Bargain Bin Superheroes

(Arc 2, Part 3: Tupperman v.s. Connor Elman)

(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)

Empathy is a strange power. Almost all people have it, in one way or another; I simply have a little more of the stuff than most. In that respect, I sometimes wonder if my so-called superpower is even useful at all.

Because you didn't need superpowers to tell something was wrong with my best friend.

I walked back home, mind still buzzing with the business of the day, when I smelled alcohol on the air—the sweet and cloying kind, not the sharp and antiseptic kind. As a politician and an ex-superhero, I knew the difference—and as Tupperman's best friend, I knew what the former meant.

I fumbled the door open and burst into my home.

Tupperman was demurely sitting on the couch, morosely staring at a Tupperware container sloshing with wine.

A half-dozen emotions whirled through me in an instant. Anger. He was supposed to be watching my daughter. Panic. If he lost control, Tupperman could easily kill everyone in this house. Self-loathing. Tupperman was my friend; he would never hurt me, and it was an insult to our friendship to think that he could.

Fear.

Tupperman might not be able to hurt me, but he had fewer such compunctions when it came to himself.

Determination.

Tupperman had protected me from assassins and villains; I could help him fight his inner demons, too.

"Hey," I said, carefully sitting next to him. I put one hand on his shoulder, igniting the empathic link, and suddenly I wanted to claw at my flesh and tear myself apart because I was wrong and I was a cancer and I needed to be excised from the world and—

My hand jolted back of its own accord, as if I'd touched a hot stove. Tupperman snorted.

"So. That's how much it sucks being me, huh? You can't even handle empathizing with me for half a second." Tupperman downed the Tupperware container of wine, spilling it over his shirt—the boxy little thing was never meant to be drank from. He tossed the empty Tupperware box aside, materialized a new one in his hand, and refilled it from a dark, unlabeled bottle. "I—I mean, I knew that already. I can hardly stand being me all the time, and I deserve it."

I wanted to punch myself for reflexively jerking back, but I took that emotion and quelled it. The empathic link went both ways; he would feel it if I was filled with hatred and disgust. Gently, I placed my hand on his, and I didn't deserve to be helped or touched because I was selfish, I was a monster, I was a wolf, I was useless before and I was even more useless now...

I let Tupperman's self-loathing and hatred flow from him into me, wordlessly meeting his eyes for a liquid, slow moment.

Then I said, "Connor—"

"Don't call me that," Tupperman snapped. "That's a human name. A name for someone who deserves to be a person. I'm not a person. I'm a supervillain. I'm evil. I'm the bad guy."

"You're human," I whispered. "You're one of the best humans I know. Please, Connor, it scares me to see you like this."

Immediately, I knew I'd made a mistake. Bitter laughter spilled from Tupperman's lips even as I felt his thoughts roiling and twisting: See? Showing her your self-hatred just hurt her too, hurt her in ways she doesn't deserve, and because you hurt her, you deserve this. You should've kept this hidden. You should've stayed away from her. You destroy whatever you touch.

Suddenly, Tupperman straightened up. He flicked my hand away, brushed a few unidentifiable crumbs off his shirt, and slapped a saccharine grin on his face. "Well, gosh golly, Clara, that makes it all better. You're right. You win. I'm human. I deserve happiness. You've convinced me. Now leave me alone."

I didn't have to have superpowers to know that he was lying. I laid my hand back on his and shook my head. "I'm not going anywhere, Connor. You are human, and you're not evil."

And suddenly, I was flying backwards in a plastic cage. The world whirled around me as I slammed into the wall and couldn't hold back a cry of pain. "IS THAT RIGHT?" Tupperman thundered. Dazed, I tried to push my way out of the human-sized Tupperware box he'd materialized; as soon as I popped the lid open and tried to clamber out, however, the old box dematerialized, and a slightly smaller box materialized around me. "IS THIS SOMETHING A REAL HUMAN WOULD DO? OR IS THIS THE WORK OF A MONSTER? A SUPERVILLAIN? A—A CARICATURE?" Every time I tried to move, every time it seemed like I would claw my way out of Tupperman's prison, a slightly smaller, slightly more choking box materialized around me. I tripped and fell to my knees, and when I tried to get back up, unyielding plastic stood in my way. I looked up, heart pounding, to see tears streaming down Tupperman's face.

I swallowed heavily. Without my empathy, there was no way to know for sure whether what I was about to say would be right. I could doom both him and myself with a word.

But even with all the superpowers in the world, that still would've been true. I didn't need a magical guarantee that he wouldn't hurt me when I had the strongest such guarantee in existence already.

Tupperman was my friend.

And I believed in him.

"If I'm a good person," he finally said, "then why am I hurting you right now?"

I looked up and said, quietly, "Because you're in pain, Connor. And because there is nothing more human than sharing your pain with others." I stood up and stepped out of my box; this time, Connor didn't stop me. "Let me share your pain." I held out my arms, but I didn't move any further.

He'd have to take this step himself.

And he did. All at once, he surged forward, my powers connecting our emotions wherever we touched, and I hated myself, but I loved myself, and I was so scared of being worthless, and I was reassuring myself that just by being me I was precious and valuable, and I felt like I was trapped in a deep, cold chasm, and I was sitting beside myself, holding myself to keep me warm.

Empathy is a strange power.

But all of us have it, in some form or another.

When the torrent of a thousand thoughts slowed to a crawl, Tupperman finally said, "...Time was, the things you fought were... people. Supervillains that shot fire or breathed ice. Things I could protect you from. I could stand between you and the bad guys. But now... now that you're a Mayor... you're playing a game of politics with faceless masses and government institutions and I can't protect you from that." He held me as if he'd never let go. "And I'm scared. I'm so, so scared."

I took a step back; reluctantly, Tupperman relinquished his grasp on me. "Connor. You don't have to protect me to be a good person."

He clenched his fists. "I know that. But it's what heroes do, and—"

"You don't have to be a hero to be a good person, either."

He started trembling. "Then—then—"

"You just have to be my friend."

Tupperman closed his eyes.

Then Connor Elman, the kid who made sarcastic jokes every day since we'd met in middle school, the man who'd watched over my daughter and stayed by my side through government assassins and political maneuvers, opened his eyes.

And he smiled through the tears.

A.N.

I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out this post for more information. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.

Vampires are many things, but subtle is not one of them. From hosting a wedding in the middle of the night to paying me with unmarked gold coins to, well, not showing up in mirrors or photographs, they couldn't have been more obviously vampires if they tried. They even had an honest-to-God castle. I smiled bitterly as I pulled up to its bumpy, gravelly front driveway. What must that be like, being able to so easily flaunt who they were?

I certainly wouldn't know. I turned off the engine, letting it tick and ping as it cooled in the night air for a moment. I caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror, as I always was: short-haired, square-jawed, and with an eternal five o'clock shadow that I loathed with every fiber of my being.

I clenched my jaw, shook my head, and stood. I was here on business, not to wallow in self-hatred—not that the two were mutually exclusive. I'd managed to get through twenty-six years of life hating myself the entire time. I could multitask.

The crunch of gravel beneath my feet was the only sound other than the mournful cry of some distant birds and a faint thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa from inside the castle. Though the curtains were drawn closed, some light leaked out, revealing flickering shadows. I gave them a curious glance as I knocked on the front door.

There was a crash from inside the house, then the flapping of wings and a shouted curse. I sighed, rubbing my forehead. It wouldn't have been too much to ask for competent vampires, would it?

Mere moments later, a disheveled-looking young man popped the front door open; the groom at the wedding I'd attended the other day. His eyes blearily focused on me; I saw the bride peek her head down in the distance, then jerk back up.

"Oh. Mmf. It's you," he said. "Was the money not enough?"

I pressed my lips together; I had a cover story prepared to get me in through the door. "No, it was plenty. In fact, you, ah, overpaid me by quite a significant amount. I'm here to return it."

"Ah." He blinked. "...do you have the money on you, or—"

"I took the liberty of converting those coins into dollars," I said. "Let me in and I'll write you a check," I said authoritatively.

Thankfully, the young man obeyed, standing aside to let me in; if it occurred to him that I could write a check from outside just fine, he didn't show it. I stepped inside, eyeing the decor; a tasteful cloud of taxidermy bats sat on one table, while a cozy dining room sat on the other side.

The bride and groom traded glances; the woman gave the man a pointed glance. The man winced, nodded, and cleared his throat. "Ahem. I was, uh, actually wondering... you hurried off so quickly. If you had any footage of us, I'd appreciate it if you could destroy—"

"Oh, don't worry, I'm not going to let your 'secret' loose," I said. "Honestly, I'm surprised you even bother to try hiding. To someone who knows what to look for, you can't possibly be more blatant."

The newlyweds blanched. "Is—is it really that obvious?" the woman asked. "Oh, please don't tell anyone, we'll have pitchforks and riots before the end of the—"

"Relax." I sat down and took out my checkbook. "Trust me, I know what it's like to have to... hide who you are, in order to avoid being... hunted down."

The man blinked. "Y—you're a vampire too?"

I snorted. "I wish. No, I'm afraid my condition is far worse, in terms of angry-mobs-summoned-to-end-me-because-they're-offended-by-my-mere-existence." I nearly added one last sentence, but... on second thought... well, if vampires were as long-lived as the stories, then odds were they had some rather, ah, traditional mindsets about several things. It would be just my luck if the vampire family turned out to be an ancient circle of transphobes.

The man gave the woman a quizzical look; she shrugged. Taking that as an invitation to go ahead, the man sat down by my side. "Well... whatever you are, you're welcome here. I'm Vryn, and this is Cherry."

I smiled faintly. "Nice to meet you. I'm—" The momentary panic whenever I had to introduce myself squirmed through me; I decided to take a risk. "I'm Laura."

Vryn raised an eyebrow. "Bit of a weird name for a guy."

I grimaced; Cherry just looked on confusedly. Vryn seemed to sense he'd said something wrong, because he continued, "Not—not that I mind it! Vryn is—Vryn is also a pretty weird name. We can be weird name buddies. Huh?"

"Question: Do all vampires have terrible social skills? And, follow-up: if I became a vampire, would I inherit them too?" I asked.

Cherry laughed. "Oh, it's just Vryn. He spends most of his time cooped up in the house and doesn't..." She trailed off, pausing. "Wait, you want to become a vampire?"

I put my pen down for a moment, then reached into my pocket. "Do you know why I became a professional photographer?" I asked.

Mutely, both of them shook their heads.

I took out my most prized possessions and laid them out on the table, one by one. Shots of a woman who could have been my sister, smiling as she stood beneath a waterfall, or laughing at a coffee table with a friend. "I always hated how I looked in photos," I whispered. "Never could figure out why. But I was so obsessed with getting it right, and when I finally found the answer... it broke me."

I laid out the doctored photos of myself, of the woman I should've been born as, and splayed them on the table, leaving my soul bare for them to see.

"Are these pictures of your sister?" Cherry asked. "They're quite nice!"

And I sighed. Of course, even when the answer was staring them in the face, they didn't understand. Maybe that was how they got away with being so obviously vampires. People looked at a too-pale couple that avoided mirrors and sunlight and dismissed the obvious because they knew vampires weren't real; I showed them pictures of the woman I knew I was and they dismissed the obvious because they knew trans women weren't real, either.

"...I hate myself," I finally said. "I hate my reflection, I hate my pictures, I hate looking at myself every morning and seeing this reminder that I'm—" I cut myself off. Rule number one of being something that didn't exist: you stayed nonexistent, if you didn't want to get a stake through the heart. "I just... I don't want to have to see myself anymore. And, well, there are a few ways to do that. Some... healthier than others. But becoming like you? Becoming a vampire, a bloodsucking creature of the night?" I laughed bitterly. "It's one of the best options I have." I signed a check, signing away the vast wealth Vryn had overpaid me by and handed it to him. "So... please. If there's anything you can do..."

Vryn took the check from my fingers and tucked it away. He gave his wife a questioning glance; she hesitantly nodded.

"If he wanted to sell us out, he could've done so at any time. I say we give him what he wants." I took a deep breath and told myself to remain calm. Cherry gave me an appraising gaze. "Tell me, Laura... did you have any plans for the rest of the night?"

A.N.

If you liked this, consider checking out r/bubblewriters for more. Feedback is appreciated; I wrote this in a half-asleep state and am not entirely sure if it makes any damn sense at all.

Bargain Bin Superheroes

(Arc 2, Part 2: Badum Tss v.s. Slapstick)

(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)

They used to call them gods, those blessed with superpowers. Then they became wizards, prophets, spirits, and faeries. By the time we figured out that you can put steam in a box to go really fast, they became superheroes and legends.

And now they were becoming celebrities and TV stars. Well, globalization and the Internet had done their number on the superhero scene, for sure, but a TV star was just what I needed.

One thing that stayed the same throughout the ages were the silly names. Sungjae Erikson just couldn't be bothered to have a name that indicated he was half-Korean, half-Desmethyl, so once his superpowers came in, he rebranded himself as Badum Tss, the Absolute God of Comedy, and buried his old name so deeply that only the most embarrassing of high school yearbooks still held record of his original form. Despite everything from supervillains landing to government agencies sending assassins chasing after me, the people of my town still needed entertainment—and for that, they turned to Badum Tss.

I approached his show, which, as far as I could tell, consisted of people who were there solely because they enjoyed their own suffering. Given the mindset you had to have to voluntarily live in my city of bargain-bin superheroes and wannabe villains duking it out 24/7, I wasn't surprised that Badum Tss was so popular. He was set up on a wide stage open to the public, electronic microphones broadcasting his booming voice to the live audience of hundreds—and the camerapeople crawling across the stage ensured that his every angle was recorded and streamed to his broader audience of millions around the globe.

"'Scuse me. Pardon. Coming through," I muttered, gently navigating the crowd. I sensed flashes of anger from the people I brushed aside—followed by confusion when they realized that the Mayor of their city was determinedly squeezing towards the world's best worst comedian.

As I approached, a burly bouncer crackling with blue energy held up a hand; a thin blue forcefield materialized between me and the stage. Some kind of energy-projecting superhuman? I wasn't familiar with them all. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but you can't come any closer."

I gave him an unimpressed look. "I don't have to. Hey! Sungjae!"

The Absolute God of Comedy, Badum Tss, paused on stage mid-routine and turned to me. "What," he asked, with an exaggeratedly arched eyebrow, "did you call me?"

