The Create-A-Post Thread

Discussion in 'Approval & General RPG Discussion' started by Electro UK, Jan 9, 2009.

  1. Byrd Man El Hombre Pájaro

    May 25, 2006
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    This is actually a short story I wrote and will actually be published next month in Cynic Online Magazine...before you complain, the title is misspelled for a reason!
    The Hypocritic Oath

    This hay fever is a real son of a *****,
    was all Robert could think about as he sat behind his desk.

    It was always like this when the season changed. His nose would start runny, his eyes began to water, and his head started to ache like someone was pounding on it with a jackhammer. Doctor Malloy always gave him some allergy pills to help him through. But Doctor Malloy was gone.

    The hospital's authority board kicked him to the curb a few months back. The complete details of his firing were still a bit sketchy and unknown. Rumor was he had been dishing out pills left and right to anyone who asked for the stuff, something Robert never asked about and hoped wasn't true. Another rumor was that the good doctor had just run afoul of the board and refused to kiss ass.

    "Mr. Adams," the intercom buzzed. Tricia, the secretary at the front office was calling.

    "Yes, Tricia?"

    "The Collinses are here for their parent-teacher conference."

    Robert rolled his water-filled eyes. Joey Collins was certainly a hell-raiser. In his twelve years as principal of Worthington Academy, Robert had never seen a force of nature like Joey. The little bastard was responsible for roughly five hundred dollars worth of damage this time. No matter how bad Robert wanted to break the news to Joey's parents that their sweet angel was getting thrown out of Worthington, he just didn't feel up to it.

    "Tricia, see if you can get in touch with Assistant Principal Caldwell. Ask him to meet with the Collins family," Robert instructed. "I'm feeling a bit under the weather. I think I'll leave for the day."

    "I'll do that," she chirped back. "Do try to get better, sir."
    Grabbing a tissue, Robert stuck it up to his nose and gave a shrill blast as the snot flowed into the tissue.

    I guess I can swing by the medical center was what he thought after the snot rag was out of his hands and in the trashcan.

    It was five past ten in the morning, and he didn't have to pick up his daughter until later that afternoon.

    He sat up, grabbed his leathery briefcase, and headed out the door of his office. Robert pulled out a tissue and dappled his runny nose as he headed outside the administration building into the cloudy mid-morning day; this hay fever is a real son of a *****.

    Three hours later and Robert was still at the same spot he had been at since arriving at the medical center: the waiting room. He kept to himself as he sat in the cheap chair and looked around at the others waiting their turn. A heavy man decked out in a work shirt and jeans sat in a chair with his right arm in a sling. He was tilting his head up, watching the soap opera that was being acted out on the small TV bolted to the waiting room wall. A toddler in a red jumper lay in the floor coloring. His chubby mother with peroxide blonde hair thumbed through a magazine with movie stars on the cover.

    For the past three hours, it was just Robert and the three others in the waiting room. Three hours and not a sign of the nurses or doctors. He continued to sit in the small room, his eyes glancing towards a heavy wooden door. That was the door the nurse was supposed to come out and call patients back, but apparently they did things different here. The door's wooden paneling glistened in the waiting room light as Robert stared at it intently. Naturally, the door was locked and the only way to open it was from the other side.

    Robert shook his head and turned to look at the soap on the TV, his frustration growing.

    Finally, his salvation came.

    "Robert Adams," the nurse said as she opened up the heavy door. She was clothed in bright pink scrubs, sneakers, and her bony face gave a look of sheer boredom.

    "That's me," he said as he shoved a tissue up to his face and blew his runny nose. The worker with his arm in a sling eyed Robert enviously when he passed by/.

    "Come on back," the nurse said with a smile that was not really believable.

    He followed her through the doorway and gave a little start as the door slammed shut with a loud thud.

    "Now, sir. You do have insurance?" The Bony Nurse asked as they walked him down the office's halls.

    "Umm, yes. My, uh, the school system I work for has a co-pay."25

    "Ahh, you're a teacher?" She asked, her voiced peaked with fake interest.

    "Principal. I work at Worthington Academy."

    "Okay....and you have insurance?"

    "Yes," Robert said with slight frustration.

    "Good. We always have to make sure before we see anyone. Indigent care has really hurt the hospital."

    Robert followed her down the hallway, past empty examination rooms. Working up the nerve, he finally cleared his throat.

    "Umm...if you don't mind me asking.... What exactly took so long in the waiting room? It doesn't seem you're too busy today."

    "Oh, that," the nurse said in her fake chipper personality, "we were gone to lunch."

    Robert raised his eyebrow slightly, "Lunch?"

    "Yes, sir. We usually leave at eleven and come back at one."

    He bite the inside of his mouth to keep from screaming what he was thinking.

    Two hour lunch break? You *****es leave for two hours to take lunch and don't even think of telling the sick people in the waiting room where you are?

    "Oh," he mumbled weakly as the bite mark in his mouth started to ebb a little blood.

    Still flashing her fake smile, the nurse showed Robert into an examination room.

    "Have a seat and Doctor Peters will be with you."

    She turned to leave as he sat down on the table. He was still
    thinking about the long wait and the two-hour lunch break when she shut the door. He had heard on the radio that the hospital was millions of dollars in debt. With the way they treated patients, it sure as **** served them right. Here he was, with insurance and even money, and they took their sweet time. Jesus, no wonder the president wanted to reform healthcare, it needed something. Robert was really missing Doctor Malloy.

