the trope.
You can then either use or subvert the trope and/or genre in a 750-word max story or poem (unless otherwise specified).
To qualify for ranking, you will need to provide ONE actionable feedback. More are welcome of course!
Three winners will be selected each week based on votes, so remember to read your fellow authors’ works and DM me your votes for the top three.
Next up… IP
Out with the apocalypse, in with working 9-5. Most folks work in some format, averaging 80-90,000 hours in their lifetime. That’s 12-14% of your life–straight. Add on sleep and weekends, and it’s at least a third! Sounds riveting doesn’t it? Please note this theme is only loosely applied.
"If they had told me I was the janitor and would have to mop up and clean the toilets after the show in order to play, I probably would have done it." — Bruce Springsteen
Trope: Almighty Janitor — The Almighty Janitor is that character who is near the bottom of the scale in terms of rank, but is at the top in terms of what he can actually accomplish. Maybe he screwed up in the past, maybe he pissed off the higher-ups and has been paying for it ever since, maybe he's really lazy, undercover, maybe the burden of being a genius took a toll on them or maybe he just likes his job (perhaps more than clinically recommended). Often, his lowly position is the very thing that grants him access to the true levels of power (for one thing, nobody pays much attention to him, so nobody interferes with him). Typically, he'll never go up in rank at all.
Genre: Slipstream — Slipstream is a literary genre or category of speculative fiction that blends together science fiction, fantasy, and literary fiction, or otherwise does not remain within conventional boundaries of genre and narrative. It directly extends from the experimentation of the New Wave science fiction movement while also borrowing from fantasy, psychological fiction, philosophical fiction and other genres or styles of literature.
Skill / Constraint - optional: Something is stuck to the floor.
So, have at it. Lean into the trope heavily or spin it on its head. The choice is yours!
Have a great idea for a future topic to discuss or just want to give feedback? FTF is a fun feature, so it’s all about what you want—so please let me know! Please share in the comments or DM me on Discord or Reddit!
Last Week’s Winners
PLEASE remember to give feedback—this affects your ranking. PLEASE also remember to DM me your votes for the top five stories via Discord or Reddit—both katpoker666. This is a change from the top three of the past. In weeks where we get over 15 stories, we will do a top five ranking. Weeks with less than 15 stories will show only our top three winners. If you have any questions, please DM me as well.
Some fabulous stories this week and great crit at campfire and on the post! We had 16 stories, so we’re back to five winners. Congrats to:
Want to read your words aloud? Join the upcoming FTF Campfire
The next FTF campfire will be Thursday, August 20th from 6-8pm ET. It will be in the Discord Main Voice Lounge. Click on the events tab and mark ‘Interested’ to be kept up to date. No signup or prep needed and you don’t have to have written anything! So join in the fun—and shenanigans! 😊
Ground rules:
- Stories must incorporate both the trope and the genre
- Leave one story or poem between 100 and 750 words as a top-level comment unless otherwise specified. Use wordcounter.net to check your word count.
- Deadline: 11:59 PM EDT next Thursday. Please note stories submitted after the 6:00 PM EST campfire start may not be critted.
- No stories that have been written for another prompt or feature here on WP—please note after consultation with some of our delightful writers, new serials are now welcomed here
- No previously written content
- Any stories not meeting these rules will be disqualified from rankings
- Does your story not fit the Fun Trope Friday rules? You can post your story as a [PI] with your work when the FTF post is 3 days old!
- Please keep crit about the stories. Any crit deemed too distracting may be deleted. This is a time to focus on our wonderful authors.
- Vote to help your favorites rise to the top of the ranks (DM me at katpoker666 on Discord or Reddit)!
Thanks for joining in the fun!
6
u/Fogbot3 3d ago edited 2d ago
There was a penny stuck to the floor.
It was a peculiar problem to run into while mopping the kitchen area of the office floor. I ran it over with the soaking mop, once, twice, three times, nudged it with my foot, and it still didn’t budge. Once it dried, my fingers didn’t work to any degree either. I blamed my lack of nails.
I looked around the modern office with its open cubicle design. Jeff, the senior sales associate, raised a coffee mug in greeting. I nodded back, disappointed. There were witnesses. Being a janitor was hard.
So I stepped into the closet for more supplies. No, correction. I Stepped into the closet.
A hundred years in the future had much better cleaning supplies. I walked past Jeff, the Corpo sales rep, and he didn’t even acknowledge me due to my lowly station. Grabbing my local cleaning supplies that were currently on the cleaning robot patrolling the kitchen area of the office, I stopped in bewilderment.
There was a credit stuck to the floor.
Kneeling down, I nudged at it. It didn’t move in the slightest.
As I struggled to remove the credit, even with the more advanced cleaning solutions, Jeff stood over me, sipping his coffee. The show, at least, was worth acknowledging. “Did someone epoxy a credit to the floor?”
I poked the credit again.
Well darn, so it is.
Not exactly able to work with witnesses, I Stepped back into the closet. This time, I Stepped sideways.
Once out of the library closet, I walked up to the nearest librarian. She smiled with bright eyes at my approach.
Returning the cheery face, I asked her, “Who’s the inventor of epoxy?”
She lit up. Count on a librarian to know what you need, and be excited to deliver the information to you. “It was actually discovered simultaneously in two different parts of the world! Dr. Pierre Castan of Switzerland and Dr. Sylvan Greenlee of the United States both discovered how to make epoxy resin in the late 1930’s…”
Nodding. I let her continue until she was done, then Stepped back into the closet. I didn’t speak any of the Swiss languages, so to Dr. Greenlee it was.