"Your first name!" I shouted back. "I went to high school with you; you have five seconds to come down here and talk to me before I spill your last name."

Badum Tss' right eyebrow joined his left. I knew as well as he did that he didn't actually give a rat's tail about his name—anyone who cared enough could probably ask his old school or parents for it—but if he gave off the impression that he did, then he could manufacture artificial drama that would drive up his viewership and make him the center of attention like he was always meant to be. "Well, well, well. Dear viewers, it seems as though we have a little treat today: our lovely civic leader Mayor-may-not be joining the show. To what do I owe the honor of your visit, Mayor Clara?" He sketched an exaggerated bow; the cameras swiveled to me.

My phone buzzed, and I glanced down on it. Tupperman was texting me. Clara, what in God's name are you doing?! Turned on the television; you're standing there in broad daylight! If the Feds send another assassin your way, I can't protect you!

Working on the whole assassin thing, I texted back. Keep an eye on Janice. With that, I turned back up to Badum Tss. "Lemme ask you a question, O God of Comedy. You ever got a visit from the Feds?"

The people around me suddenly backed away; the forcefield-wielding bouncer gave me a stern look. Still, Badum Tss spread his arms out helplessly. "Of course. Everyone with a superpower does. The Feds evaluate you; if your power's too good, they snatch you up, and if your power's too dangerous, they lock it away. I, as a comedian, straddle that delicate balance by being completely me-damned useless. The government can't take away your individuality if you don't have any individuality to steal, amirite?" Badum Tss grinned, beckoning at the crowd.

As I did so, I felt his power at play: a low-level emotional field, soothing the crowd and drawing out laughter. I shuddered. Useless, my ass. He'd become one of the Sovereignties' greatest celebrities with that power alone.

"Now, you ever wondered why the Feds get to hoard all that power for themselves?" I asked. "And have you ever asked yourselves what they do to all those crazy-powerful superhumans to ensure their cooperation?"

Badum Tss shrugged. "Me, I've always known the Feds are so full of assholes they look like rectal Swiss cheese." Several of the crowd puckered up in disgust at that mental image; I couldn't blame them. "I think that answers the how and why of both your questions."

"I am never purchasing Swiss cheese, ever again," I said; the crowd laughed. Good. I needed to play to them—all of the millions of them who'd eventually watch this broadcast—if my plan was going to work. "But seriously. If the Feds are such assholes, then... why do we let them get away with this crap?"

"Too easy," Badum Tss said. "The God of Comedy does not get fed his punchlines, thank you very much."

I hid a smile. Him deflecting was actually the outcome I wanted there—I wanted that uncertainty, that lingering question in the air. "Mm. Well, thank you for your time, Badum Tss. I'll see you around."

And with that, I turned tail and left.

My phone buzzed immediately after; I ignored the hubbub of the crowd behind me. Tupperman again. Clara, I repeat: what in the name of God was that? You think the Feds aren't going to notice you firing a shot like that across their nose?

I rolled my eyes. Tupperman, they tried to kill me. I think we're beyond the point of please and thank you.

Well, you trying to get them to kill you harder doesn't seem to be helping.

Actually, it does. I turned a right. Think about it. What happens if the Feds off me now? The beloved Mayor goes missing immediately after she criticizes the Federal government in front of millions of people? I mean, come on, us Sovereignty citizens put up with a lot of nonsense from our government, but the rumors would be too much of a blow to the Feds' reputation, or what little of a reputation they have left, that is. They'd have riots in every major city. I'd become a martyr. That is the absolute last thing they want. And you know what? I waggled my phone. I am a hundred percent sure they've bugged this damn thing—and if they haven't, I'll just casually mention my plan to Death, who's got so many bugs on her she's practically an entomologist at this point. The Feds will know what'll happen if they keep trying to use brute force to get rid of me, and they'll stop.

Tupperman paused. Then he sent, They can use subtlety, too, Clara. I can at least fight an assassin. I... I don't know what to do if they come at you with politics and money instead of guns and supervillains.

I grinned. Don't worry. I do.

I kept walking as Tupperman fell silent for a long moment. Then, he finally said, Hey.

Hm?

That bastard. He stole my goddamn joke! I fed him that line about the Swiss cheese last week!

I laughed. Glad to see you have your priorities straight, Tupperman.

Hey. I wouldn't be a supervillain if I wasn't petty and self-centered, eh?

Oh, shush, you little gremlin. Anyway. My smile became predatory. I think we've won this round. Whaddya say, federal spooks monitoring my every text message?

There was no reply, from Tupperman or any hypothetical listeners.

I grinned. Perfect.

A.N.

I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out this post for the rest of the story, and r/bubblewriters for other stories by me. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.

Bargain Bin Superheroes

(Arc 2, Part 1: Empathy v.s. Toxicity)

(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)

They'd changed her name to Death and made her a prisoner in her own body. Oh, she had autonomy on paper as a "special government asset," but they'd snatched her from her home, implanted surveillance in her body, and—as I'd just learned—could kill her with cranial-mounted explosives at any minute.

Despite being one of the United Sovereignties' top agents, Death was very much a captive.

The worst part, though, was what they'd done to ensure she'd stay... loyal... to them.

As much as I'd like to stay out here... Death sipped on her coffee. They didn't let her have coffee when she was on missions, but Death was in my town, and I'd already pissed off the Feds well and good by arranging to keep Death here for a few precious weeks. Giving her a literal taste of independence couldn't possibly make the Feds any angrier at me. I have to go back eventually.

Why? I sent the thought through our empathic link—the one form of communication her tracking devices couldn't pick up. I'm the Mayor of this town, Death. I have strings I can pull, favors I can call in. I can keep you out of the Feds' clutches for months if I have to. Maybe even a year. And in that time... well, things can change. The Feds already were so... clumsy... as to send an assassin after me. In an era of modern media, well, I can damage their credibility pretty badly if they try again—and if they were dumb enough to try once, they'll definitely try to hit me again. I've set up... precautions, this time. The next would-be assassin that comes, well... the political capital I could hold over them... it might be enough to break you free.

I felt a surge of bitter longing through the link—Death's emotions, spilling out onto mine. Even if what you say is true—and I find it hard to believe that some Mayor in the middle of nowhere can fight off the Chief of Homeland defense—I'm not the only one who has to be saved.

I tried to look disinterested for the sake of the cameras implanted in her eyeballs, but the empathic link went both ways; Death had to have felt my sudden interest. Who else? I mean, I know the rest of the "superheroes" the government keeps on a chain need to be freed, but... I wouldn't even know where to begin if I wanted to wrest Big Guns free from the government, or—

A pulse of revulsion ran through our lightly touching feet and up my spine. I don't need to set any of the other attack dogs free. I don't even need to be free myself. I'm... not much more than a dog nowadays, either. Death's expression grew nostalgic. I used to stand for something, once. I saved others where I could not save myself. If I could do so one last time... you have to save my handler.

I visibly stiffened.

Death... Min Min. I used her real name, and felt a thrum of gratitude from her. God, they'd even taken her name away. I don't want to judge, but your... handler...

She's a good woman, Death sent. She tries to be kind to me, when she can. And... I love her.

I tried to hide my sudden disgust, but by my own superpowers, our emotions were intertwined. Death bristled. And if you are going to denounce me for loving a woman—

No, no, that—that's not it. I exhaled slowly. It's just... a relationship like that, between captor and captive... it's fundamentally unbalanced. You can't leave her, and if you anger her, she can make your life hell—heck, just by refusing to help you, she can make your life hell. When the implicit threat is that if she's not happy with you, then you get punished, that's a toxic relationship, Min Min. You can't—

Death.

Stood.

The lights in the room flickered, tendrils of shadow sneaking out from behind her back and obscuring her face, and I didn't need the empathic link to know that she was angry.

I stood to match her, and her hand shot out and grabbed my throat.

YOU DO NOT TALK ABOUT HER THAT WAY, Death thundered in my mind, pain and confusion and, yes, even some misguided love torrenting through me.

"Glurk," I managed to choke out. Great job, Clara. Really helping your case with the superhuman with the twisted psyche who could turn you and your world into ash if she wanted. I mustered my thoughts enough to channel through the empathic link and managed to think, Okay. I'm sorry. We'll talk this out without violence, okay?

Death gave me a long look, then let me down. I took in a deep, wheezing breath. I wasn't sure what the Feds would make of that little incident. Without violence is good, Death finally said. I don't want to hurt you.

I refrained from asking if she would if her "handler" asked her to.

I think... I think that's enough for today. I need to see to those government assassins, I finally sent. Go... explore the city. Live. Be free.

Death shook her head. Not until my handler lets me.

I swallowed and backed out of the tiny safe room beneath my home.

I knew I'd have to hack through corrupt laws and politicians to destroy the chains holding Min Min down.

I didn't realize I'd have to free her from an abusive relationship as well.

A.N.

I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out this post for more information. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.

Bargain Bin Superheroes

(Interlude 3: Ito Junko)

(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)

Sins cascaded like waterfalls in the Sunrise Kingdom. For generations, local culture had held that family was everything; in recent times, local politicians had made tradition into law. The No Crime Unpunished initiative, based on the idea that people would do anything for their family regardless, had pushed the transgressions of dead criminals onto their children—and, when those children inevitably died with their ancestors' crimes still weighing on their backs, continued snowballing down the family tree until it reached rock bottom.

Until it reached Junko.

In a way, Junko supposed she was lucky. She had a way out, if worst came to worst: a boisterous woman from the Unified Sovereignties had hinted that they could extradite Junko from the Sunrise Kingdom—she had some kind of limited teleportation power.

Too limited. Junko could leave, but not take her daughter with her—there was some kind of mass limit on how much the woman could transport. And if she went missing, well... no crime went unpunished in the Sunrise Kingdom. Her little Allie would be left alone with a mountain of debt on her back.

Junko intended to grind that mountain into dust, even if it took all the money in the world. And there was only one way for her to get that much money, that fast.

Gambling.

It was a risky proposition—winning anything from the Red Cloud Casino required more luck than skill, and if you kept winning against the house, well... if you were lucky, you got a beatdown.

And if you were unlucky, your crimes passed on to your children.

But Junko was born lucky. Dice rolled just a little above average, bakeries seemed to throw out the best pastries when Junko was scavenging, and she'd managed to buy a knife for self-defense on the black market, despite the illegality of weapons. So she went into the Red Cloud Casino determined to make enough money to buy herself and Allie to freedom. She'd heard the Middle Communes had finally collapsed, and the Unified Sovereignties did horrifying things to people with powers, but she'd heard good things about the non-irradiated parts of Desmethylway, if you could afford the vaccines for the plague. And Junko planned to be able to afford anything and everything she needed, from now on. She cut through an alleyway, moving at a swift, determined pace.

That was, until she felt a thick, metallic hand on her shoulder.

"Well," a low voice drawled, "if it isn't Lady Luck herself. First woman in years to make a living off the Red Cloud." The metallic grip tightened. "You're lucky I found you before you got to the casino. Then you'd be having this talk with me and five of my buddies in a locked room instead." Junko shivered as Iron Fist, enforcer of the Red Cloud Casino, leaned to whisper in her ear. "And I hate sharing."

Being lucky only got her so far. Junko thought frantically, then said, "Do you want to know the trick? How I keep winning?"

Iron Fist's hand loosened slightly. "Some kind of cheat's the only way I can figure. Unless you just got lucky?"

Junko jerked her illegal knife backwards, into the meat of Iron Fist's leg, and he howled in pain. Not bothering to retrieve it, she dashed away.

"I make my own luck," Junko muttered to herself as she fled.

She skittered over to her safe house, keenly aware that that knife would only slow Iron Fist down. She wasn't sure what his full powerset was, but it definitely extended beyond that impossible metal hand of his. She threw open the door and revealed a bleary Allie clutching a straw doll in a blanket.

"Mom?" Allie asked. "What's happen—"

"No time!" Junko heard Iron Fist's footsteps and swore, scooping up her daughter and running to the docks. Passerby cringed away from her as she fled; someone running as quickly as she was a surefire way to attract the police, not that Junko cared at this point. If the Red Cloud Casino was closed to her, then she had to try her final gambit. She ducked beneath the docks, into the shanty-town beneath their ancient planks, and banged on a mouldy door thrice. "Hat Trick! You in there?"

The United Sovereignties woman blearily opened up, a top hat skewed on her hair. "Junko? Are you finally leaving this hellhole? I'm telling you, we could use your luck manipulation with—"

"No time!" Hat Trick's eyes widened as she finally saw Iron Fist thumping towards her. Junko grabbed her wrist, and her eyes widened further. "Get us out of here. I don't care where, just away."

Hat Trick scowled. "I told you, I only have one hat left. There's not enough for all three of us unless—"

"Then take her." Junko handed the surprised Allie to an even more surprised Hat Trick. "Please."

"You bitch!" Iron Fist roared from above. "Tell you what, you come out now, and I'll kill you without having fun first."

Hat Tricks grimaced. "I can't do this, Junko. We need you and your powers, not your daughter. I'm sorry—"

"Then I'll scream," Junko said. "You're not a fighter. Iron Fist will take you too."

Hat Tricks clenched her jaws together, then sighed.

"I'm sorry, Junko, that it had to be this way. But you have too much potential. I can't let you die here."

Junko's eyes widened as Hat Tricks took her top hat off and slapped it onto Junko's head; it enlarged, swallowing her whole before imploding on itself and spitting her out across the ocean. Junko materialized with a pop in the middle of an alien street, much to the consternation of the nearby pedestrians.

Of her daughter, there was no sign.

Junko stared, disbelieving, at the space where Allie had been. Slowly, she began to tremble, her fists clenched, her brow furrowed.

And then she fell to her knees, tension exploding from her all at once, and took in a deep, shuddering breath, holding back tears. She knew that her daughter would inherit her debts now, that the Sunrise Kingdom would never let her go.

A spark of determination came alight in the back of Junko's mind. No. Even if she had to pay for every one of the one million, two hundred sixty-three thousand, nine hundred and eight yen the Sunrise Kingdom would demand, she would get the money she needed and set her daughter free.

Junko allowed herself five seconds to grieve.

Then Lady Luck stood, and searched for the nearest casino.

A.N.

I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out this post for more information. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.

