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The Visitor

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Your skin crawls as you slowly open your eyes. It's dark - of course it is, as it it's the middle of the night. You're lying in a reasonably comfortable bed in a strange motel. Not your first choice, but it worked for a night.

Or so you assumed.

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Average: 4.8 (5 votes)

Don't Mess with Grammy Parsnips

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"You may as well give up now." A soft, airy voice purrs at me. It belongs to Drexel Devilheart, chief among the Demon King's warriors - his handsome, pointed features on display as his lips curl into a cocky smirk. Drexel's infernal heritage is betrayed by his coloring, skin as blue as the sky, hair like shining silver, eyes like blood. His slender but muscled form adorned with little but leather pants that are said to be made from the cured hide of holy beasts and a series of chain-like tattoos that run along the length of his right arm.
 
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Average: 4 (3 votes)

Long as Houses

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Despite what went on in it, the room was not visually romantic.  It started out well enough as a spare bedroom, until the bed was removed in favor of more room for Nathan and Maria's activities - or, to be more specific, for more room for Nathan because of Maria's activities.  Then the cabinets and desk went, then the paintings, until finally the room was bare.  Today, however, the floor was covered in tarps and Maria's pet project, an industrial-sized tire pump, sporting a few more mechanical additions.

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Average: 4.1 (8 votes)

If All Else Fails

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Mark Prager loved Monopoly as a child.  Despite the game’s basic reliance on random chance - dice, shuffled decks of cards - he developed an inexplicable propensity for monetary success in the game.  He fell in love with Monopoly, and by the time he reached eight years old his older sister refused to play with him.  Over the years this affinity and affection for money turned into an accounting degree, a successful career as a certified public accountant, and admirable - if modest - success as a day trader.

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Average: 4.5 (8 votes)

Revisions May Be Necessary

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    Hilda sat in a metal folding chair in the corner of Bellatrix's furnished basement, trying her best to ignore her coven's ongoing meeting and get some much needed work done on an important potion for a very powerful and well connected client. But a room full of inflated eighteen to twenty-four year olds was hardly the proper work environment for alchemical research.

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Average: 4.2 (5 votes)

Stealing Blueberries

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He had to do it, they had dared him too. They called him a chicken when he first refused, and no one calls him a chicken. James was at the back door of The Candy Shop. He was tricking the lock to open by using some skills a now ex-girlfriend had taught him. She was now missing, and her current boyfriend was kind of broken, but James didn't care, he'd moved on. He was now dating a girl named Tori, who was his dream girl, and she had joined in on the egging on of James to break into this place.

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Average: 3.2 (5 votes)

Big Gas

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"Okay, heisters, we've got a lead on the scientist.  She's working on a private island a mile off shore - guess those research grants can get you some cushy labs.  You're heading in by boat; once you're there, find the scientist and her little project and bring them back here in one piece.  I've got an idea for lifting them off the island."



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Average: 2.3 (8 votes)

Feast Fit for a Queen

“So what’s my special surprise?” Hotep asked excitedly. She had recently gained a ton of weight thanks to Shadow from meals and drinks he made. Her bottom bounced and jiggled with every step she took from how big it became and her belly and breasts were nearly the same. She didn't mind all this new weight at all, it made her special being pampered like that and like true royalty to Shadow. Her hair was now longer than before due to neglecting to cut it more often that still did nothing to hide her massive figure.

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Average: 3.7 (3 votes)

Lifting Spirits

A chilled breeze brushed along the pale-albino girl’s cheeks. Her short, tomboyish brown hair tussled in the winter winds. The hair on the back of her neck perked up. Fall leaves brushed along the side-walk with a gentle scrape, it followed in the wind of the afternoon while Maya pulled herself along. She wasn’t a big fan of these long, tedious walks that seemed to last a lifetime from her College to home where she still lived with her mother and father, which was a chore on its own – regardless of the actual ‘chores’ she was given.

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Average: 4.4 (9 votes)

Pokes and Pumps

Deep underground in a small tunnel, a red rubber woman paced impatiently in her confinement. Her name was Poke, a name she was never too proud of: it sounded too much like her specie’s name, the Pooka. She was your average young adult Pooka, red rubbery skin , a clean visor, an expert in all matters of pacing back and forth underground, and a tail-like stubby air nozzle squarely above her butt-cheeks. At a distance, one could mistake her for a human in an odd bodysuit. Poke was rather frustrated at the moment; she had to endure her ten hour shift in one of the watchtunnels today.

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Average: 4 (12 votes)
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