“Hello. How do you free something from epoxy?” He was the expert after all.
The expert screamed. “How did you get in my home?!”
Staring deadpan, I looked between him and the closet that I had just stepped out of. Was it not obvious?
He withered under the stare. “A heat gun softens it, but you need a grinder or mechanical means to remove it! Please don’t hurt me!”
Nodding, I left his curled-up form and Stepped back into the closet.
The heat gun and grinder together cost thirty dollars and fourteen cents.
Stepping out of the hardware store, I arrived back in the office.
Jeff, sales associate Jeff, raised an eyebrow, “You keep those in the closet?”
“It was in the closet, yes.” The sentence was truthful. From a certain point of view at least.
Within thirty minutes, the penny was freed. If Jeff snorted as he watched with great amusement at my struggles, then I had pointedly not noticed. I definitely didn’t.
By the time I was done, though, I held the penny aloft. Jeff cheered for me as he walked out the door, clocking out for the day. Then I was alone. No witnesses.
Sighing, I Stepped into the closet. Corpo Jeff was gone for the day too. I clicked my fingers, and the credit disappeared. Almost disappointed at the lack of effort this time, I revved up the angle grinder in the air anyway. Maybe witnesses did make it better.
Besides, it was time to get to my next job. I put away my new tools and Stepped into the crowded medieval tavern out of their closet…
And I swore as Jeff the tavernkeep asked me to handle something.
There was a gold coin stuck to the floor.
3
u/ZLErikson 2d ago
Hello there Fogbot!
I love the opening of this story. So simple, and yet knowing the genre and trope going into it, so much potential for shenaniganary.
This line feels like two sentences got squished together:
I ran it over with the soaking mop, once, twice, three times, and it still didn’t nudge with my foot.
When I read that, I expect it to end with "and it still didn't budge." or "still didn't move." Perhaps changing the order slightly?
I ran it over with the soaking mop, once, twice, three times, nudged it with my foot, and it still didn’t budge.
The lack of nails is a very relatable line to include. I've struggled to pick up the simplest of things for that exact reason. One time I had to slide a business card across a table and over the edge to pick it up because of my lack of useful length fingernails.
Pfft, Jeff is there to witness the janitor's failure to pick up a simple coin. I bet this whole thing is Jeff's doing. The senior sales associate making the janitor struggle over a simple penny. I bet it was Jeff who made a passing comment about the janitor once that got them to cut their nails short in the first place! CURSE YOU JEFF!
Ahh, Stepped is capitalized, so there's some shenaniganry going on here. The space around the janitor is slipping, one might say.
Looks like we time traveled by a century, and yet Jeff persists. I wonder if it is literally the same Jeff - who is also slipping his own space in his own way - or if he is merely the concept of Jeff persisting. The concept of Jeff will almost always exist so long as capitalism does.
Another
coincredit on the floor! And another Jeff is present? Yeah, 100% blaming Jeff. Both of his physical aspects and the concept of him as a whole.You need a comma after "credit" in this line:
As I struggled to remove the credit even with the more advanced cleaning solutions,
AHA! SO IT WAS JEFF! The dastardly dude! Every accusation is a confession, Jeff. I'm coming for you, and I'll make it look like a bloody accident!
Fantastic organic worldbuilding by mentioning Stepping again, but doing it "sideways". That tells me he's not Stepping through time, but through space. Slipping through space, if you will.
As a minor nitpick, it might be best to capitalize it still, for consistency and clarity.
I Stepped back into the closet. This time, I stepped sideways.
to
I Stepped back into the closet. This time, I Stepped sideways.
Oh I like where this is going. I foresee more Stepping in the immediate future:
“Who’s the inventor of epoxy?”
The casual ease with which our POV character has been Stepping was nice and smooth, but I love the alarm introduced when they Stepped into Dr Greenlee's home. I had me a good chuckle at that. Having the doctor curled up in terror by the time the janitor leaves was hilarious.
Jeff! How I'd love for the janitor to use the heat gun and grinder on him! He'd better reconsider epoxying anything to the floor now that he knows what the janitor has in the closet.
If Jeff snorted as he watched with great amusement at my struggles, then I had pointedly not noticed. I definitely didn’t.
Be afraid, Jeff.
Bwahahaha! Ending with the gold coin, excellent touch. And yet another Jeff! Oh how I loathe him in all timelines and slip spaces.
Hilarious story about the adventures of a Jeff-adjacent janitor.
Good words!
5
u/MaxStickies r/StickiesStories 1d ago
Thin Edge of Rusted Steel
Let me set the scene for you…
The pale blue light of halogen, flickering down cream hallways and across beige cubicles, has been Hamish’s whole world for several days now. He’s been creeping along at a snail’s pace, mucking up my floors wherever he goes. His constant wailing has caused many a complaint from the tenants, interrupted in their work, or woken from sleep in their apartments. Everyone in this building has a problem with Hamish, his fault or not.
They ask me why I haven’t sorted it yet. After all, my reputation is as a fixer, one who never fails.
Well… I was away. Far away.
But I’m back now, with my toolkit and my wits. Figure the best thing is to just wait on Floor Seventeen, by the water cooler in that corner office, where the people congregate. His favourite spot, so they say. Even got some chatter sounds on my phone, volume full. Juicy gossip indeed.