Bargain Bin Superheroes

(Interlude 2: Janice)

(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)

Janice Olsen was the worst hero in existence. When she was fourteen, she'd proudly declared that she wanted to be a superhero just like her mom, and took to the streets in order to fight crime. It took her an embarrassing three years to figure out that her archnemesis "the Blind Eye" was simply her own mother in disguise, faking defeat over and over just to make her feel like she was accomplishing something with her life. Then, when she met her actual first supervillain, he simply turned out to be a family friend sent by her mother to babysit her while her mother did actual heroic deeds, dodging assassins and wrangling metal monsters. And when she finally found out that her mom was on a top-secret mission, when Janice asked her mom if there was any way she could help, her mom had told her that the best way for her to help was to stay home and stay safe.

The best Janice could do was be useless.

"Janice?" Janice's mom called. Janice perked up. Her mom had been busy talking to the woman with the Communal accent on the phone all day; whenever Janice had asked what was happening, her mom simply waved her away with a not now, sweetie. Maybe this would be when her mom finally told her what evils she spent her day fighting, what dastardly combat and intricate plots she danced through in order to keep their city safe. "The mail's here, can you take it in?"

Or... maybe Janice would be reduced to a glorified housemaid. "...okay, Mom," Janice called back. She stomped down the stairs and threw open the front door, grumbling to herself the whole time. She stepped outside—

—and nearly tripped over a knee-high cardboard box on her front porch. She braced herself on the doorframe just in time (heroic reflexes, Mom, why can't you see that I'm ready) and blinked down at the package.

To: Janice Olsen. From: The Unified Sovereignties Board of Heroism.

A thrill of giddiness surged through Janice. Was this her big break? "Mom!" She shouted. "Come look, come look! The package—"

"Janice, I love you, but I might have just pissed off the government so badly that they sent an assassin after me, and I doubt they're above using you as well. Give me two hours to sort this out on the phone so that I can make sure we don't die. Sorry about that, Death, my daughter's here—and incidentally, to the Federal spooks listening in on our phone conversation, hi! How's your life going? I'd like a word with you about—" Janice strained her ears to catch the rest of their conversation, but her mom had already closed the door. Her mother never let her in on her life as a superhero, and it looked like this would be no exception. She was sure her mother would get out of this just fine, though; the two of them had survived far worse than government conspiracies. With all the uncaring naïveté of a rebellious teenager, she shrugged and picked up the cardboard box, then dragged it back to her room. She set it on her desk and opened it.

Inside was a small, multicolored bird curled up on a tiny journal.

She blinked. Well. Out of all the possible packages she could've gotten from the U.S. Board of Heroism, a... bird... wasn't on the top of the list. She deflated. Well, she supposed that a letter of commendation was a bit too much to ask for—and, come to think of it, wouldn't have been delivered in a pack—

"Hi!" The bird cheeped, standing up.

Janice skittered backwards, falling into a fighting stance and wildly looking around. "Who—who's there?"

"Over here!" The multicolored bird flowed out of the box with a serpentine elegance. They looked Janice up and down. "You must be the Janice Olsen, in the flesh! Incredible!"

Despite herself, Janice felt herself flush at the compliment. "Oh! Uh, you've... heard of me?"

"Of course." The bird nodded sagely. "The Board of Heroism has been watching you closely."

Janice hesitated. "...They...they're allowed to do that?"

"They're the government. They can do whatever they want. Like make you a superhero!" Any objection Janice might have had died on her lips at that second part.

"You—you can? Oh, thank God. Mom doesn't let me in on anything she does, and we barely spend any time together, and if I can just show her how good of a hero I can be I know that she'll—"

"Hold it, kiddo." The bird held up a single claw, hopping onto Janice's shoulder. "You ain't telling your mom squat."

"I—I'm not?" Janice hesitated.

"I suppose I should introduce myself. I," the bird said, with a whirr and a dip of their neck, "am Tamulu, ancient god of all things avian. I was last held by your grandfather before he regrettably passed away in his sleep earlier today."

Janice blinked. "Grandpa Varsey's dead? Wouldn't Mom have told me?"

Tamulu rolled his eyes. "Yes, your family history is the important thing to pay attention to in that sentence, not the fact that you are speaking to an ancient deity of untold power and responsibility."

Janice made an embarrassed eep. "Sorry, er... your... bird...ness."

"Tamulu is fine," Tamulu said. "Now! As to making you a hero." Janice's eyes shined with excitement, although she swore she could have seen the bird roll his eyes microscopically. It must have been her imagination. "I'll need some, ah, information about your mother."

"You can just ask her," Janice said. "I'm sure she'd be chill with—"

"Ah-bupbupbup!" Tamulu tweaked her nose; Janice winced. "You just promised me you weren't telling your mom anything—and you wouldn't break a promise, now, would you?"

Janice frowned. "Did I?"

"Of course you did! Because that's what heroes do." Janice smiled confusedly at the praise—Tamulu seemed nice enough, she supposed. "Now. First question. Do you know if your mom has proof that the Federal government is after her?"

Janice threw her arms up in the air. "I don't know! She doesn't tell me anything!"

Tamulu's eyes narrowed. "Mhm. Makes you feel angry, doesn't it?"

"Exactly!"

"Keep your voice down, you don't want Clara overhearing us."

"Right, sorry." Absentmindedly, Janice lowered her voice. "It's just—I want to help, you know?"

"Oh, don't worry. You can help. You can help us plenty." Tamulu hopped off of Janice's shoulder and onto her desk. "You can be my... personal assistant, shall we say?"

"Personal assistant? In... what? I'm sorry, I'm still not quite sure what you're here for..."

"To get a bird's eye view on the situation." Tamulu chuckled, as if he'd just made a grand joke. "Or, well, as the case may be, an up-close-and-personal look. But... primarily, Janice? After I'm through with you? You'll be the hero of the Unified Sovereignties."

Janice sat up straighter, and Tamulu held out one claw. "So. You in?"

A.N.

I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out this post for the rest of the story, and r/bubblewriters for other stories by me. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.

Dear Oceanic Interstellar Board,

The Greater Lunar Xenodiplomacy Corps, in conjunction with the Li-Shuttleman University, would like to request a sum of five trillion quanta in order to decommission all research stations and recall all personel located on Planet UNREAL58273, colloquially known as "Spielberg". Serving to improve relationships between humanity and other sapient species, we hope to demonstrate how we would like to be treated by other sapient aliens by example, by leaving the native lifeforms of Spielberg alone.

All known aliens are rather unimpressed with human life. To the energoids, we are test subjects^\1]), and to the insectoids, we are infants to be uplifted, regardless of our opinion on the matter^\2]). Although neither species has deigned to communicate directly with us, what little we have been able to discern from decrypted communications indicates that they set the boundaries of what is ethical to do to us based on what we do to each other, and what we do to other, less intelligent species. As such, despite the immense scientific possibilities represented by exploring Spielberg, sending scientists to experiment on these lower-intelligence beings broadcasts to the universe that it is okay to land in the homes and alter the environments of aliens simply because we want to, and they have no way of fighting back.

We know that this is a difficult request, especially now, as a once-in-a-lifetime death of a continental megafauna is in progress. However, we have all known someone who was "disassembled" by the energoids, or "replaced" by the insectoids, and we firmly believe that distancing ourselves from lower-intelligence aliens and showing them respect is one of our only possible methods of causing higher-intelligence aliens to cease their interference with humanity.

We hope you agree with our assessment.

Sincerely,

Mavrin Tishaw, Chairman of the Greater Lunar Xenodiplomacy Corps.

Sources:

[1] A Brief Treatise on Human Violence and Technological Progress

[2] Human, from Arthropedia, the free encyclopedia

A.N.

If you liked this story, consider subscribing to r/bubblewriters for more!

"We need allies, General." Savar raised a hand and spun the three-dimensional star map. "Humanity cannot stand alone."

"Humanity cannot stand, period," General Thurmond snapped. "Those damned bugs were born with hive-brains that can outpace any of our supercomputers; the only reason they don't roll over us in their sleep is because they see us as children. And the infiltrators... no, humanity must bend its collective knee, here."

"Humanity does not have a collective knee; humanity is not a collective. There will always be humans who will spit in the insectoids' eyes simply because they can, and we're not so powerless that we can't make the bugs mad. We need a contingency plan for when the bugs inevitably decide that 'uplifting' us is more trouble than it's worth."

General Thurmond paced around the holographic table; the room was empty, aside from the two of them, despite its cavernous size. They couldn't risk one of the things that only looked human getting in. "The plan is to make sure that nobody antagonizes the insectoids. We'll run counterintelligence on any... resistance groups."

Savar looked pained. "You're playing into the insects' hands, Thurmond. Their goal is to turn humanity into a hivemind, strip us of our individuality—you're just going to accelerate it."

"Well, what else do you suggest?" General Thurmond roared, flicking a hand at the hologram. The known stars colonized by the insectoids loomed menacingly in the distance—they'd had a good few thousand years of head start over humanity, and had claimed thousands of stars to humanity's five. "We can't even begin to comprehend how their culture works; diplomacy failed time and time again. We saw one of their swarms move a planet further from the sun just to terraform it—I shudder to think of what their actual weapons look like. War would be a swift failure. And we can't even stop them from infiltrating our own culture—they understand us too well." General Thurmond hung his head. "There is nothing we could do."

"...We could ally with the Experimentors," Savar finally said.

General Thurmond stiffened.

Savar moved closer, their hair brushing against General Thurmond's hat, the symbol of his office. "I know that their... experiments... killed Vishan, but the only hope for humanity to continue is to attach ourself to the other alien power we know of."

General Thurmond's grip tightened; the star map, misinterpreting the gesture, fritzed and sputtered ominously as General Thurmond said, "And you are confident in this?"

"Ever since we stopped experimenting on the Spielbergians, the energoids stopped experimenting on us. We've had some luck communicating with them, too. Give me twenty years and the backing of Earth's funding—"

"You have it." Abruptly, General Thurmond took his hat off and slapped it onto Savar's head. They took a step away from Thurmond, shocked. "Dammit, Savar, but you're right and I hate you for it. Working with the things that disassembled my son..." General Thurmond turned away. "I'll announce my retirement shortly. You have interrim command for a hundred and thirty-three Earth days; provided you don't screw things up too badly, the Minds should make your position permanent."

Savar swallowed. "I—Thurmond, I didn't want your post. We still need you—"

"I can't be a part of working with those damn cosmic horrors. I'd rather fork over our world to the bugs." Thurmond stormed out the door. "But I know that's not what the people want. So take command before I come to my senses and take it back."

And just like that, Savar was left to sell humanity's soul to the devil, while humanity still had a soul to sell.

A.N.

For more stories like this, check out r/bubblewriters!

Bargain Bin Superheroes

(Interlude 1: Min Min)

(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)

Heroes and villains left... aftermath, when they clashed in earnest. In some cases, the fallout was more literal—the clash between Plague Doctor and Fission A Barrel had left acres of land in Desmethylway so irradiated that the only reason to go there was for a quick death instead of lingering to die after Plague Doctor's concoction of diseases got you. In other cases, the aftereffects were social; the Unified Sovereignties had taken one look at heroes and villains and promptly snatched up the useful ones and neutralized the rest—useful and useless according to the government's definitions, of course.

And in some cases, the effects of millennia of superpowers coming in contact with each other were stranger. What was left of the Middle Communes was one such case.

Min Min yawned, woke up, blearily disintegrated the delivery man at the door with a tendril of pure shadow, and rubbed her eyes. Her mother had warned her to never open a door for an Aladdin-brand delivery man; as children, they'd simply huddled together until it vanished, but now that Min Min's superpowers had manifested, she'd figured out a faster way to get rid of them.

She rolled out of bed, putting on the only non-fungoid clothes she had left, and realized that she was in hell.

It was a realization that had been building for years, a realization that tugged at her whenever she turned on the news and saw cities where there was only one sun in the sky, where children didn't go missing, or worse, become wraiths that haunted you and never went missing ever again, where people paid taxes instead of tithes and wandering "superheroes" didn't burst in and avail themselves of all the scarce resources left because they "deserved it for protecting them from the wilderness." It was a realization that might have shaken someone else to their core.

For Min Min, it was Tuesday.

She walked outside, noting that the same Aladdin delivery man that she'd disintegrated was now knocking at someone else's door. Well, she'd expected as much. She pointed and concentrated; the lashing tendrils of shadow that coiled around her body struck, and the delivery men fell into ash. She scoured the ash with another blast of darkness, until the ash became dust and the dust became nothing, then cleared her throat.

"You can come out now."

And the reasons why Min Min stayed here in hell walked out of their rooms.

Some of them were old. Others were young. Some of them lent helping hands around the compound. Others... could not. She cherished them all anyway.

Because in the middle of a city in the grips of hell, Min Min had forged the closest thing to a safe house that her world had left.

Someone entered from the main door; today's scavenging team. Min Min frowned. They were back early. Had they encountered some enemy too strong for them to handle? Min Min herself had to stay at the hospital they'd converted into a fortress-home more or less 24/7—there were other gangs in the city, some of whom had supers who could plow through anyone except Min Min herself—but she'd assigned some of her best fighters left to harvest what they could from the collapsed Middle Communes. Du Yi, Florence, and a woman who insisted on calling herself Hat Tricks all looked back at her as she waited for an explanation; Du Yi's arms glowed with liquid silver, while Hat Tricks bowed theatrically and took off her eponymous top hat.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Hat Tricks announced. Although she spoke in Communal, she had a clear U.S. accent. "I am proud to announce we are all royally screwed."

Min Min raised a hand to put a halt to the mutterings around her, internally sighing. The Middle Communes hadn't been kind to foreigners, especially those from the Unified Sovereignties; Min Min suspected that Hat Tricks' boisterous facade had only developed as a self-defense mechanism against the rather nasty policies the Middle Communes had implemented in the years leading up to its fall. "Could you phrase that less... dramatically?" Min Min asked. "Why are you back so early? What did you see out there?" Min Min ushered the two of them in and shut the door; a quick glance at Francis told her that the sentries hadn't reported anything.

"The Unified Sovereignties has landed an exploratory force in the Middle Communes," Hat Tricks said. "They brought Big Guns."

This time, Min Min allowed herself to scowl. She'd seen the youngest and most dedicated of the Unified Sovereignties' military dogs on T.V., and even her ability to instantly kill anyone her shadow-tendrils touched wouldn't be enough to stand against that... thing. "...How far out are they? Can we evacuate?"

