If you want to know more about me, send me a PM. Anyway, I'm fairly nice but my writing abilities are sorta competent now. Still, that's not stopping me from improving!
Please rate my storygames, especially Azula and Zuko, Don't Hurt Me Again, Solstice, No Quarter, Darius, and The Duet. My goal is to eventually have one over 100 ratings. Thank you!
QUOTES! 1. Mayana: "Wibn, your anime story is so bad that it'll give Leora depression when she reads it, turning her into a younger Myn."
2. Mayana (again): "Useful in depth advice? Hah. If I could give useful advice, then Wibn's anime story wouldn't exist because I'd advise him not to write it."
3. Steve: "Wibbons, you're such a raging, closeted faggot that you're super pathetic, and thus, I can't even hate you and hope you learn to love the little girl inside you."
4. Ebon: "Just get good wibn."
5. Ebon (again): "I don't know either tbh. For some reason wibn pisses me off an absurd amount"
6. Corgi: "And apparently wibns has whored himself out in exchange for getting lashed in the nuts via whip?"
7. Chris: "'I don't play video games. sorry"' What even are you Wibn"
8. Mizal: "Wibn wants to get better at pretending not to be a teenage girl"
9. End Master: "lol wibn is straight"
10. Digit: "I'm not Wibn level religious to go and go knock on every house on the planet to talk about or lord and savior"
11. AYT: "tbh i even thought wibn was a girl for a time"
The barrier between impossible and possible is thin.
This is an entry for the Summer Slam contest.
You will be individually following Billy Joe, Runt, Virgil, and Slim.
Each character has their own storyline that is intertwined with the others' own storylines, so your choices will effect the paths of multiple characters simultaneously in little and big ways. A choice can have a large effect even if it does not appear to do so at first, so choose carefully. Sometimes, a character's storyline is blocked (by dying) until another character does something different. Lastly, try to be nice and try not to die, for it is very helpful to do both of those things.
Also, I am deeply grateful for Tyrannosaurusrex's beta-reading. Your imputes were very helpful. Thank you so much.
Just because I write something or a character believes in a certain belief does not mean that I endorse it. In fact, there are several actions in here that are detestable to me, but I included them anyway. Then again, there's also paths that I really like from a moral standpoint.
For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? -- Mark 8:36
Also, thank you very much to Ikiriakos for beta testing my storygame! Your input was very helpful in clearing up some rather odd things plot-wise.
EDIT: I fixed some grammatical errors. Also, Darius is a prince now instead of a crown prince due to Steve's suggestion. I made a few aesthetic adjustments as well.
This is an entry for BZ's Creatures of the Night Contest.
There are two different kinds of monsters. One is a monster because of what they are, like vampires or zombies. Others are monsters because of what they do. They wear human flesh, but they are not human.
Steve is a time traveler, but he is not a superhero. He does not use his powers for battling evil or being evil. In fact, he does not even know what to do with his gloomy and crumbling life. Perhaps today things will be different. Perhaps today his present and future will be saved by... quite a special person.
Author's Note: The endings depend on Steve's previous decisions. There is one special ending found half way through the game, one sad ending, two real endings that are found at the end, and the true epilogue that is the best ending. (The best ending has Stephanie in it in case you are wondering.)
This is a what-if fanfiction for Neon Genesis Evangelion. If you want a guide on making the right choices, click this link.
Things you need to know:
The creatures called Angels are "monsters" that intended to cause the Third Impact to destroy humanity. They would unite with the original Angel in NERV's lowest level of their base in Tokyo-3. They are not heavenly angels.
Evangelion units are giant cyborgs grown from the DNA of the first Angels. They were built by the paramilitary organization NERV who combats the Angels with their pilots all of whom are (by necessity) fourteen since Second Impact occured fourteen years ago.
Rei Ayanami is the First Child: pilot for Eva unit 00. She recently diedâ€¦ sorta. Rei is not normal to say the least.
Asuka Langley is the Second Child: pilot for Eva unit 02. She lost the will to live and is now in the hospital after being suicidal and depressed.
Shinji Ikari is the Third Child: pilot for Eva unit 01 and the son of Gendo (the secretive, asshole leader of NERV). He just killed the final Angel who happened to be his new best friend. Now, he's depressed as well.