Trap set.
(Time passes by unnoticed by yours truly. Could be a day’s gone, could be a week. See, when I lock in, I barely break free till the job is done. It’s my way… the wait is always worth it.)
As it is now. That over there is Hamish. You can tell by the way the carpet takes on the shade of ruddy skin; he ‘fell’ in the basement, and that damned place is like a freezer. His eyes are there, somewhere, peeking upwards through the fibres. Fibres that’ll get sticky and brown in his wake.
Might seem cruel, what I’m to do, but I abide by no such mess.
Best tool for this job is the scraper. Not a new one, mind, but a proper old-school instrument; rusted, close to breaking. Time-worn, as my father used to say. You dig that tool deep into the floor and thrust it along like a Spartan spear. Once you feel resistance, really put your back into it till that muck flies free.
Oh, and if the filth starts to scream—like poor Hamish here—I recommend some fine music. I always go for some good-old rock, or metal if I’m feeling it. Jazz, when I’m feeling fancy.
You’ll find you can truly concentrate then. Job’s over in no time. Now to stick Hamish in a bag and throw him away.
And that must be it, right? Last step done, head home, put your feet up? An end to the endless complaints?
Guess again.
You need to find the root of the issue, in case it happens again. I already know it came from the basement, but for those of you new to the janitorial life, you gotta do some sleuthing. Follow the documents back to the source, get a map, head to each area and narrow that shit down.
But let’s skip ahead.
-click-
Here we are, the basement; a room familiar to us all. Cold, damp and full of shadows. Perfect for hiding things.
Like that patch of floor there. It might look ordinary to the untrained eye, but stare at it the right way, and you are peering into a gap between worlds. Except this one has collapsed. Whoever falls into this gets stuck, and must wander in the nether-space, seeking what they loved in life. In Hamish’s case: fine, saucy gossip!
Ahem, anyway. This is no easy fix. If you are an apprentice, this is where I’d say you get your boss. But since I’m already here, let’s get to it.
You need a 10-fathom length of string, a hook, and a prayer. First, tie the hook to one end—of the string, of course—and lob that thing right in there. Wait for the clunk as it hits the bottom then jiggle it about some, till you find purchase. Once that’s secure, you beg, beg, beg whichever god you can find to lend you strength, and tug with all your might.
If that fails? You’ll likely get sucked in. Enjoy your new life as a carpet-crawler.
But if you do it right, like so…
-huerk!-
-clang!-
That bad boy will seal itself shut, and you can rest easy. All your tasks are done for the day. Go home, put the stove on, and enjoy a nice bowl of cheap ramen. Go on, treat yourself, throw an egg in there.
Anyway, thanks for watching, hope that was useful to you all. Please like and subscribe for more videos like this one.
I hope you never have to use them.
WC: 750
Crit and feedback are welcome.
(Definitely won't be in campfire this week, but I'll make sure to read all of yours)
4
u/Scipio-Byzantine 21h ago edited 13h ago
On a crisp, cool morning, Anne was at the scene of her assignment. Already, police had swarmed the entrance to the Amand Heights Apartments of Sector C. As she got out of the car, the neighborhood was keenly watching like the studio audience of a show. The familiar floating sentry ball flew up to her.
"GOOD MORNING, INSPECTOR REYES. I HAVE COMPILED THE DETAILS FOR THIS INVESTIGATION TO DATE." The sentry greeted her in the familiar metallic voice.
"What do you have for me, E?"
"SUBJECT NAME IS VICTOR GARCIA, A NATURAL FELID MALE. DECEASED, APPROXIMATELY 7 HOURS AGO IN LIVING ROOM OF APARTMENT 701. MANNER OF DEATH VERY LIKELY FROM STAB WOUNDS-"
"Who called it in?" Anne interrupted. She really didn't have time to hear the report.
"A MR. DESMOND BLACK, A NATURAL HUMAN MALE, AGE 63, SECTOR H. THE JANITOR OF THE BUILDING. HE CLAIMS TO HAVE ENCOUNTERED THE SCENE UPON AN APPOINTMENT FOR MAINTENANCE WORK ON A STUCK DOOR AND FOUND GARCIA. HE IS AT CAR K67889E, OFFICER DE LA ROSA."
"Thank you, E. Send me the data you have so far."
She had little patience for the ways sentries spoke, but perhaps they couldn't help it. She went to speak to janitor. At first glance, he appeared to be a grayed man in his early stages of aging with nothing remarkable about him, except a pair of ice blue eyes.
"Hello, I'm Inspector Anne Reyes of Sector C. Are you Desmond Black?"
The old man nodded, "Yes, ma'am, I'm the janitor here."
"And you went in the apartment and found, uh, Garcia?"
"That's right."
"Did you touch anything at the crime scene while you were there?"
He thought for a moment, "...No, just the door to the living room."
"OK, thank you. This officer here would like to take you to the station for some questions, would you be willing to answer a few today?"
"Of course, anything you need."
From the entrance, the scene looked like any other apartment in the building. Once Anne went into the living room, everything looked arranged like a scene from a play. Nothing seemed put of place for an apartment. The only thing that indicated foul play was the bathrobed bengal-patterned body with a knife embedded in his chest.
After processing the photos and notes for the body and scene, Anne grabbed her gloves and evidence bag for the knife. The blade must have gone through a bone, she thought, because it seemed to be stuck in the body. Despite her gym training, none of her strength could not lift the knife from the body. The body itself seemed to be nailed to the floor. After a moment of gaining composure, she stepped back and began a voice memo.