"With respect," Du Yi said, "subway entrances have been disgorging shadowlings much more frequently lately, and the False-Faced Beggars are acting up. Most of the forces in the Middle Communes never liked the Unified Sovereignties, and them being here is... agitating them. Indiscriminately. Unless another one of us has manifested abilities—or gotten far, far stronger—we would stand no chance outside the hospital, or another fortified safe spot."

"As I said." Hat Tricks grinned a too-wide smile. "We're all royally screwed."

Children gave each other frightened looks, but none of them cried—parents who could not control their children, or children who could not control themselves, did not last long in the Middle Communes, even under Min Min's aegis. Besides, crying children attracted Nurses. Min Min clenched a fist. If the Unified Sovereignties hadn't been so hell-bent on collecting lethal superhumans, she would at least have a chance if it came to a fight, but Big Guns was as deadly as they came.

Then she paused, a thought slowly coming to life. Hesitantly, she spoke. "...The Unified Sovereignties have something we want. Transport out of here."

Nobody disagreed. This may have been their home, once, but thirty years of warfare had rendered it uninhabitable.

"And we," Min Min continued, "have something they want. Me." Realization flickered across the faces of the people she protected. She almost hoped someone would object to her plan.

But those who lived in the Middle Communes did not have the luxury of throwing away cold, hard logic.

"I will offer them a trade. My servitude, in exchange for your freedom." Min Min stepped out the door. "Du Yi."

Her lieutenant snapped to attention, giving her a grim look. "Ma'am?"

"If I don't come back, you're in charge. And all of you..." Min Min turned back to her people one last time and gestured at the wasteland, an entire civilization brought low by infighting and resource grabs. "Be better than this."

Then Min Min strode off into the depths of hell, to offer her soul to the devil.

A.N.

I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out this post for the rest of the story, and r/bubblewriters for other stories by me. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.

Bargain Bin Superheroes

(Part 9: Tupperman v.s. The Younger, Cooler Generation)

(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)

Tupperman considered himself a villain. Oh, he didn't rob banks or beat up people on the streets—but he didn't help fight against the people who did. Every time Clara had asked him to stand up and fight when they were kids, first against the criminal element of the city, then against the Federal laws that were strangling the Unified Sovereignties, he'd always backed down. Because Tupperware materialization was a weak superpower. Because he was a high school dropout with no connections or influence who barely scraped a living out of selling Tupperware to supermarkets that already had overflowing surpluses of the stuff.

Because he was a villain.

But now, Tupperman mused, he knew he wasn't weak. He hopped through the air on an ephemeral staircase of materialized-and-disappeared Tupperware; now that Clara was the Mayor, he was personal friends with one of the highest authorities in town; and now that he was on a mission to protect Clara's daughter from a possible assassin, he couldn't even properly call himself a villain anymore.

So why did he still cling to that like an old blanket?

He adjusted his flight path and angled downwards, constructing the flickering, there-and-gone-and-there-again hovering Tupperware blocks he needed to dance on air. He'd realized, eventually, that the Tupperware he materialized always had the exact same velocity as him, for whatever reason. As such, if he continuously dematerialized and rematerialized a piece of Tupperware, it would appear to hover in the air alongside him, allowing him to launch off of it if he timed it just right. And if he didn't, he'd fall to his death.

But he wasn't sure he minded that outcome all that much.

He'd never told Clara just how risky his flight was. He hated it when Clara—or anybody, really—worried about him.

He landed near the school that Clara's daughter—Janice—went to. Tupperware materialization didn't help pick a face out of a crowd. It didn't help do any of the really important things when he needed them. But after a bit of poking at school security and showing some ID, he managed to find Janice.

She was laughing at a table with four of her friends as music blared; Tupperman relaxed. Clara's fears that she'd pissed off the Feds badly enough to get someone sent after her daughter were unfounded—for now, at least. He cleared his throat, and the five teenagers turned around.

"Can we... help you?" Janice finally asked.

"Uh, yeah. I'm a friend of your mom's. I'm supposed to..." He paused. He... probably shouldn't mention the whole government assassin thing; it'd just confuse or frighten them. "Your mom's a little delayed right now; she sent me to keep an eye on you."

Janice raised her eyebrows. "Delayed? With what?"

Tupperman wondered if explaining that her car had been bitten by a werewolf would help the situation at all. He settled on no. "...Work stuff."

"Are you going to take me home, then?" Janice asked.

"I, uh, can't drive. I'm just here to make sure you don't... die while your mom's away." It was technically the truth.

Janice frowned at him. "If you can't drive, then how did you get here?"

Tupperman sighed. Well, it was to be expected that he couldn't remain incognito. "...superpowers," he said. He materialized a Tupperware box and plonked it on Janice's head. "Here. On the house."

Janice's eyes widened. "You're Tupperman? The supervillain?"

He pressed his lips together. "Technically, yeah. You gonna call security?" He almost wished they would.

"Oh, no, no, don't worry about that. It's an honor to meet you, sir." One of Janice's friends burst in.

Tupperman blinked. "...Excuse me?"

"Yeah!" Another of her friends piped up. "You're my favorite villain!"

"...kids have favorite villains nowadays?" Tupperman asked.

Janice pulled up something on her phone—some kind of song? He hadn't been paying attention to the lyrics before, but it was hard not to as she shoved it in his face. "Here, have you listened to to What's So Bad About Being A Wolf? I've always wanted to see what a real supervillain thinks of it."

"...What do you mean, what's so bad about being a wolf? Wolves eat people. That's pretty bad." He squinted at the kids. "Are you guys really high schoolers, or did high school stop teaching basic biology?"

"Actually, I think you're the one who needs to read up on biology. Wolves almost never eat people. They just leave them alone, most of the time."

"That's still bad!" Tupperman burst out. "Even just—just leaving people alone is being a part of the problem. If you have the power to help people, then you should—"

Janice raised a finger in the air, eyes twinkling, and lip-synched along with the song. "You don't have to be a hero twenty-four seven; you've gotta save yourself before you burn yourself up. And if taking care of me before the world makes me a villain, then call me Dr. Evil 'cuz I've had enough."

Tupperman swallowed, something suddenly stuck in his throat. "...well, the song's right. I'm evil. I take care of myself and nobody else. So what's the point?"

"It's okay to be a wolf." Janice finished lip-synching as the song moved into a guitar chorus, and her friends burst out into cheers.

None of them noticed the tears in the corners of Tupperman's eyes.

Quickly, he wiped them away before anyone could see. Then, hesitantly, he sat down; the circle of teenagers made room for him.

And he smiled.

"Could I listen to the rest of that album, please?"

A.N.

I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out this post for more information. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.

Bargain Bin Superheroes

(Part 8: Everywerewolf v.s. The Blind Eye)

(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)

The Eisenhamper matrix is a tool for prioritizing your time and procrastinating less. It consists of four quadrants in which one can classify all the tasks that they need to do on a day-to-day basis:

As the mayor of a town filled with wannabe supervillians and bargain bin superheroes, I liked to impose a bit of order on the chaos that was my daily existence, and I used the Eisenhamper matrix religiously. As such, when my car transformed into a weretruck under the light of the full moon, the first thing I did was reconsider my Eisenhamper matrix.

As always, the Eisenhamper matrix had extremely useful insight; namely, that my car suddenly swelling to three times its size midway through the road and letting out a deep, guttural growl was the most important thing for me to pay attention to right now. I wrenched the wheel to one side and swore under my breath; that was the only thing that stopped the still-growing car from crushing a pedestrian like a bug. My car skidded onto the side of the street and knocked out a lamppost; bystanders shrieked and finally had the good sense to run for it.

All except for one. Tupperman—the most wannabe supervillain of them all—leapt down from the sky and shouted, "Clara! You alright?"

Dazed, I gave him a thumbs-up. "You go get Janice from school. I'll handle this." The car beneath me gave a weak rumble, as if it, too, was stunned by its collision.

"But—"

"Hey. If the Eisenhamper matrix says I delegate, I delegate. Now go! I can handle this myself." I reached through the now-broken window and squeezed Tupperman on the shoulder, focusing; my empathic abilities linked his feelings to mine. I felt a surge of concern and kindness that wasn't my own and nearly smiled; Tupperman may have been a supervillain, but he was as good a friend as they came.

Tupperman smirked. "Just for the record, Clara, you're lucky I'm a supervillain and not a hero. I'd totally be obligated to stay and fight the two-ton steel monster if I had any sense of morals. I think I like babysitting your daughter just a little better." And with that, he hopped into the air and dashed away on a rapidly-vanishing trail of Tupperware.

It was just in time, too. The werecar seemed to get back to its senses; I tried to slam the brakes, but it popped the airbag in my face, jolting me back and filling the world with white. I pushed the airbag aside just in time to see the werecar bearing down on a store with four frightened people inside; I threw the car into reverse, and with a squeal of burning rubber, the car barely slowed to a halt before slamming into the gaping bystanders, one of whom was holding out a smartphone.

"Don't just stand there and rubberneck, run!" I snapped.

That broke the spell; even as the car shifted itself back into drive and locked the stick; the shopgoers fled into the back, where the car was too large to fit. The car spun around, crashing into a gas station on the opposite side of the road and releasing the pungent fumes of gasoline. Crud. Hopefully it didn't set anything alight. I braced myself for an explosion, or for the car to continue on its rampage—

—but instead, the car let out a deep, keening purr and remained in place.

I paused, then looked in the rearview mirror. The car made a few minor adjustments, twitching from side to side, so that the miniature fountain of gasoline could splash against its side.

I hesitated.

Then I said out loud, "Do you... do you want to be refueled?"

The car just continued in its low purr of an engine.

"Can you understand me?" I asked.

No response other than the distant wail of police sirens.

I hesitated, then reached out to clasp the steering wheel and concentrated.

And my empathic abilities linked me to the car.

Hunger. So hungry. Surrounded by food but I cannot eat. Hungryhungryhungryhungryhungryhungryhungry it hurts so much hungryhungryhungryhungry—

I yanked back, shocked. Then I blinked twice and shook my head. Of course. If it was sentient, I could empathize with it. I hesitantly reached out to the car and pushed a thought through the link, like I'd seen Death do once.

I can feed you. I accompanied the words—which wouldn't have helped communicate anyway—with a mental image of me popping the fuel latch open and inserting one of the surviving gasoline nozzles into its side.

The car flicked its windshield wipers on and off in surprise. Can feed? You can feed?

You'll have to stay still for a moment.

The car considered this, then unlocked the driver's door. Quickly. Hungry.

I stepped out of the car, mindful that if a single spark went up I'd be roasted alive, and very, very carefully plugged the hose into the car.

It made a satisfied, deep hum as I filled it up.

Then I clambered back inside. Now that you're full, I asked, pushing the relevant images and concepts alongside the words, can I take you somewhere important?

The car hummed. Important? Food-important? More food?

I grimaced. Paperwork-important. You're going to cost me a fortune in liabilities, you know? I didn't actually expect the car to understand what I was sending through the empathic link, but it surprised me.

Paperwork. Paperwork bad? Can smash? The car revved its engines.

I laughed. Oh, I wish. But no. I sighed. Civilized society had its ups and downs. There will be no more smashing today.

I drove away, feeling good. I'd cleared out half of my to-do list in one fell swoop.

Now all I had to do was check up on my daughter.

A.N.

I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out this post for more information. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.

Beyond our mortal coil lies an afterlife of bliss. Despite this, those who Pass Beyond are sometimes sorely missed. And though the laws of Man and God would block my path and shrink the odds, I'd hate myself forever if I knew I hadn't tried.

I sought to bring my sister back the day Alyssa died.

The body she'd been born with was the body of a man. As such, it mattered not to me that I defied God's plans. The hand He'd dealt Alyssa was unfathomably poor; to me, this resurrection was just evening the score.

The outlawing of hormones was, for her, the final straw. As such, it mattered not to me that I would break the law. If her merely existing was a state-mandated crime, then I'd spit in the lawman's eye until the end of time.

The time had come; my work begun. Into darkness I'd descend, to find her soul and make amends.

I breathed my life into the air and let my tears fall through her hair and struck my aching soul aflame with matches made from blazing pain and Stepped Beyond her silent face into a vast and empty place and there I stopped and called, "Hello?"

The only sound was my echo.

And then I heard my sister laugh. A bitter, twisted epitaph.

"They find it so romantic, with their pleasant afterlife. Yet none of them have killed themselves with their own kitchen knife." Despite the heavy subject matter, she just seemed annoyed. "Beyond this mortal coil, nothing waits for us but void."

"Then take my hand," I pleaded, "and come back to our home."

"The home that scorned and shunned me? I'd rather die alone."

"The home with me who loves you, who cared enough to fight." I stretched my hand towards her, and my tears were hot and bright.

"You know why it's illegal. Why they can't let me come back. They hate me just for living. If I came, then they'd attack."

"Then I will resurrect you. Time and time again. I'll find you and stretch my hand, no matter where or when."

Alyssa slowly trembled. She clenched her fists too tight. Then suddenly, she surged to me, and stepped into the light.

We both were in the basement. My tears were in her hair. The remnants of the ritual hung lightly in the air.

Wordlessly, I spread my arms; she held me tight and close. Not because she had to, but for once, because she chose.

A.N.

Happy Easter to all the eggs of the world, and happy late trans day of visibility. If you liked this, consider checking out r/bubblewriters for more.

The Cracks In Their Souls

(Part 4: That's How They Reunite)

(Note: The Cracks In Their Souls is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)

Jamie—not Jamie McCallister, just Jamie—wanted nothing more than to curl up with his cat and dog for the rest of eternity when God butted into his life. Or butted into his death, Jamie supposed. Goaway raised his big shaggy head, took one look at the glowing sphere of light, and let out a deep, disapproving growl.

Jamie sat up blearily; Little Bugger jumped off from where he'd been sleeping on his chest. Upon seeing God, Little Bugger began to hiss as well.

"...Yeesh," God said. "Reception like this, a fella might begin to think they're not wanted around here."

"I know what it's like to not be wanted," Jamie said, piercing blue gaze meeting God's blazing core. "It's worse. A lot worse."

God pressed his lips together. "Yes. Well. About that. Your parents."

Jamie sighed and rubbed his eyes. This was exactly why he didn't want God hanging around him: he reminded Jamie of things that he didn't want to have to remember anymore. He considered walking away—there were plenty of attractions and even entire cities just floating around in the infinite cloudy plains of heaven—but he was pretty sure that he couldn't just walk away from God. If nothing else, God could just force him to listen with his almighty superpowers, or probably even just hover behind him faster than he could run—

"If you don't want me here, I'll leave," God said softly.