    Robert glanced around the room at the sterilized white walls and floors; bland paintings of boats and trees were decorated on the walls in an effort to give patients comforting thoughts. The room's counter was stocked with cotton balls and tongue depressors. Robert looked at his watch as he sat on the table. Five minutes went by, the ten, twenty, finally, after a half-hour, the door opened up.

    Doctor Raymond Peters was the head of medicine for the hospital. In his early 60's, his silvery head of hair along with his chiseled features and tanned skin made him look like an old movie star, Robert thought, somewhere along the lines of Paul Newman or Burt Lancaster.

    Right now, he stood in front of Robert Adams inside one of the medical center's examination room, his white lab coat draped over a lime green polo shirt and black slacks.

    "Hello, Mister Adams. How are we feeling today?" Peters asked Roberts, his pale blue eyes gazing at Robert over a set of wire framed reading glasses.

    "Hay fever is really doing a number on me, Doctor," Robert said as he sneezed into his hand. His nose was running like a leaky faucet and his head felt like he had a vice clamped between his temples.

    With a chuckle, Peter said, "Well, I'm certain I can help you out with that."

    Robert flashed a slight smile at the aging doctor. He reminded him of his grandfather, and the doctor's delicate matter put him at ease. The two men sat in silence as Peters reviewed Robert's chart and finally looked up. He removed his glasses and smiled at Robert.

    "Now, Mr. Adams, can you stand up for me, drop your pants and underwear. I'll need you to bend over on the counter?"


    "Don't be alarmed. I'm just going to do a prostate exam. Standard routine for a man your age."

    "What does this have to do with my hay fever? Can't I just get my allergy pills and go home?"

    "You know, Mister Adams. You ask about those pills," Peter said. His cheerful demeanor all but vanishing. "Are you certain that Doctor Malloy was just giving you allergy pills?"

    "What? Yes!" Robert blurted out.

    "Okay. I only ask because you fit the model of drug seeking behavior. Now, allow me to examine your prostate and then we can get on with it," with the last sentence, the doctor's reassuring smile had disappeared.

    Robert's shoulders slumped in defeat. He gingerly stood up and pulled his khaki pants and boxers down around his ankles. Robert leaned forward onto the counter with the cotton balls and tongue depressors, glancing behind him. Doctor Peters' smile was back on his face as he slipped a latex glove on. The sound of the glove popping over the doctor's hand made Robert jump.

    "A bit gun shy, are we?" Peters asked.

    "Just...just a bit. I've never really done this."

    Robert had always heard some horror stories about prostate exams, about how guys who had them done couldn't **** right for a few days. He hoped they were exaggerating. Robert watched the doctor as he went behind him. He heard the sound of something being squirted out of a bottle followed quickly by the smell of mint.

    "That's just some lube," the doctor said soothingly, "we don't want to tear your sphincter out."

    Robert's mind was racing, he took a deep breath and thought of a song to sing in his head, that always put him at ease.

    It's more than a feeling...

    "Okay, on the count of three."

    When I hear that old song they used to play...

    More than a feeling...

    I begin dreaming...

    More than a feel-HOLY **** ON A SHINGLE!

    Robert closed his eyes and gritted as what felt like a lead pipe was prodding into his anus.

    "Jesus, doc. I thought you said you used lube."

    "I did, Mr. Adams," Peters said as he navigated through Robert's insides like a drunk trying to navigate a 747 through a snowstorm. Robert felt a burning sensation in what he was sure was his colon. As the pain went farther and farther north, Robert closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. The chances of him leaving his family for a man after this had become almost non-existent.

    "Hmm...I think I feel something," the doctor muttered.
    That would be my Adam's Apple, *******!

    Robert winced in pain when the foreign object now jabbed up and down inside him. Doctor Peters was poking something.

    Suddenly, a deep throbbing somewhere in the vicinity of his large intestine replaced the flaming pain. Robert turned to see Dr. Peters removing his glove. He tossed it into the trashcan and Robert saw smudges of brown and red on the glove as it went into the trash.

    "I'm concerned, Mr. Adams." Peters said, a serious look on his face. "Your anus is now bleeding."
    I wonder why that is?

    "What do you thinks causing that," Robert grunted a bit sarcastically as he pulled his underwear up.

    "Oh, it it could be any number of things," the doctor said as he put his glasses back on his face.

    "Yeah...but...umm.... what about those allergy pills?"

    Peters looked at him as if he had just called his mother a dirty name. Suddenly, he nodded.

    "Yes, that's right. Almost slipped my mind."

    Robert silently prayed. If he could get those allergy pills it would all be over, he could go home with his sore ass and not have to come back to this hellhole until he was in the emergency room. No more flaky receptionists, or stuck up nurses, and no more sadistic movie star doctors.

    "I think I'm going to hold off on those allergy pills for now," the doctor said as he turned back to the chart. Robert's heart sunk inside his chest. He watched he doctor scribble down notes in the chart's margins.

    "Based on the results of today's exam, I'm really worried about your prostate. I'd like for you to come back tomorrow, we can give you an MRI and survey the damage fully."


    "Mr. Adams, I'm a doctor. Trust me," he said as he flashed the smile that Robert was coming to loathe.

    Robert shrugged his shoulders and his head sunk. "Okay, when's the earliest you can pencil me in?"

    "You can come in at ten, but first I want you to see the nurse so she can give you some antibiotics."

    The doctor left the examination room as Robert pulled his pants back on. He was wondering if the doctor had ripped his anus when he was finally out of the examination room. Peters nodded at Robert and pointed down the hallway.