Kaworu, the final angel, died. All is set to start Instrumentality; however, Gendo realizes Rei's rebellious nature and delays both NERV and SEELE. With both sides manipulating for their own benefits, it leaves the pilots with more time. Their world, bodies, and minds are broken. Could Shinji, Asuka, and Rei heal before it is too late or will they only hurt each other more?
Now, I thank my amazing beta.
Mayana, you are the best beta reader ever. Without a doubt, this storygame would be horrible without your help. You found countless errors, made me change countless awkwardly worded sections, and had me clarify parts. In all, you read way over 100,000 words diligently. You countless hours of toil has helped this storygame improve immensely.
Maya, you went above and beyond what anyone could expect of a beta. You have my dearest thanks and gratitude.
This is the story of Ginny and Ethan's times at the carnival. As the years pass, can Ginny and Ethan's friendship continue or will their paths no longer intertwine? Will Ethan overcome his avid dislike of roller coasters?
Can their friendship bloom into something greater?
Okay, after viewing the comments, I too realized the massive error I had created in the original ending. Thank you Briar Rose, Bucky, and Steve24833 for you comments. I truly mean that. In fact, I burst out laughing (at my story) when I read the comments,especially Briar Roses. Thank you.
Now, there are two endings. The first is the original (with a few small changes), and the new one is much different from the other one. (They also wrote to each other because this story took place before the internet became widely public.)
This's an indirect sequel to my storygame Solstice. You don't need to play it to understand this one. I did have fun writing this. I've been meaning to return to Hawthorn School for nearly two years.
You never got along with her well. Cerise acts very abrasive. For the past few weeks, she's been raving about the talent show for your middle school. It's a big deal. Parents come in to see their kids perform, a rare opportunity to show off when you hardly ever see them. And Cerise likes to show off, a lot. The day before the talent show, you're confused. Why is she hiding behind a tree crying?
If you're wondering what the piece Jesus bleibet meine Freude sounds like when it's mentioned in the story, here's an audio file.
EDIT: I fixed the grammar errors that I could find. Also, the jacket choice does matter. One of them opens up a choice for you later on that wouldn't be there otherwise.
EDIT #2: I had a hilariously unfortunate error. Essentially, I had a wrong link that caused 60% of the story to be skipped yet still seemed logical enough to not throw off the readers. Shoot. Well, that's fixed now.
TRIGGER WARNING: If you personally know Trump, have ever heard of Trump, know anybody who knows Trump, know anybody who has ever heard of Trump, or has political beliefs of any kind, please do not play.
None of your choices have any effect. If you do see a choice having an effect, then you must be clearly wrong. Heck, it isn't like this is a site where you can choose your own story or anything.
The story is told though you own choices. Don't argue with me. Your choices have no meaning, but the entire storygame is told through your choices.
Also, please do not comment or rate my storygame. I published it not to improve my abilities as a writer. My feelings will be hurt if you even think about commenting especially if your comments are not nice. Also, men cannot comment because sexism or something.
NGE: How to Win
Don't bother clicking the play game link. Everything is in this description.
So, you wanna win my storygame Neon Genesis Evangelion? First, this storygame has two different types of choices. One is a bad choice that'll just get you killed. The others seem to be mostly harmless but turn out to be game changers later on.
As a general rule, take action whenever possible and try to build stronger relationships with the three pilots. To be more specific...
Choice 1: Attempt to Fix Them. I'm evil, so if you choose the other option, it won't seem to be important until the end. If you don't choose this, then you can't get the True Ending.
Choice 2: I Want to Pilot My Eva. The other one results in suicide.
Choice 3: Protect Her. About twenty pages from now, Asuka will die unless you choose this option.
Choice 4: Either one is fine. I initially planned otherwise, but I ended up really liking both. You can win after making either choice. Also, sorry. You have five links now with no choices. I feel bad about that.
Choice 5: Fabricate a Lie to Explain Asuka's Scars. Yes, that's a long title for a choice. Again, this'll matter at the end.
Choice 6: Comfort Him. Again, this one is important. It's also one of my favorite scenes of my story.
Choice 7: Pilot the Eva. You'll die in a few pages if you don't choose this.
Choice 8: No. Don't submit to Gendo. Ever.
Choice 9: Relent. Don't kill Shinji, so stop choking him.
Choice 10: She Leaves for Her... Family. This one matter to get to the true end.
Choice 11: Try to Be Nice to Rei. This'll matter at the end.
Choice 12: Feel Sympathy. This'll result in a victory in the upcoming battle.