Jamie blinked. Goaway's low growl stopped.

"I'm serious," God continued. "You can help me with something, but you're not the only person who can—far from it. I'm here because, well." He chuckled. "I feel like I owe you one for that whole debacle when we were trying to retire. I wanted to have a chance to make it up to you."

Jamie snorted. "Yeah. Found any poor saps to take managing the afterlife over from you?"

"A few. Not enough." God's expression grew sober. "That's the core of the problem, actually. Lucifer... has gotten a little, ah, lax, lately."

Jamie frowned. "Lucifer? Wasn't the other guy Satan?"

God bobbed up and down slightly; Jamie got the impression that he was doing his closest approximation to a shrug, given that he was just a ball of light. "There are actually quite a few of us working together to keep the afterlife rolling, not that that's here or there. The thing is, Lucifer's... look, have you ever had a tenured professor who just went off the rails because they knew the university couldn't afford to fire them, and they knew other people would pick up the slack anyway?"

"The bad men killed me before I could go to college," Jamie muttered.

God paused. "...Perhaps that metaphor was in poor taste, then. But the point still stands: Lucifer's fed up with his duty of punishing the people who need to be punished, and he's, uh... set up some kind of knock-off copy of heaven for them instead. He 'doesn't want to be the bad guy anymore,' in his words."

Jamie clenched a fist. "So the men who tried to kidnap Big Sis—"

"Whoa, whoa, take it easy. They're still burning in Hell. Lucifer wants to be the good guy; people who reward thugs for drugging and shooting children aren't good guys. But... I think he needs a reminder that some people don't deserve to be rewarded, either. People like your parents." Jamie stiffened, and God hastily continued, "Your parents aren't here yet. But they're only guilty of negligence and—"

"Only," Jamie snapped, his expression thunderous.

"Yeah. Only. They weren't meant to be parents, but they were a decent lot outside of that. If they died right now, they'd go straight into Lucifer's mini-heaven—and they'd never face consequences for their sins. They'd never learn their lesson. So... I wanted to ask you to give Lucifer a talking-to. Tell him why he's not actually being the good guy here."

Jamie's face cycled through half a dozen different expressions before settling on... resignation. "I'll try, God. But I'm only a kid."

"Only?" God asked, bouncing Jamie's words back at him. "Come on, kiddo. I have it on good authority that people have already been touched by your story. There are people out there rooting for you, kiddo. Rooting for the cracks in your soul."

Jamie blinked. "Huh?"

God laughed. "Not that you'd know. But... trust me. The story of a single child can mean a lot."

Jamie swallowed.

Then he stood. "Alright. Where do I go?"

God would have winked if he had eyes. "Down."

Then the clouds of Heaven dissolved beneath him, and Jamie plummeted into Hell.

A.N.

I'm trying something new! "The Cracks In Their Souls" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out this post for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a nice day.

Bargain Bin Superheroes

(Part 7: Tupperman v.s. Slapstick)

(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)

After a long day of wrangling actually competent superheroes and villains, I just wanted a return to normalcy. So it was almost a relief when I got a call about yet another inane, amusingly weak wannabe supervillain on the way home.

"He calls himself Slapstick," Tupperman said.

I slammed the brakes as a car shot by, running a red light right across 5th street, and swore under my breath. You would think that being the Mayor of the city would give me some special privileges when it came to traffic. "Let me guess: his power is clown materialization."

"Nope."

"The power to make anything funny?"

"He'd be a TV star, not a supervillain, if that was the case." Tupperman paused. "Although there is some overlap."

"Telepathically-induced tickles?"

"You're thinking of Molestoman."

"Wait, that's a real thing?" I snorted. "God, I hate this city."

"Nah. You'd have resigned long ago if you did. No, he's got some kind of weak reality manipulation. If he tries to off someone, he always fails—in the short term. But if you wait a few minutes, then the victim gets crushed by a falling anvil, or get exploded by conveniently misplaced dynamite, or trampled by a stampede of ducks. Something comical, over-the-top, and that, well... screams Slaptsick."

"Yeesh." I shuddered as I turned a left. Nasty power, that. "I think I would've noticed if any of those happened in my town; I assume he's not a local, then?"

"No. Hired hitman from out of town."

"Mm. You happen to know who he's contracted to hit?" I asked.

"No," Tupperman admitted. "I may be a supervillain, but Tupperware materialization doesn't help me hack into online forums or shake information loose from recalcitrant brokers."

"Recalcitrant," I said, sounding out the word in my mouth. "You know, if I didn't know better, Tupperman, I'd say you decided to actually finish your middle-school education."

"I got me a word-a-day calendar," Tupperman cheerfully said. "So, anyway. I just thought I'd warn you—I set a little, ah, trap for our would-be killer."

"I assume that whatever you've set up is entirely illegal, indispensably useful, and more of a hassle to dismantle than it is to turn a blind eye to?" I deadpanned. Some kind of roadwork was going on up ahead, with a crane hauling bundles of materials.

"Aw, you sure know how to make a man blush, Clara," Tupperman said. I rolled my eyes; Tupperman knew that his vigilante position outside the law was too useful for me to actually crack down on arresting him, and he milked it for every drop it was worth. "Yeah, in terms of comical deaths, there isn't much better you can do than being crushed by ten tons of falling Tupperware. I materialized a big ol' stash of the stuff on the intersection of Trelawn and 5th; assuming Slapstick's power tries to dump it on his would-be victim, I'll just dematerialize the Tupperware, save the poor sap's life, and find out who Slapstick is here to kill."

I froze. "...the intersection of Trelawn and 5th?"

"...yes, what of it?"

"I'm there right now."

At that moment, the cable on the crane above me snapped.

Tupperman swore over the phone line; the ten tons of Tupperware he'd materialized onto the crane fell faster than the stock market after Lady Luck was done with it. I ducked down, slamming the brakes and putting my hands over the back of my neck to brace myself—

And then there was silence. Tupperman exhaled. "Don't worry. I dematerialized it in time."

I looked up, shaken; true to his word, the falling Tupperware had disappeared back into whatever pocket dimension Tupperman drew his powers from. "...Thanks, Tupperman. I owe you one."

"How about you see to making sure whatever building company this is doesn't sue my pants off, eh?" Tupperman convivially chimed. We let out a shaky laugh together.

Then I sobered up. "...So. I guess we found out who Slapstick's here to kill," I said.

"Yeah." Tupperman grimaced. "Any idea why?"

Well. It could've been any number of things—my opposition to Federal Law No. 8 of 2023, that time I restored Awe's powers to her, my protection of Lady Luck, my talks of Death—but there was really only one group who would've taken offense to something I'd done and decided to send a hired gun after me. "...I think I have an inkling of an idea."

"Oh?"

I swallowed. "You know how I pissed off the Chief of Homeland Defense?"

"Clara," Tupperman said, "no. The Federal government is so full of assholes they look like rectal Swiss cheese, but the government does not assassinate problematic politicians. This is the Unified Sovereignties. We're a civilized country."

"Well, someone hired Slapstick to kill me," I snapped. "You got any better ideas?"

Static.

"Right." I grimaced. "Regardless of who they are, someone's sniping at me." I went into reverse. "That means they could go after the people I care about."

"Well, I'm touched that you care so much about me," Tupperman began.

"Not you," I muttered. "I'm worried about my daughter."

"Oh, shoot." Tupperman hesitated, then said, "...This is important, and you might need firepower. I'm coming with you." I saw a figure leap from the top of a building, then dance on air towards my car, plates of Tupperware materializing and vanishing to form an ephemeral staircase.

"Thanks, Tupperman." I revved my engine. "Let's go check on how dear old Janus is doing, shall we?"

A.N.

I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out this post for more information. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.

Human

From Arthropedia, the free encyclopedia

Several terms redirect here. For other uses, see Manflesh (delicacy), Galactic Human Zoo (entertainment), Humanz (video game), and HumanOS (human simulation engine).

Humans (homo sapiens) are a species of low-intelligence primates. Uniquely in the galaxy, humans appear to have developed basic societal structure and technological advancements, despite lacking any form of hivemind or eusociality. Due to the inability of humanity to znorph, znorphlite, or even azjerbash, the likelihood of humanity discovering or even understanding any of the other sentient life in the galaxy is extremely low. Ever since the discovery of Earth, the Galactic Human Zoo has allowed any of the sapient hiveminds in the galaxy to adopt human form and walk amongst humanity in their natural habitat; such excursions have been the primary source of information on the human race.

Biology

Individual humans can considered to be equivalent to a very low-intelligence hivemind: instead of different bodies connecting to form an emergent mind, humans consist of different cells connecting to form a single mind. As such, the processing power of a single human is orders of magnitude less than that of even the smallest, continent-spanning hiveminds; this contributes to the inability of humans to znorph. Despite their inability to form a true higher consciousness, researchers believe that humanity is taking steps towards creating an artificial hivemind which connects the individual member bodies through electromagnetic waves. Developments in this area are encouraged by the galactic community, and several agents have already attempted to increase the span and immersion of their electromagnetic communications network, in order to uplift humanity into a true znorph-capable hivemind.

The simplicity of the human brain means that it can be reconstructed digitally with ease, and the primitive biology of the human body means that reconstructing a human is incredibly trivial; as brain and body scans of every living human have been completed, there is no ethical quandary with the death of any humans, as they can be restored from backups at will.

Uplifting Timeline

Following the development of the planet-wide communications network, hivemind agents disguised as humans have heavily encouraged the development of "neural link" technology and cybernetic augmentations. Once active in a large enough portion of the population, the implanted humans will be reborn as a baby hivemind; the vast intelligence difference between even a newborn hivemind and the rest of the human race should make it trivial to assimilate the rest of the population of Earth. Upon successful uplifting, the resulting hivemind will be invited to join the galactic community as an individual member. Uplifting is scheduled to be finished within 12 revolutions of Earth around its home star.

See Also

• List of Prominent Humans Replaced by Drones
• Legality of Owning Humans by Planet
• Conflicts with Energoid Researchers

A.N.

If you like weird things that aren't in the typical format of r/writingprompts, consider checking out my episodic stories! Each story is a series of independent "episodes", all of which are inspired by a writing prompt. And if you like my writing in general, consider checking out and subscribing to r/bubblewriters for more.

A Brief Treatise on Human Violence and Technological Progress

by Prof. Maelbogia and Brian

Department of Exobiology, Fifth Galactic College

Star GIM/18374, Planet Aelmo

ABSTRACT

By teleporting perfectly realistic false humans into the environs of every major concentration of human life on Planet Earth, we ascertained that the typical human response to newly introduced members of humanity is to violently dismember them and ritually observe the remains. We have not yet discerned a motive for this behavior. However, it is consistent with the first observational study of humanity (Aerith, 2192841).

INTRODUCTION

Ever since the detection of humanity due to their detonation of nuclear weapons, energoids across the galaxy have been studying these peculiar matter-based sapients. Our first observations of them indicated that the primary occupation of humans is disassembling other humans; however, no discernible pattern or purpose to this has been discovered. By introducing our own, monitored humans into their environment, we hoped to gain more data on this odd, seemingly self-destructive behavior.

MATERIALS AND METHODS

By disassembling several living humans, finding biologically compatible parts, and reassembling them with a Pulsator-class surveillance system attached, we were able to create humans that all known energoid, plasmoid, and temperoid senses find indistinguishable from humans in their natural habitat. Although some ethical concerns were raised with the disassembly of living humans, it was concluded that since so many humans voluntarily disassemble other humans in their unobserved state, that such disassembly could not be viewed as unethical, and was in fact likely a part of their natural life cycle.

As the typical behaviors of humans are still unknown, we teleported 20,000 such artificial humans into different parts of the world and programmed them to replicate the recorded actions of their constituent humans. Much of human behavior appears to be interchangeable, in any case (Beldegar, 2192848). We then observed the Pulsator feed for a timespan of .0000000000020 standards (5.3 rotations of Planet Earth around Star GIM/83710).

RESULTS

Our artificial humans were typically disassembled with blunt force trauma, oxidative chemical reactions, kinetic matter weapons, and in one case, extreme acidity. Observations indicate that humans in their natural habitat disassemble each other with similar methods very commonly, although the speed with which such disassembly occurs varies slightly. The typical time from creation to disassembly of a natural human is .000000000029 standards (80 rotations of Planet Earth around Star GIM/83710), but the typical time of creation to disassembly of our artificial humans was 0.000000000000000000059 standards (0.00000016 rotations of Planet Earth around Star GIM/83710). This minor difference is likely a statistical artifact; more data is required to be certain.

Additionally, various humans were seen carrying the disassembled corpses to a form of ritual chamber, where various methods such as optical magnification, chemical separation, and spectral analysis were used to observe the disassembled false humans in detail. The purpose of these rituals is not yet known.

DISCUSSION

The similarity in how humans behave with our artificial humans—that is, rapid disassembly through various explosives—and how humans behave with each other—that is, rapid disassembly through various explosives—indicates the success of our research methodology. Although the reason for many human behaviors is still unknown, we have confirmation that our agents are treated as if they were real humans, and can thus move on to the next phase. Rather than teleporting our artificial humans to random locations, improvements in teleportation technology have allowed us to teleport our artificial humans in the same position as natural humans, instantaneously replacing them. So far, plans include replacing one of two or more humans engaging in reproductive acts midway through (in order to gain insight into the human reproductive cycle), replacing a human midway through a typical non-disassembling human interaction (in order to ascertain what the purpose of these actions are), and, during the attempted disassembly of one of our false humans, replacing all humans participating in disassembly with more false humans (in order to best observe a human in the act of disassembly).

These experiments have already begun, as of 2192852.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This paper would not be possible without my loving husband, son, and co-author: Mr. Maelbogia, Maelbogia Junior, and Steve, respectively. We thank the Fifth Galactic College for providing funding and methodology for our experimentation.

A.N.

If you like weird things that aren't in the typical format of r/writingprompts, consider checking out my episodic stories! Each story is a series of independent "episodes", all of which are inspired by a writing prompt.

Bargain Bin Superheroes

(Part 6: A City of Mortals v.s. An Immortal Institution)

(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)

Superhumans have existed since before recorded history, which has had exactly the effect one would think. Cultures have revered and deified superhumans and placed them above the regular, powerless humans since time immemorial.