    The doctor led the way, with Robert waddling behind, walking like a cowboy in a cheap western. Robert followed Peters to the nurses' station. Waiting for them was Bony Nurse.

    "Delores, be a doll and fix Mr. Adams here up with some antibiotics," Peters said as he slipped his reading glasses into his lab coat pocket.

    "Sure thing, doctor." This time, the nurse's smile actually seemed genuine.

    "Oh," the doctor said, turning to Robert. "You have insurance?"

    "He does," the nurse answered for Robert. "He's some sort of teacher or something."

    "I'm the principal over at Worthington Academy. In my time at the school, we've been recognized as a National School of Excellence over a dozen times," Robert said proudly.

    "Whatever," Bony Nurse replied, "but his insurance has full co-pay including dental and even cosmetic surgery."

    "Amazing," Doctor Peters said with a small glint in his eye. "Your insurance pays for all that? Simply amazing. Well, I'll leave you in Delores' capable hands, it's almost tee time!" With that, the doctor bounded off down the hall.

    Robert looked over at the Bony Nurse, now christened Delores by Doctor Peters. He had a slight panic attack as she popped on latex gloves and pulled a six-inch needle out of the cabinet of medical supplies.

    "Now, Mr. Adams," the fake smile was back. "Please drop your pants again. I'll just inject the antibiotic into your left buttocks cheek and you can go."

    It was then that Robert noticed the six-inch needle had a half-inch hole in it. He whined weakly and undid his belt buckle.

    This hay fever is a real son of a *****.

    The next day, dressed in a fashionable hospital gown with his ass showing, Robert Adams limped down the hallways of the hospital, the effects of yesterday's sodomy still taking their toll on him.

    The nurse showed him to the MRI room. Four plain, white walls that were decorated with the same bland pictures that hung in the medical center's examination room greeted him. The MRI machine was a heavy tube object sitting horizontally on the floor, its cream colored paint shined in the room's florescent lights. Robert eyed the gurney that was sticking out of the tube and noticed the track that lead into the machine. All he had to do was get on the gurney and the machine did the rest.

    "Mr. Adams," a heavyset man in scrubs said entering the room, "my name is Lance and I'm the MRI tech. I'll be taking care of you today."

    Robert surveyed the man, eyeing his shaggy black hair and stubble-filled face. Robert guessed the man couldn't be much older than twenty, the earring that hung from his left ear all but confirmed he was still a kid. Curiously enough, he had tattoos on his arms. Several looked dull and favored tattoos made in prison.

    "Okay," Robert said timidly when Lance flashed a smile that seemed to be a bit too phony.

    "You do have insurance, right?" Lance asked cautiously. The MRI tech turned to a large duffel bag that rested on the counter next to the scanning machine's equipment.

    "Yes..., mm-my insurance has co-pay for almost anything."

    "Good, very good. Now, if you'll just step into the machine, we'll begin."

    Robert turned his back to walk towards the MRI machine when he felt it: cold metal touching his neck. A blow to the top of his spine sent him flying forward. He collapsed into a heap on the hospital floor. His eyes remained focused long enough to see Lance standing over him with a tire iron.

    After that, darkness.

    When Robert Adams opened his eyes he expected to feel horrible, searing pain. Only, he didn't feel pain. Only a numb sensation that coursed through his whole body was there to greet him. His eyes were locked upwards, looking at the hospital room's ceiling. He assumed he was laying in a hospital bed, but he couldn't feel the sheets of the bed, or even the fluffy pillow that was rested beneath his head. He tried to sit up, but his body wouldn't comply with his commands.

    "You're awake? Good," a voice called out from in the room. The face of Doctor Peters came into view.

    "Lance is a spirited boy, although a bit rough. We've tired to get him to use something more precise, say along the lines of a hammer or mallet. But the boy has an affection for the tire iron. Did you know that's the same weapon he murdered his parents with? The last few times Lance went with that particular weapon, the results were messy. I'm glad he got it right."

    Robert did his best to yell at the man, leap up and strangle him with every ounce of his strength. Only, he couldn't.

    "You see, the base of the neck, where Lance hit you, is the connector to the rest of your body's nerves. Think of it as the junction point of the nervous system's superhighway. A crippling blow to that bundle of nerves can kill or paralyze a man for the rest of his life. You're very lucky he didn't drop the tire iron an eighth of an inch or you'd be in the morgue."

    Robert couldn't believe what he was hearing. A deranged hospital employee had attacked him and crippled him, and Dr. Peters knew about it! What happened to the Hippocratic Oath?!

    "Yes, I know it may be a violation of that oath we doctors take," Peters said almost on cue. "But sometimes you have to do things to survive," the doctor said with the smile that, at this moment, Robert wanted to wipe off his face.

    "The hospital has been losing money steadily. They predict that by next May we'll be bankrupt. So, the Hospital Authority Board did what they thought was best. Patients who, like you, are middle-aged with mild health problems and insurance would be picked out. We would then horribly cripple them in order to assure the hospital could have steady revenue for some time to come."

    Robert's eyes now held a look of fierce determination as he stared up at the doctor.

    "Don't be so shocked, Mr. Adams. Firemen start fires, policemen are crooks. So what, if I may ask, is so wrong about doctors creating injuries? We'll tell your wife and children you had a stroke and that caused your total paralysis. They'll believe me because, well, because I'm a doctor. After a few weeks, you'll be transferred to our long-term care facility where you will live out the rest of your days watching soap operas and eating apple sauce out of a tube."