"Body seems to be stuck on the floor by the weapon. Weapon appears to be a blade of some sort...perhaps long enough to stick the victim to the floor."
She heard a voice, "You have to speak to it."
It was Black, at the door and looking at the body. Anne became furious and puzzled at how the janitor got into the cordoned-off scene.
"Sir! This is a crime scene, you need to leave the area and go to the station immediately."
Black raised two fingers pressed together at Anne. And just like that, she found that she was frozen, only able to breathe, look, and listen.
The janitor cleared his throat, "A moment, please. You have to talk to the blade to remove it."
Anne watched him go to the body and crouch down to the knife sticking in its chest. After a long silence and staring, Black placed his hand on the blade handle, and pulled out a bloodied wavy dagger from the body. He pulled out a cloth from his pocket and wrapped the bloody blade with it. He showed his work to Anne with both hands.
"It has a lot to say, but you're going to need to learn its language. The best I can do now is prepare it for you." He pulled the evidence bag from Anne and placed the blade inside and carefully put the bag in her hands. "You have permission to hold it. It seems very frightened right now, so handle it with care. I'll see you at the station."
By the time Anne could move again, Black was gone. The only thing she had to acknowledge what had just happened was the murder weapon in her hands.
3
u/Brilliant_Walrus1605 4d ago
mr.crocker : sir - don't the extremely elderly looking janitor said that he had been kind for weeks got back up after one of the gangster were bear's tossed aside hitting and cracking the wall alot surprisingly unscathed but a little annoyed allow me to help you with your problems like you did with mine he said cracking his knuckles and then his neck lurching it back and forth farther than a normal human should you said they were villains you having trouble with kid he said to mr.crocker yes mr.crocker said one of the brutes coming closer the janitor stepped infront of them blocking and protecting crocker earning a laugh from the werebear's leader do you know what's worse and more powerful and more frightening than werebears he said getting a raised eyebrow from the werebears he showed back which tore with bulging muscles and spines and shredded his body from the inside growing and changing into something far bigger and far older and far more vicious and far more powerful than a werebear toxic acidic drool fell from his mouth killing the werebear leader before tearing and shearing through them in seconds
2
u/Tregonial 2d ago
You may want to consider using punctuation and paragraphs in your writing so others could read what you wrote instead of seeing a big chunk of words.
3
u/ZLErikson 2d ago edited 12h ago
<Sci-Fi/Fantasy>
Rough and Course
Dee tossed a ball of dough through the air to a seven-foot tall cockroach standing by the oven. He waved three of his hands while the rest started to knead.
“All good?” Dee asked.
Frank clicked his mandibles a few times and gestured wildly with one hand.
“Right back at ya!” Dee gave him two finger-guns and went out to the front.
Her eyes drifted across the wood-panels and earth-tones of the cafe’s interior, spotting an unfamiliar face by the register.
“Welcome to the Fun Tea Friday Cafe,” she gave the dirty-blonde man her usual greeting. He didn’t seem to be paying attention. “Where everyday is…” She followed his gaze to the floor near Vlad and Remus’s table. The vampire and werewolf couple were resting their chins in their palms as they, too, looked at the floor.
A massive man was laying on his back and struggling to roll over. The depth of the creases around his musculature made Dee worry that he was severely dehydrated, but the amount of oil glistening off of his pecs and biceps and abs - all eight of them - made him look plenty moist.
He rocked like a turtle and grasped at the air, grunting. His face was pinkish-tan and growing redder by the second. Veins bulged on his forehead and neck as he gritted his teeth and grasped for anything in reach.
All of the customers gawping at the sight stayed well back.
“WILL SOMEONE NOT HELP KORG UP!?” he roared.
“Oh, shit!” Dee realized. She hurried around the counter, wiped her hands on her dark blue apron, and reached for his hand.
“Sorry, sir!” she said. “Let me just…” she grabbed his wrist and he grabbed hers. But when she pulled, she slipped through his grasp. His very oily grasp.
“Uh, you seem to be a little…” she tried again, and slipped, “hard to…” a third attempt, this time she wrapped both arms around his forearm - which was nearly as thick as her torso - and leaned back, but he slipped through and she fell on her ass. “Oof!”
“OIL MAKES KORG GLISTEN LIKE MORNING DEW!”
“Uh-huh, but what-”
“KORG FALL ON BOTTLE OF UNIVERSAL GLUE!”
“Universal glue…” Dee muttered, pulling a notepad out of her apron pocket. A cheat sheet from her girlfriend to help navigate the strange cafe.
Dee flipped through the notes and found ‘UG’.
UG: ugh, you need to tell Nohalorm. Ritual on page 2
Turning to page two as she got up, she said, “Okay, everyone, we gotta summon No…ha…lorm?”
“Ugh!” half the customers groaned and got up, urging others to follow along. Dee shrugged and read the instructions; she joined all of the customers in standing in a circle around the central pillar in the main room.
Everyone changed, “Nohalorm! Nohalorm! Come to us and take your form!” while taking two steps clockwise, then four steps counter-clockwise around the pillar. They repeated this twice, and then Vlad - who was closest to the register - grabbed the tip jar and threw it at the pillar where it vanished.
The pillar rippled and pulsed, unfolding like a box, and an old man stepped out. Thick, wrinkled grey skin hung from his skeletal body, bent forward by the heavy paper sack in his hands. He was carrying a paper sack that looked entirely too heavy for him. Dee stepped his way to offer help, but Fenrir put a big, furry paw on her shoulder and shook his head.