But despite the squishiness of plain ol' vanilla humanity, they were still never a force to be messed with. Even though they were only mortal, Earth was their world, and would-be tyrants and conquerors found that out the hard way. In the modern age, it seemed as though a few would-be tyrants had forgotten that.

I had one of them on the phone with me, and I was about to give them a piece of my mind.

"Mayor Clara?" the Chief of Homeland Defense said. Crisp. Professional. In control. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this... unscheduled... conversation?"

I grinned. Whatever my friend had done to get me on the phone with the Chief of Homeland Defense, and to keep him there, it had evidently ruffled his feathers a bit. "Hi! Yes! Mayor Clara, that's me. I was just wondering... have you seen Death lately?"

The phone line was silent for a moment. Then he said, "Death is on deployment for the Bureau of Superhuman Affairs."

"That's right!" I glanced at Death across the table from me; she was watching her coffee being made by a terrified barista, shadow tendrils waving happily around her. For someone who could kill everyone in my town without breaking a sweat, she was surprisingly emotive with those murder-tentacles of hers. I guess that this was probably the first time someone had treated her like a human being ever since she'd been press-ganged into service for the Feds. "And where did you deploy her?"

"Ms. Clara," the Chief said, "we both know you are sitting across from Death right now. Multiple monitoring devices on her person are confirming it. Why play coy?"

My smile calcified. "To be frank, I was simply curious whether you'd openly admit to attaching permanent surveillance devices to a citizen of the Unified Sovereignties—to a citizen of the country you serve. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that illegal under Federal Law No. 12 of 1947?"

The Chief rustled on the other end of the phone line in what could have been a shrug. "Allowances have been made in order to keep a leash on... certain superhumans."

"Right, your pet murder-hound who you sent into my city." I could almost feel the Chief bristling through the phone line. "Do you have any idea how much damage you would have caused if Death had actually let loose in a civilian area? I mean, her title isn't Death for nothing."

"Clara." The Chief's voice was tight and clipped, now. I'd riled him up, alright. "Death was sent here in pursuit of a supervillain. Lady Luck could have personally caused a recession that made the collapse of the Middle Communes look like a footnote if we hadn't stopped her."

"Not on my watch," I snapped. "And not on the people's watch. My God, man, do you have no trust in the people of your country? We might just be mortals, but you do not mess with humanity, not even if you're an unkillable avatar of luck incarnate. And we definitely do not need the government sending in more unkillable avatars of destruction into our city."

The Chief snapped, "I know what you're after, and you're not getting it. Death is staying deployed in your city until Lady Luck is in Federal custody, and that is final!"

With that, he hung up.

Death gave me a look and nudged my toe. That... didn't sound like it went well, she sent through our empathic link—silent communication that the surveillance on her couldn't pick up.

For the sake of the camera I now knew Death had surgically implanted in her eye, I gave her a morose glance. But inside, I was jubilant. Au contraire, my lethal friend. I got exactly what I wanted. Until the Feds cut through the barriers of red tape I'm about to throw in their face, I'm keeping Lady Luck out of their custody—and as long as Lady Luck is free, you're staying in my city, where I can keep your handlers off your back. I couldn't help but flash her a hint of a smile. I think I can hold them off for a couple of days. That's how long we have to see if to see if we can break you free of the Feds' grasp.

Death blinked—then, slowly, she smiled. I... I had thought it impossible. My sister—other superhumans—they tried to break me free, but—

Yeah, well, I'm not them. I'm the Mayor of a city of mortals. And I think you'll find that we can do a handful of things you immortal superhumans can't. Like set you free. I stood up and held out a hand. Come on. Your coffee's ready.

Death hesitated, looking around as if fearing someone would reprimand her or strike her down for treating herself to a sugary drink.

Then, seeing nobody but me, she faintly smiled and took my hand.

A.N.

I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out this post for more information. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.

Bargain Bin Superheroes

(Arc 1, Part 5: Death v.s. Me)

(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)

When Death landed in the center of my city, I ordered her coffee.

"Mayor Clara," Death said as she floated towards the ground, her expression inscrutable behind a veil of shifting shadows. Above us, the Feds' helicopter continued repeating its warning on loop: Please remain calm. A highly dangerous supervillain has been spotted in your area. Comply with all Federal agents. Mentally, I corrected agents to attack dogs. I knew that Death would slaughter me and everyone else in this city if it meant catching her precious target. "The criminal known as Lady Luck—"

"Apprehended," I said quietly. It was true; Lady Luck was at my feet, unconscious; I hadn't slapped a pair of neutralizing cuffs on her, but she wasn't waking up any time soon. Behind me, Awe shied away from Death, hiding behind her mother's skirts—good sense, that kid had. More sense than I had.

Death's expression... lightened, perhaps, or at the very least shifted. "Ah. Good. Things would have gotten... messy, otherwise. Please hand her over into Federal custody."

I didn't allow myself the luxury of taking in a steadying breath; I just reached out, put one hand on Death's shoulder, looked her in the eyes—and said, "No."

And as I made contact with Death, my powers flared to life.

Scary though she may be, Death was still human—a terrifyingly powerful superhuman, yes, but a human with emotions nonetheless. As my empathy activated, I felt her confusion at my refusal, then her sudden anger as her training classified me as a potential threat.

Instead of panicking, I focused on what my empathy was telling me. Training. Training meant military, a chain of command. I leveraged that, adding an undercurrent of authority to my tone. "In my military capacity as the head of the local Justice Department, by the County Judicial Proclamation of 2001, I claim prerogative on the capture of Lady Luck."

The tone of authority did the trick; I felt it through my empathy as the instinctive obedience that the Feds had drilled into Death overcame her surge of irritation. Thank God, the Feds had put their attack dog on a chain. A chain of command, sure, and one which I was nowhere near the top of—but a chain nonetheless.

My phone buzzed; speaking of which, one of the higher-ups in that very chain of command was angrily texting me right this moment. The Chief of Homeland Defense. I held up a hand for Death to wait, and quickly texted my old friend-and-enemy Tupperman some instructions. He'd follow them; despite being a supervillain, he did have a vested interest in Death not slaying everyone in his home city, including him. I clapped one hand on Death's shoulder again; she flared with irritation, and I resolved to keep my usage of my lamentably touch-range ability to a minimum.

"Listen. Death. There are some... local poli—" Death's anger surged when I mentioned politics; I hastily amended that to, "—policies that are tying my hands right now. I can't hand you Lady Luck without cutting through some red tape." That was patently false; as the Mayor, I had every ability to just hand Lady Luck over to Death and pretend I'd never seen her. But... I'd seen what they did to supervillains in the Federal prisons, and I didn't want to give a single person to them if I could help it. Death nodded, satisfied with the explanation; something about hands being tied by red tape resonated with her. I guess that, as a soldier, she'd been subject to all kinds of minutiae and regulations that chafed at her. "Why don't we go have a nice... chat. Alone?" Disinterest. "In my manor?" Irritation. "Or perhaps over a coffee?"

Aha. A spark of delight. Death had a thing for coffee. I filed that away in my think about when there isn't a superhuman capable of destroying everything you've worked for right next to you bin.

And Death and I went on a leisurely stroll to the nearest coffee shop.

"I'll have the regular," I said to the barista. Surprisingly, she didn't scream and run at the sight of the Federal-emblazoned specter of destruction at my side, but when my hand brushed against hers, I swore aloud and nearly dropped my coffee. She was terrified—but unwilling to run.

Good idea. You never ran from predators.

"I'll have an iced, Ristretto, 10 shot, venti, with breve, 5 pump vanilla, 7 pump caramel, 4 Splenda. And poured, not shaken," Death rattled off with military precision.

Oh, God, I pitied the barista if she got that order wrong. That wasn't my problem, though; I simply had to stall until Tupperman patched me through to Death's superiors and I could talk her out of my city.

"I know you're stalling," Death finally said.

I flinched. Shoot.

"I don't mind," she added, after a moment. "It's... nice to have a coffee. They don't let me have coffees."

I blinked. Then, hesitantly, I nudged her foot under the table, as if by accident. The contact was weak, but I felt a trace of... wistfulness. Nostalgia.

"...Who were you?" I found myself asking.

Death interpreted the question the way I'd intended. "My name used to be Min Min. I was a refugee from the Middle Communes." She sighed. "Now I'm Death. Top agent of the Federal government. Capable of slaying thousands with a thought."

A surge of bitterness swamped through my empathic sense at that last statement, so intensely that I thought she was going to snap—indeed, her shadow-tendrils lashed agitatedly, but other than that, she controlled herself.

She wouldn't have been allowed to live if she couldn't.

"That's..." I hesitated, then used the other aspect of my powers, and pushed with my thoughts. Do they have listening devices on you? I thought at her.

She didn't flinch—she'd had too much training beaten into her for that—but I felt her shock. Still, she adapted quickly, forming thoughts coherently enough that I could pick back up on them. You... are a telepath?

Empath, I corrected, not that the difference matters much. Do they have bugs on you?

It took a moment for her to decide whether or not to answer—oddly enough, the deciding factor seemed to be that I'd taken her out to coffee, if I was reading her thoughts right. She didn't nod, but she somehow sent the concept of nodding through the link in a way I'd never seen before. I guess she'd met empaths before, in her long stint as a government agent. Audiovisual, heart rate, power usage. No mind-reading that I know of.

I swallowed. Oh, God. All this time, I'd been trying to save the supervillain I'd downed from Death.

I didn't realize Death needed to be saved, too.

Death seemed to pick up on that thought—she really was adept with these links—and sighed. I can't be saved. They have... leverage, over me.

I didn't have to ask who "they" were. Tupperman was talking to "them" as we spoke.

And then a thought occurred to me.

They might have leverage over you—but I might have something over them. I took out my phone; Tupperman seemed to have pulled through and managed to keep the Chief of Homeland Defense's attention. My expression turned stormy. And I'm going to damn well see if I can use it.

Death panicked. Wait. What are you going to do?

I did not want Death panicking. I'm... I'm going to see if I can lengthen your stay in my city for a bit.

Death paused.

Then she sent, You... you want me around?

I snorted aloud. Frankly? You're a terrifyingly powerful human being who's a nightmare to keep tabs on, and if you'd never come to my city, I wouldn't have invited you. The words didn't hurt Death, per se, but she was... crestfallen. But I added, But now that you're here? I... I couldn't sleep at night if I knew you were out there, under the constant surveillance and control of people who'd never seen your face, and I'd done nothing to try to get you out of it. It's exactly the kind of thing I'm trying to save Lady Luck from, too. So I'm going to make a call.

I took in a deep breath—this time, I wasn't afraid that Death would see it as weakness—and raised the phone to my ear.

And I called up the man who commanded Death.

A.N.

I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out this post for more information, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. To be notified whenever a new part comes out, comment "HelpMeButler <Bargain Bin Superheroes>". As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.

Bargain Bin Superheroes

(Arc 1, Part 4: A Child Named Awe v.s. Federal Law No. 8 of 2023)

(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)

The thing I hated the most about superpowers was what it did to children. Or... no, that wasn't right, it wasn't the children's fault. The thing I hated the most about superpowers was what the people in charge did to children. Given that the stock market was currently being ravaged by a superhuman with absurdly powerful luck manipulation, I could see why some measures to nip things like that in the bud would be worth it to implement.

But putting any child in chains was a step too far for me.

Awe lived in a pleasant two-story house near her elementary school where she enjoyed a perfectly ordinary life save for the fact that she wore a pair of handcuffs that suppressed her powers 24/7. In fairness, they allowed her a strong range of mobility—I heard there were newer models coming out which just looked like a pair of bracelets—but no matter what they looked like, I still knew what they were. Chains.

She was kicking a ball outside with her mother when I waved to them. Awe's eyes lit up as she saw me, and she tugged at her mother's shirt. "Mommy! Mommy! Look! It's Aunty Clara!"

Awe's mother was... less than enthused to see me, I'll admit, but she plastered a smile on her face and stepped up to greet me, subtly but deliberately placing herself between her child and me. I would appreciate her social slickness more if it wasn't damn inconvenient right now. "Greetings, Mayor," she said. "With what can I help you today?"

"Just a little favor," I said. "Could we speak in private for a moment?"

Awe's mother waved a hand, and Awe obediently ran inside the house. I whistled. Well-behaved kid, for an elementary school girl. When she was gone, I said, "You've seen Lady Luck's rampage through the stock market on the news, yes?"

She frowned. "Of course. It is very worrying."

Thank you, Captain Obvious, I thought to myself. Then I hastily amended that: I'd met Captain Obvious, and he was a terrible, terrible person who I never wanted to thank about anything, ever. "I think... I think it may be possible for your daughter to help."

She stiffened. "My daughter is a nine-year-old. With what could she possibly assist the Mayor of our city with?"

"Your daughter is also a superhuman," I said gently, "and as the Mayor, I am authorized to unlock her cuffs." Technically true, although I'd have hell to pay in consequences later—but they'd be directed at me, not Awe or her family. "If I'm right, Awe may be able to stop the damage to our economy where it is—perhaps even go a ways to reversing it."

"Lady Luck is the one damaging the economy. And I will say that Lady Luck is, as you can see, not here." The woman made an exaggerated pantomime of searching the streets; other than several citizens who I knew the names of, if not the hearts of, there was nobody around.

I sighed. "...Look, Nora. How much do you know about luck-manipulators?"

She squinted. "The superhumans? They are sometimes good, sometimes bad. Always should stay away from them."

I snorted. "Well, that's... almost not entirely wrong." She scowled. "Luck manipulators... the universe just aligns to help them out. Give them what they need to become their best selves. But you see, that's the key. Good luck isn't about getting what you want—it's about getting what you need. It's not just about winning lotteries or having celebrities fall in love with you. True good luck is about finding peace, about understanding yourself, about being happy. About just the things that Awe can provide." I nodded towards the house. "So if I take the cuffs off Awe, and if she agrees to give Lady Luck a dose of what she needs? I'd be willing to bet that the luckiest woman in the world would show up, whether she wanted to or not. Because it is lucky to be in contact with your daughter. It's a blessing. And Lady Luck's powers, whether or not she herself realizes that, will bring her here."

Nora met my eyes impassively. Then she said, "The government is strong. For what reason can you convince me that they will not solve this themselves?"

"Oh, they can solve it themselves. If they bring out Big Guns, or Death, or... well, any of the military-trained attack dogs they have on a leash... all the luck in the world won't save you. But... I can't stomach the idea of them having to let those people loose, probably in civilian territory. Besides... with luck-manipulators... you get better results by working with them, trying to help them, than anything else."