    Robert was furious. Now, more than ever, he wished that Doctor Malloy hadn't been fired.

    "You know it was Doctor Malloy's original idea," Peters said. "The reason he left was to open a private practice to where he could ‘help' other patients," the elderly doctor said with a wicked smile.

    The doctor now left Robert's sight as he walked out of the room. "I'm about to call your family in Mr. Adams. Please do try and look sad for them."

    Robert Adams closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He could hear the doctor walking down the hospital's hallways. Robert opened his eyes and glanced down at his face. He saw that his nose was running uncontrollably.

    "Yep, this hay fever is a real son of a *****."
  2. Batman Dramatic Example

    Oct 1, 2003
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    No, damn you!

    Now someone can steal it and make off with the profits you'll never gain!
  3. Byrd Man El Hombre Pájaro

    May 25, 2006
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  4. wiegeabo Omniposcient

    Jul 13, 2002
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    And, of course, you don't delete the post, even though you have the power to do so, thereby preventing Byrd from making any money off his work.
  5. Harlekin Business

    Aug 7, 2003
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    Gotham City.

    It was just past nine in the evening, in the first few days of spring. “Zip up your jacket,” a mother was saying to her young son, but the child didn’t listen. He was laughing and jumping and thrusting an imaginary blade at evildoers in the shadows. His father and mother were walking closely together, imbuing each other with warmth. Smiling faintly, the woman placed her head on her husband’s shoulder as they watched their son.

    “Are you sure this is a shortcut, Thomas?” she asked, gripping her husband’s hands tightly. They were walking into a tight alley, illuminated only by the lights coming from people’s apartments. The husband pulled his wife a little closer as reassurance. As they passed a bar, his eyes met a man standing outside, enjoying a smoke. Joan Jett was singing “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll” into the night.

    “Wasn’t it the greatest, mom? I think it was the greatest!” the son was now running around his parents, still mad with excitement. He jumped from puddle to puddle laughing and his mother and father couldn’t help but laughing along with him.

    That’s probably why they didn’t hear the man at the bar stomping his cigarette into the ground. The mother’s heels clicked against the ground, the sound echoed through the alley. The man’s shoes were flat and slick and so they didn’t notice he had come near them until he was practically breathing in their neck.

    “Give me your money.”

    The family stopped in their tracks, turning to face the man. The wife started breathing heavily and quickly, her hands instinctively reaching for her son and pulling him close. Her husband’s eyes once again met with those of his would-be robber. In the corner of them, he could see the barrel of the gun, the weapon being held close to the man’s hip. The husband started to reach for his wallet.

    “And the pearls, I want the pearls,” the robber pointed to the pearls the woman was wearing with his free hand. She started to cry as she started to lift the necklace over her head.
    “Hold it,” her husband said. “That was a gift from my mother.”
    “It’s worth something isn’t it?” the criminal snarled.
    “You can have the money.” The husband held out his wallet.
    “I don’t want your stinkin’ money!” The robber lunged forward to grab at the pearls. The other man charged forward.


    In a split second it happened. The husband sunk to his knees, gripping his stomach. The woman screamed. The boy stood still, frozen. A bright light engulfed them all before dissipating as quickly as it had appeared.


    The woman fell as well. Father and mother framed the young boy, who dropped to his knees as well. He looked up at the man who had shot his parents. His trenchcoat was open, revealing a black shirt and pants, covered in a strange green pattern. The man’s eyes met the child’s before they continued further down to the two bodies.

    “Oh, this isn’t good,” Walker Gabriel said.
  6. Batman Dramatic Example

    Oct 1, 2003
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    Heh. Coolness. :up:
  7. Saved SynTheMerc

    Jul 24, 2006
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    Inspired yet again by a chat with Master Bruce Batman...​
    From the minds that brought you "Everybody hates Arthur"...​


    Deep in the heart of New York, the Earth's mightest heroes conveign in Avengers Tower for their monthly meeting...

    Steve Rogers, America's Sentinel of Liberty, enters the conference room swiftly; wasting no time as he takes his place at the head of the table. He inhales deeply as he stares out at the heroes congregated before him.

    "Avengers," he begins, his voice strong and stern. "We have a situation. The Hulk is loose again, and he's wreaking untold havok where ever he goes. We've got to stop him immediately!"
    "Haha, yeah, you said it, Cap!" Iron Man says, his speech slurred as he wobbles back and forth in his chair.
    "Yes I - wait, what the- ... Tony, are you drunk?"
    "Haha, maaaaaaybbbeeee...."
    "I thought you were sober?"
    "I was ... for, like, five minutes!" As Tony turns to Quicksilver sitting at his right, he clumsily raises his hand. "High five!" He grins. Suddenly, a fierce beam of energy fires from the repulsor at the core of his palm. With astounding reflexes, Quicksilver ducks to miss the energy blast, allowing the beam to blow a hole in the metal wall behind him. "Whoops, my bad, man."

    "Tony, what the heck is your problem!?" Steve asks with a scowl.
    "This," Tony begins, pointing to the glass held firmly in his hand. "It's empty. Psshhhhahahahaa." As Tony slips into drunken laughter, Steve stares at his fellow Avenger with a look of disappointment.
    "Hey," Hawkeye says, leaning forward. "At least he's a straight shooter."
    "Clint...just shut up."