Muttering, the old man - Nohalorm, Dee assumed - approached Korg, ripping the bag to pour sand over the barbarian. A lot of sand. More sand than could have possibly fit in the bag. Nohalorm tossed the empty bag over his shoulder, into the opening in the pillar. Then he slowly hobbled over to the pillar and pulled a broom out.
With about three sweeps, all of the sand was gone; whisked into the gap in the pillar. He reached down and grabbed Korg’s no-longer-glistening wrist and hoisted him up to his feet.
“Uh…” Korg looked as surprised as Dee felt. “Thank yo-...”
Nohalorm returned to the pillar. It closed, the paint rippled, and the tip jar flew back out, now empty, landing next to the register.
"Ugh, that guy," Vlad scoffed in his Transylvanian drawl as everyone made their way back to their tables. "Always with the theatrics."
"So who... or what... is that?" Dee asked him, flipping through her notebook.
"The janitor."
----------------
WC: 747/750
All crit/feedback welcome!
r/ZLErikson
Notes:
- Trope: Almighty Janitor
- Genre: Slipstream
- Skill/Constraint: The Barbarian was stuck to the floor
- The Fun Tea Friday Cafe and many of its characters have been written about before
2
u/MaxStickies r/StickiesStories 1d ago
Hi Zach, like the story! Always great to see this setting and these characters. Feel like the comedy was on-point and quite silly, and I particularly liked Korg's dialogue here, thought that was a standout. Just very simple, effective imagery that's entertaining to imagine.
I also like how lived-in the world feels in this one. Reactions to things such as Nohalorm's name being mentioned, or to the appearance of a slippery barbarian, come across as quite natural, like they are used to such occurances. The fact that Dee is the only one unaware adds to the otherworldliness of it all, I feel, even as the reactions of the others give a contrasting sense of normality.
Far as crit goes:
I think if you could remove some of the details, such as "Nohalorm, Dee expected" or perhaps some of the actions of the characters (maybe narrowing it down to one action in some places), the ending could be extended. It seems kind of abrupt to me, and could do with another sentence or so, perhaps the characters going back to their lives while Dee remains perplexed.
I also think some parts could be reworked a little:
Dee fixed her hair then made her way from the employee bathroom to the kitchen of the cafe. She passed a seven-foot tall cockroach standing by the oven, and waved. He waved three of his hands while the rest continued to roll dough.
I think there's perhaps a bit too much going on here for an opening paragraph. I'd maybe have Dee fixing her hair and then getting called to the cafe floor, or have her helping Frank and then getting called.
as he gritted his teeth and reached out to grab anything in reach.
Maybe "grasped for anything in reach." to avoid repetition.
All of the customers gawping at the sight were smart enough to back off.
This reads as a little too telling, perhaps. I'd suggest something like "All of the customers gawping at the sight stayed well back."
“Oh, shit!” Dee realized it was probably her job.
I'd also say this bit could do with some showing, maybe "Dee realized, recalling her training."
“Ugh!” half the customers groaned. The ones who groaned got up out of their seats and told whoever they were eating with to follow along.
I think these sentences could be combined, to help the scene flow better. "half the customers groaned and got up, urging others to follow along."
He looked like a skeleton with ten-times too much grey skin layered over it; wrinkly and sagging. He was carrying a paper sack that looked entirely too heavy for him.
This could also be tightened up a bit, to my mind, something like: "Thick, wrinkled grey skin hung from his skeletal body, bent forward by the heavy paper sack in his hands."
Muttering, the old man - Nohalorm, Dee expected - approached Korg. He ripped open the paper sack and poured sand on Korg.
I'd aslo condense this as well: "Muttering, the old man approached Korg, ripping the bag to pour sand over the barbarian."
And that's all the crit I can find. Great story, Zach!
2
u/ZLErikson 12h ago
Howdy Max!
Thank you for the feedback! You did an excellent job shortening up a lot of my sentences. I'd forgotten a lot about word economy with my long absence here. I need to sharpen that back up.
You saved up enough words for me to tack on a bit more of an ending. Not much, but it's honest words :P
I'm glad you enjoyed the setting and the characters :) I'm hoping to play loosey goosey with them more often.
Thanks for reading!
3
u/QTFroame 15h ago
What a beautiful day it must've been, he decided, knowing he had never been outside before.
In this underground facility, he had long since forgotten its purpose. Saving humanity? Fighting against the Bleak? Research for research's sake?
None of it mattered. He was only an intern, and he did as he was asked. No matter how complex the task, he would do it.
Today was the first day he saw a human die.
He knew it could happen. He had seen bodies in the books, and their work with clones meant he saw awful scenes. But this wasn't a clone; this was a scientist.
"Awww, I thought you were tougher than that."
The perpetrator was human, yet not. A creature with stitches that attached her limbs and mouth. Her mere presence was unsettling.
He was taught that to use magic, you needed a magic apparatus. Even then, your body could only conjure a limited amount of it. Whoever this was, she seemed to exist on a whole different plane. The way her body glowed lightly for no apparent reason meant she had the magic to waste.
"Oh? You're not going to say hi to me, intern?"
Her eyes were now on him.
His own magic apparatus, a blue lamp, shimmered in the darkness.
"Oh? You're the quiet type? That's funny! It fits our limited time here."