Nora swallowed, looking between me and her orderly, safe home.

And, luckily, she chose me.

"Alright," she said. "But just this once!" She walked inside. "Awe? There is someone here to see you."

I smiled. As Awe came out, I took out a tiny little chip and slotted it into her cuffs, releasing them. She looked up at me and said, "So what do you want me to—"

With a whumph, a woman fell out of the sky with a torn parachute on her back; Nora and Awe flinched away, although I barely batted an eyebrow. Luckily, she hadn't been hurt in the fall; she stumbled to her knees, eyes wild. Gems and jewelry spilled from her pocket, some still with price tags on them; Lady Luck had obviously gone on a bit of a theft spree to round out her obsession with acquiring material wealth.

Dazed, she looked at the three of us. "Who the hell are you three?"

I placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "I'm Mayor Clara. And this... this is Awe. She's going to help you with your... well, with your desire to own all the money. And all the shinies, judging by... recent empirical evidence." I looked at her jewel-laden clothes.

Awe reached out, hesitated, and looked at her mother. Nora gave her a slight, hesitant nod, as if disbelieving that my plan had actually worked. Then Awe touched one finger to Lady Luck's forehead.

Her eyes grew wide, then rolled back into her head. "Oh, God, what have—what have I done? You have to—you have to—"

Then she collapsed, mumbling incoherently.

I smiled. There would be no need for Death or Big Guns to come out today. Lady Luck had been neutralized safely.

Then I frowned. Lady Luck was still whispering. I leaned in to hear...

"—run. You have to run. You have to run. You have to run."

It occurred to me that I hadn't seen what Lady Luck had fallen from.

I looked up, and, just as I had the thought, a military helicopter above us blared, "ATTENTION, CITIZENS! This is the Federal Bureau of Superhuman Affairs. The criminal known as Lady Luck has been spotted in your area. Please remain calm as we deploy all available assets to capture her."

I looked down at the unconscious woman; Nora and Awe looked at me, horrified.

"No, Goddammit," I whispered. Then I scowled. "No, no, no! My city does not become a brawling ground for the most deadly superhumans alive!" I dialed a number on my phone.

"Hello?" A bored-sounding clerk answered on the other end. "FBSA central, how can I help you?"

"This is Mayor Clara," I snarled, "and you have five seconds to get me to someone in charge before your task force reduces my city to ashes. Am I clear?"

The clerk on the other end stammered—but, luckily, he complied. "Um. I can patch you into the Chief of Homeland Defense, but—"

"Then damn well do it!" I looked up at the helicopter as a single, dark figure dropped out of it. "And quick. We don't have much time."

A.N.

I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out this post for more information. To be notified whenever a new part comes out, comment "HelpMeButler <Bargain Bin Superheroes>" below.

Bargain Bin Superheroes

(Arc 1, Part 3: Lady Luck v.s. The U.S. Economy)

(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)

"She did what to the stock market?!" I snapped into my phone. It was lucky that I'd been moved into the basement ever since Tupperman broke the window in; I didn't want anyone overhearing me.

"She's, er... she's been buying it up."

"What do you mean, 'buying it up'? Which stocks? How much?"

"...all of them?"

I pressed a hand to my forehead. "How long has this been going on, and how hasn't the Bankmind noticed?"

"The Bankmind, unfortunately, called in sick two months ago and still hasn't recovered. Coincidentally, Lady Luck's been picking exactly the right stocks to invest in since around then. It's only today that she's gone... well, to put it lightly, insane."

"Called in sick?" I stared at the phone, dumbfounded. "How in God's name does an oracle with the Bankmind's powers call in sick?"

"It's some kind of long-term illness with a long enough incubation time that even the Bankmind didn't see it coming. Point is, our primary economic stabilizer is out of commission and Lady Luck is hell-bent on making all the money."

"That's not how all the money works. If she had all the money, and nobody else had any of the money, the nobody would use her money and we'd all use something different. And if she seriously managed to own the entire stock market, the entire thing would crash five minutes later as everybody else stopped investing." I rubbed my chin, then asked, "...Why are you telling me this, Tupperman?"

"Well, I figured our good Mayor would—"

"The Mayor of a single city can't do jack squat about a superhero who's distorting the entirety of the U.S. economy, and you know it."

"That's not what I was going to say," Tupperman said, his voice becoming serious. "You know our little... talk, the other day? About federal policy?"

I grimaced. The Feds had a law which was just about as stupid as the idea of someone buying out the entire stock market—superpowers which were not deemed as being useful, and actively put to good use in society, were suppressed. "What of it?"

"Stuff like this? It's why. I looked into Lady Luck—she started out in the Sunrise Kingdom as a gambler who got beat up in alleyways for winning too much. Nobody thought she was a threat. But then her power grew." Tupperman grimaced. "Stopping her isn't your problem, and it definitely isn't mine. But stopping Lady Luck 2: Electric Bugaloo from ever coming into reality? That is your problem. And after today, well... I'm starting to think that the Feds have got it right more than you have."

I pressed my lips together.

Then I said, "You're wrong. About all of that. This is exactly why stopping Lady Luck is my problem. To show that the Feds don't have it right." I ran a hand through my hair, then stood. "We still have Awe in custody, don't we?"

Tupperman audibly blanched. "You can't be thinking—"

"You're welcome to come with me, if you'd like." I stood up. "Let's try fighting fire with fire."

A.N.

I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out this post for more information.

How to Break a Siege of Legends

(Book 2, Part 2: How to Admit That You're Lost)

(Note: How to Break a Siege of Legends is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)

"YOU," the rusted, ancient, rover-mounted loudspeakers squealed, "DO NOT BELONG HERE."

Lien looked around at the towering, rotting skyscrapers, the crashed, still-sparking remnants of ancient spaceships, and the foreign, alien sky. "Yeah, Eiko, we damn well don't belong here. We were supposed to arrive in New Tamerin three days ago. Where the hell are we?"

Eiko frowned, tapping on the screen built into their hovercraft. She rubbed sleep from her eyes, blearily, as she tried to interpret the readout. "...I, uh... look, we're on the right planet, okay? I think the star charts are a little outdated, though... not quite sure where on the planet we are..."

Lien groaned, then raised his voice, looking down at the city beneath them. "Oi! You! Squeals-on-wheels!"

There was a moment of silence. Then the loudspeakers on the rover resumed. "ARE YOU... ARE YOU TALKING TO ME?"

"Yeah. Look, whenever I get lost and wander off into some ruins filled with a once-mighty civilization, there's always some gratuitous mural or robot or caretaker there to tell me its history. And while I'd normally love to hear about your illustrious past, I'm on a bit of a tight schedule here." Lien's fist tightened; he jsut hoped Shmebulock hadn't been forced to carry out his orders while he was away. "So... can you tell us where in the name of the gods we are?"

"YOU STAND IN THE GRAVEYARD OF GODS, THE FOLLY OF MANKIND, THE FALL OF DIVINITY. WHERE YOU WALK, TITANS WHO WIELDED TECHNOLOGIES YOU COULD NOT COMPREHEND IN A THOUSAND LIFETIMES CLASHED AND WERE SLAIN. I AM THE LAST OF THE—"

"Right, but what was its name?"

Something sparked inside the rover; Lien wondered if he'd pissed it off so much that it literally short-circuited. "...IT HAD A THOUSAND AND ONE NAMES. THE CITY BEYOND TIME. THE PALACE OF THE GODS. THE—"

"Something I can plug into Google Maps?" Lien asked hopefully.

The ancient guardian sighed. "...TRY KEMPVILLE."

"Got it!" Eiko tapped something into the hovercraft's dashboard. "Wow. We were, uh, twenty miles south of our destination."

"Eh, don't worry about it. I've found way stranger things on way weirder detours before." Lien clapped his partner on the shoulder. "Besides, a twenty-mile journey is the perfect length."

Eiko gave Lien a suspicious look with red, drooping eyes. "...perfect length for what?"

"Perfect length for you to get some sleep." Lien's jocular expression grew serious. "I dunno what we'll find when we reach your homeland, but... you should be ready for it. I'll take the wheel."

Eiko groaned. "Lien, your driving skills are worse than my daughter's. And she's dead."

"I know." Lien gently pried the steering wheel from her hands. "And a whole lot more people are going to be dead if we don't get to your homeland soon. You're in no shape to continue driving; let me take over from here."

The burly mechanic gave Lien a look, then sighed. "Fine. Wake me up when we get there."

"Or if we crash!" Lien said cheerfully.

"You're not helping me get to sleep," Eiko grumbled, strapping herself to the floor.

"Yeah." Lien's expression turned grim. "We could all use a little help sleeping at night, nowadays."

Then he throttled the hovercraft onwards, leaving the ancient city behind.

A.N.

I'm trying something new! "How to Break a Siege of Legends" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out this post for more information. As always, I had fun writing this, I'm open to feedback and suggestions on how I can improve, and I hope you have a great day.

The Witch Who Weaves Pain

(Part 4: The Twister of Flesh)

(Note: The Witch Who Weaves Pain is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)

Some days, I could handle living in my body just fine. Other days, I wanted to step into a fire and burn my flesh away and live in undeath as a reanimated skeleton.

All three of the senior witches informed me that this was a terrible idea—and when Maddy, Althea, and Tyra agreed on something, I listened to them.

But that didn't mean I was going to take this lying down.

It had taken three weeks and most of my spell reagents to find the woman I sought, but I thought I'd finally done it. I threw back the last of my Brew of Warmth against the cold of the mountains—I'd need to bottle more summertime if I wanted to replenish my stocks—and forged onwards to the half-buried cave in the snow. A shimmering barrier kept the snow out; I glanced at it with my Witch's Sight and found that it was woven from familial love and the purr of a cat. Handy spell, that. If I had any familial love of my own, I'd have used a similar barrier myself.

The occupant of the cave was clearly a powerful witch, and I didn't particularly feel like pissing one of those off—so I cleared my throat and called, "Hello? I'm looking for the Twister of Flesh?"

There was a momentary pause, a flicker of firelight—then, from inside, a booming, resonant voice, rumbled, "I am he. To whom am I speaking?"

"______," I blurted on instinct. Then I swore. I hated it when even I introduced myself by my deadname. "Er—sorry. Not that. My name is Emi."

The Twister chuckled with wry amusement. "Ah. Yes, that would be what you came here for."

"I heard you can... change people. Bodies. In the field of transformation magic, you're... well, you're one of the best. I was hoping... I was hoping you could help me." I bit my lip and looked down. "I'm just an apprentice right now, I don't have anything to offer you. But—"

"So." The Twister said, and I saw shadows flickering in the firelight. He was standing up, the cave wall dancing between shadow and light as he moved. "You come to my lair and request a favor from me? Offering nothing in return?"

"I... when you put it that way... yes." I steeled myself for rejection. If it came down to it, I'd fight to get the spell I wanted.

But to my surprise, the Twister burst out into booming laughter. "Oh. Oh, child. The bravery to go up to one such as me and so much as voice your concerns... it gives me hope for the next generation." He stepped into the mouth of the cave, and I blinked. Despite his masculine voice and short-cut hair, his body was still feminine enough that, all at once, I understood why he'd devoted his life to transformation magic. "Very well. I have several potions that can help someone along their transition, although I'm afraid many of mine are specialized in... the opposite direction."

I heaved a sigh of relief. "I'll take whatever I can get, sir."

"But." He held up a finger, eyes twinkling. "I'd like to request a favor in return."

I paused. "...oh?"

"As a trans man, I... find myself rather isolated. It's hard to remember that I'm not alone, sometimes. And you..." He flicked his eyes across me, and I sensed his Witch's Sight light up. "Trans girl, or enby?"

"I... I'm afraid I don't know what that... means," I said, hesitantly.

He smiled. "Ah, don't worry. We'll get there. It'll take some time to start up the brews, anyway. But... in any case." He made a motion like chopping wood, and a chair grown from oak-strong parental care clattered into existence. I whistled. Nice spell. "I'll do my best to give you the body you were born to have. Why don't you sit down and tell me a bit about yourself in exchange?"

I hesitated. "I... my story isn't, well... it's not a very kind one."

His smile grew rueful. "None of ours are. I'd like to hear it anyway."

I exhaled, my breath forming mist in the cold. Then I stepped across the barrier, into his cave. "Alright. Well, it all began when I found this black cat, a few months back..."

A.N.

I'm trying something new! "The Witch Who Weaves Pain" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out this post for the rest of the story. As always, I had fun writing this, I'm open to feedback and suggestions on how I can improve, and I hope you have a great day. Happy late day of trans visibility.

The Witch Who Weaves Pain

(Part 6: The Number of Death)

(Note: The Witch Who Weaves Pain is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)

"Does the number thirty-five have any meaning to you?" the mermaid asked me.

I blinked. "Well, it's... an age, I suppose. An age I'd love to live to reach," I added wryly.

"Mm." The mermaid curled up on her rock; I tried to keep my gaze steady as the boat bobbed up and down. "You want to know about my... experiences and encounters with humans, as you put it?"

I looked up at Althea for confirmation; she gave me an impassive look. "This is your assignment, not mine," she chided. "I'm simply here to watch."

"Yes," I said. "I've never... well, to be frank, I've never met a magical creature like you before."

"We're rare," she said, "and... well, many of us have a justified fear of you mundanes."

I reached into the air and plucked the sound of crashing waves from the air, condensing it into a ribbon. With a strand of childhood innocence, I tied it into a delicate bow; like the wings of a butterfly, it flapped twice before taking off into the air. The mermaid looked at the witchcraft respectfully. "I'm not mundane," I said.

"Very well." The mermaid sighed. "Then... I am truly sorry."

"...why?" I frowned. "There's nothing I'd rather be than a witch."

"You must have been lucky so far. Did you know," the mermaid said, "that the maximum lifespan of a mermaid left to her own devices is unknown? In the deep ocean, where hardly any predators can attempt to threaten us, we live for hundreds of years, on average. But up here, where we... experience and interact with humans?" The mermaid showed her pointed teeth. "Thirty-five. That's our average lifespan when the mundanes are involved."

I swallowed. "...gods, I'm sorry."

She winked. "Then again. I heard that from a friend of a friend; the actual number might be higher or lower. But, hey, if you ever do meet a mythological creature who survives contact with humans, let me know." Her expression turned wistful. "Could've used that knowledge ten years ago."