    "Look, I don't know why everyone's so surprised Tony's wasted," Hank Pym interjects. "He's a selfish glory hog, of course he comes to one of these meetings smashed."
    "Hey, Hank - don't you have a wife to go beat?"
    "WHY YOU!" Hank growls in a rage.
    "You kinda look like the Hulk when you're mad. Except, you know, uglier."
    "You're lucky you're not a woman, otherwise I'd-"

    "ENOUGH!" Steve shouts, calling the group to order. "Everyone, shut up. We've got a major situation right now! Enough of this senseless arguing, the Hulk must be stopped immediat-" Captain America suddenly stops midsentence as something from across the room catches his eye. "Scarlet Witch, stop fondling the computer screen!"
    "But he's so handsome."
    "Oh, what the ****, Wanda?!" Pietro exclaims.
    "Take. Your. Seat." Captain America commands. Reluctantly, Wanda makes her way toward the table, sitting down in her designated place.

    "Okay, now - The Hulk is strong, but not very smart. If we go at this from a tactical position, we should be able to gain the upperhand."
    "Aye," Thor agrees. "The beast of fury possess the fiercesome pow'r of Hella's darkest minions, but his mind ist n'er so mighty."
    "...riiight. Tony, sober up and take to the skies. You and Thor will be in charge of the aerial assualt."
    "Can my friend Jack Daniels join us?"

    "Pietro, you and I will engage the Hulk on the ground - keeping him distracted so that Hawkeye can get a clear shot to deliver the antidote Hank synthesized."
    "Yeah, Tony. Who made the cure all miracle medicine to save the day? Was it you? Ah - Ah - Ah - NO, it was me."
    "Good for you - now you can go brag to your ant-friends."

    "Logan," Steve says, cutting off Hank before he can retaliate. "Wait, where's Wolverine?"
    "Back here," he calls from the back of the room. Wolverine stands next to the water cooler, casually taking a sip from his brown, metal flask.
    "Logan, we'll need you to help distract the Hulk. You're healing factor allows you to engage the Hulk in closer quarters without longterm injury. Can you do that for us?" Wolverine pauses as he takes another swig from his flask, allowing an awkward silence to fill the room. As he swallows the hard liquor, he rudely wipes his mouth on his sleeve.
    "... Nope," he finally replies.
    "Why...why not?"
    "Booked. I've got to meet Cable in about five minutes to help him save the future from being altered again. Then, Scott needs me to meet up with the X-Men and take down a revived Brotherhood of Evil. Then, I've got some tentative plans with Spider-Man to help him ... you know, I don't remember why."
    "I thought you were a loner!" Cap shouts in confused frustration.
    "HEY, bub, I am. I am. I - Huh," he says as he reaches to the pager clipped on his belt. "Crap, Kitty just texted me..."

    "Oh man," Cap sighs as he rests his face in the palm of his hand. "Alright, Hank - suit up. You'll have to take Logan's place."
    "Alright - hero time."
    "Yeah, who're you gonna be today, Hank? Yellow Hack-et? Ant-freak? Wife-beater man?"
    "Really, Tony? Why don't you go make a suit for your sobriety? You make one for everything else..."
    "Seriously, do you have any friends who don't have six legs?" Tony asks, leaning back in his chair with a grin. "Like, if I call an exterminator, what would you do? Have a nervous breakdown?"
    "OOooh!" Hawkeye says obnoxiously. "That was dark, Tony. You sent a...quiver down my spine!"
    "Clint," Cap says, his head still buried in his hands in hopeless frustration. "'re fired."

    #132 Saved, Jun 9, 2010
    Last edited: Jun 9, 2010
  8. Andy C. Repent, Harlequin!

    Mar 1, 2006
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    You have GOT to have those Avengers do a crossover with the Everybody Hates Arthur JLA.
  9. TrueMastermind The Next Reggie Miller

    Oct 3, 2009
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    This place is beautiful. Armadillo, USA. Much more scenic than the artificial cities of the east. One can watch the nature of the Wild West for hours without achieving boredom. Tumbleweed rolling throughout the rocky, desert plains. Wildlife scurrying around all over the land, living in an enviroment that doesn't have to suffer from man's unstoppable greed. Towering mountains stretching out for miles while scratching the blue, clear skies. I love it.

    It's not just the scenery. Back in New York, people labeled me as an attention-seeking freak; branding me as some outlaw vigilante. But here, they appreciate my help. They embrace it, they love it. It almost wants to make me live here forever.

    But I can't. It just isn't home. I need the paved streets. I need the selfish citizens. And I need Aunt May.

    Ahh, a scream. That's my signal; better put these thoughts of leaving in the back of my mind for now. Right now, these people need me. They need the Amazing Spider-Man.

    This is the first of my writings of people who I would desire to play but either it takes place in an alternate universe or I'm not sure I can play them. For this one, I have placed Spider-Man in the world of Red Dead Redemption; specifically in the town of Armadillo. Hope you enjoyed it.​

  10. TrueMastermind The Next Reggie Miller

    Oct 3, 2009
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    And here's the design for Old West Spidey; taken off the Fan Art boards.
  11. Andy C. Repent, Harlequin!

    Mar 1, 2006
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    I see someone else has an affinity for the Spider-Man Noir look :oldrazz:
  12. Eddie Brock Golden Domer

    Jul 24, 2006
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    I recently picked up all the Spider-Man Noir issues, and it's pretty sweet so far. I would love to see an ongoing Batman Noir series, though.
  13. Saved SynTheMerc

    Jul 24, 2006
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    Try every issue of Batman after 1986 :o
  14. TrueMastermind The Next Reggie Miller

    Oct 3, 2009
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    Sprang River was not a safe place to be right now. Shoot, Gotham wasn't, and never has been, a safe place to be. Batman just stopped a takeover of Arkham Asylum, a crazy joint, by the maniac Joker. People were saying that many of Gotham's insane have escaped their island prison. Some said bombs were planted all over the city by the ruthless clown. Who knows what lurked in the murky water of Sprang River on this dark, misty night?