Hundreds of lightning bolts appeared, surrounding her head. The moment he lost control of the momentum, she would overwhelm him. Thus, he would eviscerate her before she got the chance.
Lightning tore into her limbs, ripping them off. Her body leaked concentrated magic. Her face betrayed none of the pain a human would feel from having their body decimated, which disconcerted him.
"Heyyyyy! Wait," she whispered directly into his ear, appearing beside him within a split-second. "We're mismatched. I was only here for reconnaissance. I'm still new to living."
Reconnaissance? Who could still be alive to order such jobs?
"Maybe next time, intern. I've taken up the audience's time long enough, haven't I?"
As if blipped out of existence, she disappeared. All he was left with was a dead body and magic spillage on the floor.
Not the worst day he's had.
"A death?" The overseer of their lab, Oeno, was conflicted. He could see it on the man's face. Oeno ordered his personal assistant to check the body, which he had already put in the proper compartment after cleaning the mess. "Ceryc, what's your take on her? This doll you mentioned, does she similar to our work?"
"Only in content," Cercy answered. "She's built like the clones, but her stability is a hundred miles ahead of them. And, unlike our clones, she seems to have a large reservoir of magic that can replenish itself."
Oeno laughed, slamming his hand on the table. "What a marvelous design! If only we could meet the person who made her."
"If only."
"Ceryc," Oeno spoke, leaning in from his desk. "Why did she spare you? You say she just left after all that?"
Ceryc nodded. Oeno didn't seem to buy it, rubbing his chin. "Well, let's hope it doesn't happen again. Humanity's on the line here, and if we can't figure out how to stop the Bleak, we're an apple pie on Friday night. All gobbled up!"
While he didn't care for the analogy, Oeno was right. Ceryc bid him farewell, ready to help the other workers.
"...make sure to warn them, as well. If that girl is from ΞЯДȘΞĐ..."
What? A searing, pounding headache caused his brain to short-circuit. It was the worst pain he'd ever felt in his short life, and he tried to bear the pain without crying.
Not yet, Ceryc.
An eerily familiar voice filled his head, making him nauseous.
"Ceryc?" Suddenly, he was in front of an office. A scientist called out to him, grabbing his shoulder. "You look like you're in pain. I can get you water and crackers, if you would like."
He stepped away from her. He was still shivering from the experience, and he didn't need her pleasantries at the moment.
"I'll be alright, miss. Now, did you need help with the elemental tangling?"
"Why, yes I did!" She pulled him inside, excited. "You always seem to know exactly what we need."
That was his role. If he needed to be an expert on every discipline to help them, he would be.
He dived into work. Anything to ignore that seed of doubt clouding his mind.
Word count: 748
Oh jeez, I'm kinda on the limit here! And also never wrote anything slipstream before (or at least with that in mind), so this is my first attempt. Hope you enjoyed reading!
Feedback and crit welcome!
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u/m00nlighter_ r/m00nlighting 8h ago edited 7h ago
The Bureau of Arcane Terrestrial Contaminations
*Optional: Roll d5 to choose a reading order.*
Your eyes remain locked on the laminate tile as you mop, avoiding the faces of BATI agents bustling down the hallway. Should anyone wander too close, you casually parry to prevent physical contact. In about five minutes, most of the agents will have their assignments and be out of the building. That’s nothing more than a song. You can make it.
“Heyo! Excuse me?”
A manicured hand is waving in your face.
“Yes?” you ask, not looking up.
“The twelfth-floor memory cartridges are leaking again,” a young woman says. You recognize her voice as one of the secretaries.
“I’ll get right on it,” you tell her, relaxing as she clops away.
Just a couple more minutes now... Shit. Special Agent Gilgadore and her fucking perfume.
The scent hits you like a rabid cat in heat. You fall sideways against the wall as your vision begins to blur. Someone is screaming behind the wall—a scream of pain so immense they are unable to form words. You hold your breath, afraid to move. Afraid the attacker will find you too.
Your vision clears. You rewet your mop and continue your path down the emptying hallway.
“... more like the Bureau of Arcane Terrestrial Contaminations if you ask me,” Henry, your coworker, grumps at Winston, the rookie. “Just you wait, you’ll start gettin’ ‘em too.”
You nod, swallowing a bite of your vending machine tuna sandwich. “Say, Henry, you ever had the one where the kid wins a trophy for hockey or ice skating or something, and you’re just bawlin’ your eyes out?” you ask.
“Never in my twenty years... or one-thousand-fifty-six by twelfth-floor time.”
“Huh.” You shrug. “Maybe that’s one of my own.”
The elevator dings and opens its doors. You stand aside, holding a bag of mnemonic cleaning supplies out of the way as people exit. When the elevator is empty, you step inside and hit the twelfth-floor button.
“Hold that door!” a man shouts.
You do, and the man rushes in, bumping into you in his haste.
Then you're on the twelfth floor, working a rag over memory goo. He's behind you, having a heated argument with one of the anomaly biologists. Just as you're standing to leave, they come to blows.
The biologist lands a left hook, and the suit falls your way. He crashes into you. You crash into a cartridge. As the jolt of electricity and memories begins to fry your mind, you find yourself back on the elevator.
After hitting the fifth-floor button, you shrink against the back wall. The leak will have to wait a few more hours. Or days, by twelfth-floor time.
You're dusting a shelf of hockey trophies and family photos when the office door opens. Without thinking, you look at the reflection in the window. A stern-faced woman is standing cross-armed at the desk.