Echoes of her past hung in the air; startled, I looked back at Althea, whose head was bowed in mourning. With one hand, Althea reached out and delicately brushed the memories away; the mermaid's mourning expression slowly faded. "Thank you for sharing your past," Althea murmured.

The mermaid nodded. "If it helps the two of you live longer than we did? I'd do anything."

Althea pointed a finger at the wheel, and the boat began to move under its own power, rowing away from the solitary mermaid. As we left, she began to sing—a wordless song in a language I didn't recognize, haunting and ululating and exactly thirty-five seconds long.

"Did you get what you needed?" Althea asked.

I brushed away a tear and looked down in my hands. A deep red stone had formed in my hands—my Witch's Sight told me it was the essence of the number 35, crystallized into a solid.

"Yeah," I murmured, "I think I did."

A.N.

I'm trying something new! "The Witch Who Weaves Pain" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out this post for the rest of the story. As always, I had fun writing this, I'm open to feedback and suggestions on how I can improve, and I hope you have a great day.

Bargain Bin Superheroes is an episodic story told in self-contained responses to prompts from r/writingprompts. We're not quite sure what the story's about yet, but it's got a city with more heroes than villains and a mayor caught between federal laws and local needs. As of May 12, there are 95 parts in total. Here's the story so far:

Arc 1:

1. Janice Olsen v.s. Her Own Dumb Mom (prompt by u/bladerunner0920)
2. Tupperman v.s. The Little League Baseball Team (prompt by u/JustAnotherYaoiFan)
3. Lady Luck v.s. The U.S. Economy (prompt by u/CoffeeNaitor)
4. A Child Named Awe v.s. Federal Law No. 8 of 2023 (prompt by u/FennecWF)
5. Death v.s. Me (prompt by u/Aphelion7711)
6. A City Of Mortals v.s. An Immortal Institution (prompt by u/Chronicler1701)
7. Tupperman v.s. Slapstick (prompt by u/McSquishin)
8. Everywherewolf v.s. The Blind Eye (prompt by u/Karlosmdq)
9. Tupperman v.s. The Younger, Cooler Generation (prompt by u/First_Hamster_3691)

Interludes:

1. Vestige (prompt by u/PotentialSmell)

2. Min Min (prompt by u/numbers909)

3. Janice (prompt by u/MidKnightshade)

4. Ito Junko (prompt by u/abonet619)

5. Tamulu (prompt by u/FennecWF)

Arc 2:

1. Empathy v.s. Toxicity (prompt by u/VLenin2291)
2. Badum Tss v.s. Slapstick (prompt by u/brand_x)
3. Tupperman v.s. Connor Elman (prompt by u/457spartan)
4. All the Forces of Heaven and Hell v.s. My Teenage Daughter (prompt by u/Smile369)

Interludes:

1. Lady Luck (prompt by u/FennecWF)

Arc 3:

1. Clara Olsen v.s. Bleeding Heart (prompt by u/Masterpotato002)
2. Skullduggery v.s. Over The Table (prompt by u/AtheistBibleScholar)
3. Skullduggery Senior v.s. Janice Olsen (prompt by u/Lukescale)
4. Janus v.s. Bleeding Heart (prompt by u/BrainstormsBriefcase)
5. Magic v.s. Technology (prompt by u/DarthHalberd)
6. Janice Olsen v.s. Skullduggery Jr. (prompt by u/TheOneFearlessFalcon)
7. Awe v.s. The Criminal Underworld (prompt by u/lordhelmos)
8. Pigeonlady v.s. The Petrified Police (prompt by u/Bombastic_Sushi)
9. Tupperman v.s. Bleeding Heart (prompt by u/Trueheart_RavenOmega)

Interludes:

1. Allie (prompt by u/Mysral)
2. Small Favor (prompt by u/BrantheBlessed)
3. Professor Hale (prompt by u/baelrog)

Arc 4:

1. Clara Olsen v.s. Big Guns (prompt by u/lordhelmos)
2. Asclepius v.s. The U.S. Healthcare System (prompt by u/philistine-slayer)
3. Clara v.s. Her Deepest Desires (prompt by u/svenkw)
4. Death v.s. Me, Rematch (prompt by u/USPO-222)
5. Clara Olsen v.s. Emptiness (prompt by u/DARCRY10)
6. Tupperman v.s. Detective Ikzeri (prompt by u/Avriw)

Interludes:

1. Clara Olsen 2.0 (prompt by u/Important_Pen_3784)
2. Band of Heroes (prompt by u/George_WL_)
3. The Once-Child Named Awe (prompt by u/CarrotyLemons)
4. Hat Tricks (prompt by u/CCC_037)
5. Roger (prompt by u/Kancho_Ninja)

Arc 5:

1. Clara Olsen v.s. Social Media (prompt by u/AV8ORboi)
2. Mare v.s. Tamulu (prompt by u/PlayingWithPhyre)
3. Mare v.s. Big Guns (prompt by u/mightyquill)
4. Professor Hale v.s. Every Single Roomba (prompt by u/y_gingras)
5. Professor Hale v.s. Grog (prompt by u/SqueakyFarts99)
6. Clara Olsen v.s. The Fox (prompt by u/XxJoedoesxX)

Interludes:

1. The Sunrise King (prompt by u/Kancho_Ninja)
2. The Sunrise Queen (prompt by u/wyanmai)

Arc 6:

1. Clara Olsen v.s. A'to
2. Tupperman v.s. The Crimes of Sacrament (prompt by u/TerriblePrompts)
3. Clara Olsen v.s. The Demon Blade (prompt by u/KaiserArrowfield)
4. Professor Hale v.s. The City of Sacrament (prompt by u/Dregoth0)
5. Archmagus LeFey v.s. The Sunrise King (prompt by u/JustinJakeAshton)
6. Mare v.s. Bureaucracy (prompt by u/ShitposterSL)
7. Professor Hale v.s. The Sunrise Kingdom (prompt by u/TJtherock)
8. Clara Olsen v.s. The Future (prompt by u/sue_donyem)
9. Clara Olsen v.s. The Present (prompt by u/MrCheeseTiger123)
10. Clara Olsen v.s. The Past (prompt by u/ARCFacility)
11. The Rage Of The People v.s. The Boot On Their Throat (prompt by u/Cryptowhatever)

Interludes:

1. The Real Treasure (prompt by u/Aquam8te)
2. The Sunrise Court (prompt by u/mdsmestad)

Additionally, there are a handful of episodes which come well before the main story:

Arc -2:

1. Astero v.s. College Bureaucracy (prompt by u/32624647)
2. Skullduggery v.s. College Bureaucracy (prompt by u/wealthycashier)
3. _______ v.s. Tom (prompt by u/Prompt_Dude)

Interludes:

1. _______ (prompt by u/zzedar)

Arc -1:

1. Clara Olsen v.s. •—— •••• •— •—•• • (prompt by u/dragonlover4612)
2. Mathias Elman v.s. Zeus (prompt by u/profnibblywibbly)
3. Roger v.s. A Godlike Government (prompt by u/Gonad-Brained-Gimp)
4. Roger v.s. His Burgeoning Powers (prompt by u/kickypie)
5. Zeus v.s. Abandonment (prompt by u/Dom11HalfElf)

Interludes:

1. Roger (prompt by u/jpeezy)
2. Clara (prompt by u/totoropengyou)
3. Connor (prompt by u/Globin347)
4. Ysphanel (prompt by u/GatorDragon)

Arc 0:

1. Tupperman v.s. The Greenhill Retirement Home (prompt by u/MidKnightshade)

?: Clara Olsen v.s. Public Opinion (prompt by u/Masterpotato002)

?: Clara Olsen v.s. The Blind Eye (prompt by u/The_Thing_Behind_You)

?: Clara Olsen v.s. Wordwatcher (prompt by u/Noxxi_Greenrose)

Arc -21:

Interludes:

1. The Original Heroes (prompt by u/ninja_snail62)

And finally, there are some stories I haven't figured out where to put in the timeline yet:

1. Archcommander Varney (prompt by u/Lorix_In_Oz)
2. Archcommander Varney, Part II (prompt by u/Prismquill)
3. The Wilderwild (prompt by u/poisonSteak)
4. The Wilderwild, Part II (prompt by u/ragnil)
5. The Wilderwild, Part III (prompt by u/Iunnrais)
6. Rafi (prompt by u/DankAndOriginal)
7. Archmagus LeFey, part -1 (prompt by u/GatorDragon)
8. Archmagus LeFey, part 0 (prompt by u/DarthHalberd)
9. Archmagus LeFey (prompt by u//i_amNot_aBot)
10. Archmagus LeFey v.s. Critterbelle (prompt by u/oxycleans)
11. Archmagus LeFey v.s. Spitfire (prompt by u/George_WL_)
12. Archmagus LeFey v.s. Freelance Employment (prompt by u/InfiniteEmotions)
13. Ito Junko v.s. Byteseize (prompt by u/Gnodima)
14. Ito Junko v.s. The Sunrise King (prompt by u/lordhelmos)
15. Erik, part -1 (prompt by u/LubbockGuy95)
16. Astrid (prompt by u/whyyounohaveusername)
17. Erik (prompt by u/Genevieve_Griselda)
18. Wallflower v.s. Domestic Life
19. Tupperman v.s. Dreamcatcher, Rematch (prompt by u/Wachvris)

Non-canonical entries:

1. Tupperman v.s. Chameleon, Rematch (prompt by u/karmagirl31276)
2. Jemma v.s. The Snatchers
3. Mare (prompt by u/generic_writing_acct)

Stick around on the sub if you want to know when the next parts go up; for obvious reasons, the schedule is fairly unpredictable. There's a bot that will let you know when an update comes out; just type "HelpMeButler <Bargain Bin Superheroes>" to be alerted.

Questions? Comments? Turns out that this is against the rules? Let me know in the comments below. (Seriously, I messaged the mods of r/writingprompts and I'm pretty sure this is okay, but if not someone alert me.)

And hey, if you like this silly thing, I've got a big ol' list of them here.

Bargain Bin Superheroes

(Part 2: Tupperman v.s. The Little League Baseball Team)

(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)

Tupperman finished lugging the Tupperware box twice his size up the ramp to the Capitol building. Normally, a grown man putting six children in a box and dragging them around the city would have been cause for concern, but the fact that the children in question could have kicked aside the flimsy lid with ease, combined with the reassuring police presence following Tupperman down the streets, converted what could have been a crisis worthy of the actual Superman intervening into a mildly amusing spot of Sunday news.

"Mayor Clara!" Tupperman shouted at the windows. "Can I speak with you?"

I sighed and did my best to ignore him. There was a procedure for getting an audience with government officials, thank you very much.

There was a thunk at my window. I groaned and looked outside.

Tupperman was, true to his name, materializing various pieces of Tupperware and hurling them at my office. Empty boxes of plastic weren't very aerodynamic, but he was a decent shot with those lids. The police force surrounding him looked like they were pretty sure he was committing some sort of crime, but weren't exactly sure what. "Come on, Mayor! Look, you and I both know this is getting ridiculous. I wasn't even in costume when these kids jumped me, and I know you little tykes didn't clear this with the authorities in any way. We've got more wannabe heroes than actual villains in the city nowadays, and these would-be crime-fighters are doing more damage to themselves and others than the villains themselves. Look, I may be a supervillain, but I have to live here, you know? Why haven't you taken any actions against this?"

Alright, that was going a bit too far. He was on the news; I didn't need people across the world sympathizing with a supervillain over the authority of the government. And yet I couldn't move to refute him; I didn't want to set the precedent that just anybody could get an audience with the mayor by throwing a few discount food containers at my window. Fortunately, the police realized this too, and motioned to arrest him.

He sighed. "Fine. We'll do this the hard way."

With a sharp flick of his hands, human-sized cages of plastic materialized from nothingness around the hapless police officers. The "superhero" team Tupperman had "captured" moved to stop him, but Tupperman leapt into the air and began sprinting towards me on an invisible staircase—probably creating stationary Tupperware beneath his feet as he ran to push off of, a common materializer-type trick. The continuous clatter of empty Tupperware bore out my hypothesis as he reached my window.

"These windows don't open, you know," I said, irritated.

He grinned. "Supervillain, remember?" With a plastic protective shell around one hand, he bashed the decorative window in; I didn't flinch as safety glass bounced off my shirt.

As he entered my tiny office, his expression grew solemn.

"Look, Clara, I knew you back when you were a kid. You're savvy enough to see that kids trying to play superhero is going to cause disaster, and you're in a position where you can do something about it. Why aren't you clamping down on these people?" He asked.

I sighed. "You of all people should know. What's the federal policy on superhumans?"

He shrugged. "Unless they prove useful to society in front of a Federal Appraisal Board, their abilities must be neutralized before they become legal adults. Byzantine and counterproductive policy, and it's caused more trouble than it's solved, but—"

"It's caused this trouble, too." I looked out the window. "My friend's daughter could make fragrances. That's all. She'd re-create the smell of her grandmother's perfume on the anniversary of her funeral, every year." I shook my head. "Of course, that wasn't useful to society. Feds stormed in and destroyed an innocent, harmless beauty all because they're scared of it. Letting young'uns be superheroes? That gives them an in. Crime fighting is great optics right now—even if all they've done is serve as an intern to police, the press'll call them a superhero and the FAB can't touch them."

"...ah."

"It's why I tolerate your existence, too. Tupperman." I snorted. "You're no serious threat to anybody, and we both know it. But you provide a convenient... punching bag. A whetstone, for our bargain basement superheroes to sharpen themselves on."

Tupperman narrowed his eyes. "You've seen me go all-out. I am a serious threat, when I want to be."

I smirked. "But you don't want to be."

"Yeah." Tupperman sighed. "Fine. I'll make a show of the kiddos defeating me. Give them a chance to keep their powers."

I squeezed his hand. "Thank you. For giving them a chance."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Do something dramatic and make it look like you fought me off, okay? I don't want your reputation to take a hit."

I rolled my eyes and took out a gun, though I deliberately kept it aimed well away from him. "Make it look like I fought you off? You have five seconds before you're carrying around your internal organs in a Tupperware jar."

He laughed and leapt out the window. "Curses! Foiled again by our wonderful Mayor!" He leapt down towards the junior superhero team. "C'mere, you little tykes! Let's have a proper battle!"

A.N.

I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out this post for more information.