    Tik Tok.

    Despite the danger that surrounded them, three men stood on the edge of the barrier between the looney's bin and Gotham. Fishing was their passion and they wouldn't let some crackheads scare them away. But they should of. They should of got scared when they hadn't caught anything for about an hour. They should of got scared when bizzare growls tickled their ears. They should of got scared when unsually large ripples started to outbreak throughout the polluted river.

    Tik Tok.

    It was an urban myth that a human was born looking similar to a crocodile. Rumor had it that, as he aged, he mutated even further until he became a scaly montrosity, terroizing the city's waters. They even said the Batman fought against him every once in a while. Yeah right, the fishermen thought. Like that could happen.

    Tik Tok.

    One fisherman swore he saw eyes looking up at the trio from the water, yellow and glowing like those of a evil demon. Another one swore that he saw a shadow dash through the water, before disappearing back into the abyss. The last swore he saw some mysterious bubbling, as if something was indeed under the filth-filled river. They all smelled the stench of dead fish.

    Tik Tok.

    The water violently erupts, a hideous, bloodthirsty creature ripping into the open air, with the scales of a killer croc. His eyes glow a stunning yellow while he flashes his razor sharp teeth, the kind that kills. Before they could even blink, the fishermen were no more than mutilated corpses, torn apart by a monster of a myth.

    "Tik Tok. Here comes the Croc."
  15. Hound55 Byfar The Most Evil Thing

    May 25, 2009
    Likes Received:
    I think I've got an idea for a pre-John's-retcon post on Hal Jordan Parallax.

    So why am I mentioning it here..? Because hopefully, now its said I'll have to follow through and actually do it.
  16. Andy C. Repent, Harlequin!

    Mar 1, 2006
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    Here's another one from the far-flung future of All-Star Marvel that I will most likely never actually get to do. Not because I don't think the game will last that long, but because it's almost guaranteed that someone else is going to pick up the character and do something different. So with that in mind, here's a little something I call:

    The Lost and the Found

    Can you hear me?

    I......I can't see.....I can't feel.....

    I can feel you.........

    What?! Whaddya mean,--.....who are you?!

    Someone like you. I am lost. And I am lost because of him.

    .....who? Who is 'him'?

    You know exactly who he is. The one who put you where you are, who left you like this. Broken and alone. Alone and unloved. Just like me. All because of him.

    .....Oh. HIM.

    So you remember? All of those years he humiliated you?

    All those years he made me look stupid. All those years he played with the heart of the one I loved. All those years he got in my way.

    Yes, I saw her too, in his mind. And now I see her in yours. The golden-haired angel, the one who haunted your dreams long before such thoughts ever crossed his mind.

    I wanted her first. She should have been mine.

    And she was yours, too, wasn't she? For a while. But even when she was yours as was your right, he worked his way in between you and her. Went behind your back. Got into her head. Stole her heart right out from under you. Drove you to do what you tried to do....

    I.....I didn't mean it. I just lost control of myself. I was just so frustrated

    By the fact that she could never see past him to see you....

    .....yes. If Spider-Man hadn't been there to stop me....

    Ah, Spider-Man. I have so much to tell you about that. But we'll save that for later. The one who hurt us ruined you, took her away, took away your friends, your future, didn't he?

    No one would ever talk to me again after that. They all thought I was a monster.

    I can relate.

    And what's worse....I never got to redeem myself. To show that I had changed, that I could be as good to her as she deserved, that I was better than him!

    And your golden-haired angel?

    [COLOR=Indigo][COLOR=Black][FONT=Times New Roman]She....died. She was murdered. And she went to her grave hating me. Hating [I]me[/I] and loving [I]him.[/I]

    [COLOR=Indigo]All that pain.....I thought he knew the same pain, too. I came to him then, in his darkest hour, to try and ease his pain. To give him the strength to survive. Instead, he [I]used[/I] me. He used me to hurt you and then threw me away.


    [FONT=Palatino Linotype][SIZE=2][COLOR=Indigo]Yes. I was there when he made this. You remember it, don't you? The pain, the anger between you and him, the words you said to him........his fist coming down upon you again and again and again......

    [/COLOR][/SIZE][/FONT][LEFT][FONT=Times New Roman][SIZE=2][COLOR=Black]He.....he crippled me. He [I]broke [/I]me.

    [/COLOR][/SIZE][/FONT][RIGHT][FONT=Palatino Linotype][SIZE=2][COLOR=Indigo]And then he broke [I]me[/I], too. I am dying now. Dying without him, without someone to share my strength with. Dying....without [I]you[/I].

    [/COLOR][/SIZE][/FONT][LEFT][FONT=Palatino Linotype][SIZE=2][FONT=Times New Roman]I.....what?

    [/FONT][/SIZE][/FONT][RIGHT][COLOR=Indigo][FONT=Palatino Linotype]I am lost because of him. As are you. Together, though....

    [/FONT][/COLOR][LEFT][FONT=Times New Roman][COLOR=Black]....we are [I]found.[/I][/COLOR][/FONT]
    [FONT=Palatino Linotype][SIZE=2][FONT=Times New Roman]
    [/FONT][/SIZE][/FONT][RIGHT][FONT=Palatino Linotype][SIZE=2][COLOR=Indigo]He destroyed us [I]both[/I], and left us for dead. Together, we can do the same to him.