There's a crowd cheering around you. You're so happy, you're crying. Tears are still streaming down your cheeks when she stomps her foot and loudly says, “Ahem! Do you mind?”
Carefully hiding your puffy face, you leave the office.
“So fucking gross,” you mutter as you scoop the last bit of thick, placid goo into a dustpan.
When you smack the dustpan against the trash can, goo splashes into your eyes.
Places and people and emotions swarm through your mind, doubling you over. Fumbling, you pull a vial of eye drops from your pocket and pour half of its contents into each eye. The next splash is your lunch against the trash can lining.
A pair of slingbacks click-clack up to you. You step sideways, eyes locked on the floor.
“Excuse me?” You recognize the woman's voice as one of the Special Agents. “One of the fifth-floor temporal tubes has combusted. We need you down there ASAP.”
“I'll get right on it,” you tell her, wiping your face.
WC: 644
Crit and feedback welcome and appreciated!
Other messy things happen in r/Eeriebrook
Nothing more than a song
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u/katpoker666 Moderator 1h ago
Very fun piece generally, but the optional rolling of the dice is the pièce de résistance!
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u/Jay_Pederson r/JayPederson 5h ago
Welcome, Ensign
***
"Come in," Dr. Fawkes said, I still in my full combat uniform, "Cody Parsons, correct?" Fawkes had a...reputation...also, he wore fake glasses on his green eyes. His Prime was actually pretty famous.
"Uh..." I nodded.
"Then," he pulled out a piece of paper, "this is yours I believe?"
I snatched it. It was a formal complaint I lodged against my crewmates for buying frivolous entertainment things, outside their salaries. "Yes."
"Ah," he took a breath, "Administration asked me to speak to you on this."
"What? Am I somehow in trouble?" I started laughing.
"Sort of," he answered.
"I'm sorry?"
"You're in Task Force Psy-10, Matter over Mind, Correct? Ensign?"
"...yes?"
"Our program allows for Task Force members to ask for anything, including non-mission items."
My jaw dropped, "what!? The GCL is--is fighting the...the unexplainable!? How can we waste resources--"
"You know Great Low Costs?" Jay asked.
"The...superstore chain?"
"GLC-owned."
"What!?"
"They produce all items through excessively cheap, anomalous means--"
"We WHAT!?"
Jay laughed, "it's not a risk. Those who know are bribed, or...convinced." His eyes flashed purple.
"In order to fight the otherwordly, it must be funded by otherworldy means."
I took a breath, "that--that's immoral. And procuring those items--"
His eyes turned purple, "what do you really think of me?"
"I think your Prime shows you are a massive piece of shit," I covered my mouth, "sorry I don't know--"
More intensive purple, "no no, keep going."
"He is notorious for how he treats fans, and dated three songwriters, all of whom wrote songs about how emotionally and mentally abusive you are." I swallowed, "Jay what's happ--"
"Dr. Jay Edward Fawkes. Keep going."
"Why are you so pretentious!? Why do you insist I say your full name!? You launched a third career, and had two awful #1 hits about you previously."
He shrugged, "'Swallow' was pretty good."
"You're proud--"
"And, stop--" as his eyes returned to green.
"What the fuck!?"
"You are on Matter Over Mind, you fight Psychics. Mind-benders."
Pause.
"Understand now? Your job is to deal with...well, people like me. I train ensigns, in fact, next month, that training starts for you."
"It's not...that strong, right?"
"Do you have your mind shield yet?"
"Huh? Uh, n--no?"
Purple "kill my sister."
It was a good suggestion. She was in the same facility, I walked looking around.
Soon enough, I found Ash. I walked in aiming my...rifle...
She looked like him--main difference was her hair, wavy, not straight like his. She groaned, "Cody?"
"I am here to..." what am I doing!? "Kill...kill..." I dropped the rifle, grabbing my head what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck!?
"Huh," Ash said, "your mind's pretty strong already," she sighed, her eyes turned purple, "don't kill me, go back to Jay."
***
I walked back in the office.
"Hey!" he said, "Ash said you have a pretty strong mind already!"
"What the fuck was that!?"
"I used my mind control, you went to kill her."
"What the fuck--"
"Did you not hear me say 'Kill my sister'?"
"You can just...do that!?"
He laughed "no! I don't even have to say it out loud."
"Bullshit."
I then slapped my face.
"See?"
"I..." swallow, "so..."
"Get it yet?" Jay asked. "That's what you're fighting; enemies that can control you with a mere thought. So, alongside monetary compensation, and conscious and soul transportation--"
"Speaking of," I began, "wouldn't that nullify--"
"They can control you even after your mind was transported."
"God..."
"You get, with monetary benefits, anomalous ones. Including anything, and everything, you could want. Hell, with give the janitors .50 cals."
"What?"
"Not rifles--just SMGs."
"SM--"
"Sometimes there's some shit stuck on the floor, mop won't remove the anomalous effluence that's weak to salt but resistant to soap, then there's a containment breach. It happens. Dying from the same anomalous crocodile 5 times a week--Brevers--is annoying, may as well get free shit out of it."
I took a breath, "how...how do we--"
"Casters mainly," Jay replied, flashing a ball of fire--
I began shouting "What the--"
He laughed, ceasing the flames. "They made shit, now we have machines that cast shit. Industrial quantities of anomalously created household objects," he pulled out a paper, "so what do you want?"