    [/COLOR][/SIZE][/FONT][LEFT][FONT=Palatino Linotype][SIZE=2][FONT=Times New Roman]I can't......I can't even move......I don't even know where we are.....

    [/FONT][/SIZE][/FONT][RIGHT][FONT=Palatino Linotype][SIZE=2][COLOR=Indigo]Take my strength, then. There is so much of it to share, after all. Take my power, and rise again, so that we might poison him the way he poisoned us!

    [/COLOR][/SIZE][/FONT][LEFT][FONT=Palatino Linotype][SIZE=2][COLOR=Black][FONT=Times New Roman].......[I]yes.[/I]


    Anne Weying had only become an intern at the hospital a few months ago, and as such, her responsibilities were still menial. In particular, she had to take care of the day-to-day functions of caring for the vegetative patient on the fifth floor.[COLOR=Indigo][SIZE=2][FONT=Palatino Linotype]

    [/FONT][/SIZE][/COLOR]A few weeks prior, he had been brought in on a stretcher, barely breathing, multiple broken bones and severe internal bleeding. Some of the marks on his body suggested impacts from a fist, but the sheer damage they had done looked more like he had been hit by a bus. They were able to save his life and stabilize his condition, but since then, he hadn't so much as opened his eyes.

    They were finally able to identify him last week, a college dropout in his early twenties. His parents were notified of his condition, but were still holding out for hope that he would regain consciousness. They couldn't bring themselves to pull the plug on their son.

    Miss Weying made her way to her patient's room, then gasped before pressing the call button for security.

    Her patient, one which had been beaten so badly that it was feared he would never wake up again, was nowhere to be found.

    Eddie Brock had simply vanished out the open window.
    [COLOR=Indigo][SIZE=2][FONT=Palatino Linotype][/FONT][/SIZE][/COLOR][FONT=Palatino Linotype][COLOR=Purple][FONT=Times New Roman][/FONT][/COLOR][/FONT][/LEFT]
  17. Saved SynTheMerc

    Jul 24, 2006
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    Good stuff, Andy. :up: Hopefully All Star makes long enough for you to do these stories.
  18. The Question Objectivism doesn't work.

    Apr 17, 2005
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    An Idea I've been tossing around my noggin' for "From the Pages of...":

    And with a smile befitting a wise old child, The Doctor all but skipped down the hall to the TARDIS' control room to set sail for a new world to explore.

    "Is he gone?"

    A round faced man with an equally round belly wearing long brown robes peered around the corner.

    "Yes, he's gone," said his associate, a tall, well built man standing in the middle of the hall. "I don't see why you feel the need to hide. He can't see us."

    "You can never be too careful with him."

    "Our perception filters have fooled The TARDIS so far. He can't see us."

    "He's The Doctor," said the shorter and fatter of the two.

    The taller man rolled his eyes in annoyance.

    "Come on, then. The others will wonder where we've gone off to.

    He picked up a large bag from around the corner and headed down the hall, the fat man in the robes keeping pace behind him with a bag of his own slung over his shoulder.

    "You know what they call him?" asked the fat man. "The Daleks, I mean."

    "Isn't it 'The Destroyer of Worlds?' or something like that?"

    "I thought it was 'The Oncoming Storm.' Maybe it's both. Either way, awfully poetic for The Daleks. They had to invent poetry just to get across how scared he makes them. Think about it."

    "The man's got a hundred titles. 'The Oncoming Storm,' 'The Dark Lord,' 'The Threefold Man,' 'The Lonely God...'

    "But to us," said a woman, stepping out of a doorway, "He'll always be skinny little Theta Sigma."

    "All a bunch of rubbish if you ask me," said the taller man as he stopped in front of her. "Man has an inflated reputation."

    The fat man rushed up beside the other two.

    "'Lo Ushas."

    "Hello, Mortimus," she said, smiling.

    The three walked through the door into an old fashioned smoking parlor, with leather furniture, floor to ceiling book cases, a roaring fireplace, and candles lighting the room. A skinnier, balding man stood in the corner, eyeing his compatriots nervously.

    "By the Nightmare Child," said the taller man, "I even scored higher marks than he did in school."

    "Magnus, did you get the food?" asked the balding man.

    The man called Magnus threw his bag into the center of the room.

    "Yeah yeah, I've got enough to last us a while. Don't get your knickers in a twist, Drax."

    "Well, with all of your squabbling, you're bound to get us found out," Drax replied.

    "What do you care," as the taller man. "You don't even want to be here."

    At that, Drax winced. Nervously, he glanced at one of the armchairs facing the fireplace before looking back at his parring partner.

    "Look, I... just wanted to... I'm just hungry. That's all," he said. He grabbed a loaf of bread from the bag and took a bight.

    Magnus chuckled.

    "Yeah right, hungry. You're scared. Scared of Koschei. Crazy little Koschei, thinking he can boss everyone around."

    Drax's face suddenly drained of all color. Mortimus made a very loud gulbing sound and sunk behind Ushas, tying to make himself as invisible as possible Ushas simply smiled.

    "You know, I'm getting pretty sick of you calling the shots around here, Koschei," said Magnus, addressing one of the chairs facing the fireplace. "You saved our lives, and I'm grateful, but we should have left as soon as we could. I don't see why you want us wasting time on The Doctor."

    There was a heavy silence after Magnus spoke, a tension broken only after a few moments when a voice came from one of the armchairs.