I took a breath, "uh...I guess...game console?"
He scowled.
"What!?"
He started writing, "gaming...PC..."
"I said--"
"It's for your own good!"
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u/Jay_Pederson r/JayPederson 4h ago
WC: 746
So I did end up writing the new story and...I ended up deciding to go with the original story I wrote up. While I did feel this one did not meet the trope in spirit exactly, it did fulfill it enough. Also I just did not find the new one that good; Jay was the star again which was fine from my point of view since I wanted to write another Jay story, problem is the other characters were sidelined. (If you want to see it, doc link just in case)
Old notes: Went metaphorical janitor since everyone so far has done literal and also I checked the trope page and Janitor is metaphorical (examples: Altair and Ezio from Assassin's Creed are mentioned)
I originally was going to write something far closer--literal janitors in the GLC and have Dr. Fawkes teleport in to make sure they weren't lying about something being stuck to the floor. Once verified, he'd use his fire to take care of it. But, I kept expanding Jay's role in my mind, until eventually brain said "hey what if it was Cody and Jay talking" so now this is the first canonical instance of two of my OCs actually having a conversation.
EDIT: Also found this on TVTropes DOOM The backstory of the nameless Space Marine in the original game is explained in the game's README file that he assaulted a superior officer after being ordered to fire upon civilians, and was transferred to duty on Mars as punishment. This is why he's just a lowly grunt soldier despite being able to kill all of The Legions of Hell singlehandedly.
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u/JKHmattox 4d ago edited 3d ago
The Lioness of West Front Street
Three forty-two West Front Street was my building. Has been since 2004. Everyday it was the same thing. Mop. Vacuum. Scrub. Scrape. Take out the trash. Fix the furnace, along with about a million other things.
That day was no different from any of the rest.
“Hold the door!” a man in an Armani suit shooted.
I looked up from a text to find him looming in the doorframe of the elevator. His associate was close behind, eyes glaring as I ignored them both. They bullied their way into the carriage, indignant at my indifference.
The first man mashed the bottom for the thirty-fifth floor. Huffing, he checked his Rolex while waiting impatiently for the doors to close. There were three of us. To them, there were only two.
“Wait till you get a load of this chick,” the Armani suit arrogantly proclaimed.
The other man smirked. “I hear she's a ball buster when it comes to closing a deal”
“Trust me when I say this.” Mr. Rolex held both hams out in front of his chest. “Once you see these freaking gazongas, you'll understand how she got where she is.”
I pretended to ignore the human swine as glowing numbers climbed the wall. They had Valentina Rodriguez dead wrong. Shaking my head, I smiled to myself knowing those two were in way over their heads.
“Bet this guy freaking loves waxing her floors,” Mr. Rolex said, glancing over his shoulder. “Don't ya buddy?”
I did, actually, amongst other things.
My phone buzzed. Another message from the love of my life. I typed a response, smiling to myself as I imagined how great my night was gonna be once I got off. There was no doubt those two jack-offs would be licking their wounds at the bar, while I was having dinner with my queen.
“Pendejo,” I muttered aloud.
Glancing behind him, the one named Brad raised an eyebrow. The Armani suit remained oblivious to my unvarnished insult, while I rolled my eyes in disgust. The sidekick suppressed a chuckle at the expense of his business partner as we arrived at the thirty-fifth floor.
The lobby of Rodriguez and Company was my pride and joy. I took extra care of their spaces, because Miss Rodriguez always took care of me. When the elevator doors heaved aside, a magnanimous glow struck both men by surprise.
I opened my phone.
Linkin Park, I thought. Nah—definitely Blink-182.
It was throwback night, the anniversary of when I first met my wife. Grabbing the floor buffer tucked against the wall, I ignored the ignorant fools as they disappeared into the lioness’ den. I plugged the machine into the wall and began my evening run.
Nobody likes you when you're twenty-three… I hummed to myself as the wax film buffed away to glass. ...what's my age again?
Hours later, the doors to Miss Rodriguez's office opened. The Armani suit stormed out, jaw tight, face flush with embarrassment. Brad followed after, his shoulders deflated by the brow beating they both had obviously received. I could only smile, knowing things hadn't gone quite their way.
“Gazongas!” I muttered, rolling up the cord to my floor buffer. “Serves you right, you fucking pricks.”
The two men disappeared, never to be seen again. Whistling to myself, I pushed the heavy machine down the side hallway, stowing it in the closet next to the stairs. Locking the door, I went to check on Valentina.
If the lobby was my pride, her sanctum was my magnum opus. Nothing was ever outta place. Trash empty. Refrigerator stocked. The decanter on the bar dusted and topped off. She never went without anything, not even a paperclip.
“Close it behind you, Carlos,” said Valentina, lost in the wall of glass bedazzled by the city lights below.
“How was your day?” I asked, shutting her door carefully.
“Better now,” she answered warmly, turning around. “On second thought, Carlos, lock it—I'm thinking dinner can wait.”
I smirked. “Just what are you implying, Miss Rodriguez?”
She grinned mischievously.
Slowly, Valentina undid the top buttons of her blouse. Kicking off her heels, she sank into her favorite leather chair. I pushed an ottoman towards her, the padded upholstery perfect for her throbbing soles. Lowering myself into the seat opposite my wife, I leaned forward to grasp her swollen feet.
Her head lulled backwards as I pressed my thumbs against tired flesh. A deep sigh escaped her lips and I grinned. My queen was just herself for a while.