    "That. Is not. My name."

    The man in the chair stood. He was wiry, with short blond hair, dressed in a very Edwardian style, with a frock coat, tartan trousers, and a cape. He scanned the room with eyes full of madness and rage, looking each and every one of his companions in the eyes. Each one could feel the chaos of his mind, like a thousand shattered mirrors caught in a hurricane, in his stare.

    "None of you are using our proper names. We chose them. They define us."

    Magnus rolled his eyes.

    "I'm sorry..."

    In the time it took to blink, the man Magnus had called Koschei was standing in front of him, their faces not an inch apart.

    "You are The War Chief," the man said to Magnus.

    He backed off and turned to the others. He pointed to Mortimus.

    "He is The Monk."

    Then to Ushas.

    "She is The Rani."

    Then to Drax.

    "He is The Tinkerer."

    He patted his hand against his chest, proudly.

    "And I am The Master."

    He stared at 'The War Chief,' with the fire of a vengeful deity in his eyes. He then broke his expression with a giant, twelve year old's grin.

    "Which, come to think of it, is probably why I'm calling the shots around here."

    He turned on his heel and began pacing back and forth across the room.

    "Now! As for why we're 'wasting time on The Doctor,' we're not wasting time. I have very big plans for him and his adopted home world. Plans beneficial to all of us, including him. After all, he's family. We're all family. And if we're going to achieve any of our individual goals, if we're going to have fun and raise HELL like we used to, we need to work together as a family."

    He walked over to the second armchair, running his fingers across the back.

    "After all, there's nothing more important than family."

    He leaned around the side of the chair, coming face to face with a young woman with short dark hair and a tired, vacant stare, looking at absolutely nothing. He smiled as he looked into her face.

    "Isn't that right, Susan?"
    #143 The Question, Jun 25, 2010
    Last edited: Jun 26, 2010
  19. Andy C. Repent, Harlequin!

    Mar 1, 2006
    Likes Received:
    Very nice. Glad to see there's another Who fan on board (though admittedly I'm mostly new-Who)
  20. The Question Objectivism doesn't work.

    Apr 17, 2005
    Likes Received:
    Same here, although I've been going back and learning myself about the lore.

    The only thing keeping me from playing The Master in "From The Pages Of..." is that Red Robin, the current Doctor, seems to have disappeared. But this is basically the direction I'd go in.
  21. The Question Objectivism doesn't work.

    Apr 17, 2005
    Likes Received:
    Another potential piece for "From the Pages of..."

    The Kurgan awoke in a dark room with a single overhead lamp as a light source. He was chained to a chair, seated in front of a table with a young man in a business suit sitting across from him.

    "I see you're awake," said the young man. "My name is Linday McDonald. I work for the Los Angeles branch Wolfram & Hart. It's a law firm, if you're not familiar with them."

    "I know them," said The Kurgan. "The Wolf, Ram, and Hart were known to me when they still spoke through dark priests instead of lawyers. They never impressed me much."

    "I can see why," said Lindsay. "Not to knock the Senior Partners, mostly because they'd kill me if I did, but you're a warrior. Old school type. Takes a real bloodbath to wow you, not lies and manipulations. You probably haven't been impressed since World War II."

    The Kurgan smiled.

    "Vietnam had it's charms."

    "Of course it did."

    Lindsay reached under the table and produces a manila folder. He opened it in front of The Kurgan, revealing a blurry photo of him, taken in the '70s.

    "We know a lot about you, Mr. Kurgan. You're a big player. Your goal is to kill ever other immortal on the planet, not referring to immortal creatures in general but in this case a specific subset of mystically enhanced humans who can't die unless they heads are destroyed or removed from their bodies and who can absorb the skills, knowledge, and physical strength of others of their kind by killing them. So you want to kill every last member of your kind so that you can have their collective power and ascend to godhood. And so far you've done pretty good for yourself, killing 152 other Immortals in your long life."

    "152 and a half. One was a midget."

    "We're rooting for you, Mr. Kurgan. We really are. You're exactly the kind of person we want to have that kind of power. We wan't to help you. We want for all of us to be on the same team."

    "Do you want to be my lawyer? I don't have a need."

    "Not now. But what if you get arrested in your pursuits?"

    "Then a lot of cops are gonna die."

    "Mr. Kurgan. We are offering you support. Legal defense, reliable and much nicer places to stay, and payment. All we ask is that you play ball with us. Lend your unique skills. Help us out."

    "Be your assassin?"

    "We're offering to pay you to kill people. Even some things bigger and nastier than any immortal you've ever faced. Does that really sound so bad."

    The Kurgan threw bag is head and laughed.

    "Not at all," he said. "In fact, it sounds like fun."
    #146 The Question, Jun 26, 2010
    Last edited: Jun 26, 2010
  22. wiegeabo Omniposcient

    Jul 13, 2002
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  23. The Question Objectivism doesn't work.

    Apr 17, 2005
    Likes Received:
    Which one?
  24. wiegeabo Omniposcient

    Jul 13, 2002
    Likes Received:

    Most of the Who references are beyond me.
  25. The Question Objectivism doesn't work.

    Apr 17, 2005
    Likes Received:

    In case you're curious, it basically boils down to: Every one of The Doctor's childhood friends who grew up to become a super villain, including his arch enemy and former heterosexual life partner, all of whom are thought to be dead, are secretly hiding out in his space ship/secret base right under his nose and have his biological granddaughter, also thought to be dead, as their hostage.

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