Choice 13: Fight!. I even put an exclamation point on that one. Keep Asuka from dying, please.
Choice 14: Save My Friends. Don't let them die, okay?
Choice 15: Steal Adam. While rejecting Adam leads to an ending that I'm rather fond of (it's titles Leave and contains the words Ayanami Park), stealing Adam leads to the true end.
Choice 16: Begin Instrumentality to Revive Them. Yup, you'll do the very thing you tried to prevent the entire story. This choice will not appear unless you made the right choices for 1-15.
Choice 17: Live. Enjoy the ending. I even have a picture and Ode to Joy!
Hm... I observed in a classroom as part of my training. Some of the girls in there were whispering about something. I heard the words boobs, grandma, and some kinda debate over somthing being at a party was consensual or not. Oh, and pregency. These were also the most well behaved kids out of all the 7th grade kids in this teacher's classes. Other than that, I did school stuff.
So, this's just me messing around with a different writing style and trying to improve my ability to not suck at fight scenes. I liked it. Maybe I'll use it. Who knows?
Twelve cloaked heads bow before the young prince. He nods back to them as his breath turns into misty puffs. He dressed warm for the cold autumn night. Even in the castle’s lower halls, the air remains frigid and lifeless. The flickering torches in the room provide no warmth, for they instead dance like shadows just as the twelve assassins can so easily do.
The prince strokes his smooth chin, as he has seen his elders do when inspecting men. All are average height, and he’s willing to bet all have average looking faces under their cloth masks. These men are meant to blend in if necessary, both in shadows and in public. Men… No, they’re still boys.
“How many use magic?” His voice rings calm and clear, the result of a demanding royal education. Calm words diffuse more situations than pointed blades, but there’s a slight inflection to his words, a driven force that betrays his utter resolve. Those without determination die.
The gruff man standing behind him, cloaked but with his hood down, clears his throat. “Seven, my prince.” He has a scar starting at his left eye and ending at what used to be his left ear, a burn from a fiery sorcerer. All his weight rests on his right foot, not wishing to favor the hunk of wood that replaced his left. Still, every person in the room knows this man is blessed. Too injured to continue his service as bodyguard, he became an instructor. He will live a long life, unlike the twelve candidates awaiting command.
“The other five can leave.” He turns his gaze and smiles to the five assassins who stood. “I don’t doubt your skills, but I need the versatility.” They bow and disappear into the shadows without a sound. The prince stretches. “Well, let’s begin. Oh, and stop all that prince stuff.” He waives his hand nonchalantly. “Forty-second in line, I’m more of a noble than royalty, for now at least.”
He draws his sword, a finely crafted work of art. The beauty doesn’t come from a flamboyant handle or a shining blade, but it comes from its use, like a paintbrush in a master’s hand. The handle has chipped from when his late father slammed it into a golem’s skull and the blade is stained forevermore by the blood of a corrupt sorcerer.
One of the assassins steps forward. He unsheathes two curved daggers, the standard weapon of choice. The prince raises his eyebrow but bows in the customary exchange before duels. “You may be bound not to harm any royalty,” he says. “But, I want to see all you’ve got. Okay?”
“Yes, my prince.” His voice sounds measured, as if every syllable was considered.
“Next,” he sighs. The prince sheathes his sword.
The assassins glance at one another before the one steps back and another takes his place. They bow. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, my prince.”
Before the man could brandish his weapons, the prince groans and raises his voice. “By the gods, do any of you have common sense?”
A third assassin takes a step forward. His voice sounds cool, like the nobles who train themselves to mask their words’ emotions. “I apologize for my brethren’s disrespect, Niclas.”
The peg-legged assassin stiffens. They cannot help but show the slightest indication of their horror. Such blatant disrespect betrays all that they stand for, and to call a prince by his name is all but a death sentence. An unclaimed assassin doesn’t posses the right to that honor.
“You understand what you did, eh?” He draws his sword once more. His face remains stoic.
“I was following your orders, Niclas. Thus, I shall not address you as a prince.” He draws his blade, a cruciform sword. The weapon type doesn’t see much use anymore. Most prefer longer, average swords or daggers.
The prince cannot read the man’s face due to the cloth mask. However, he can see the eyes. The assassin’s tone and eyes seem sincere. Prince Niclas smiles. “Then, I order you to knock me over with your skills.”
They bow. The moment the prince takes a step forward, the assassin drops his sword. The noble tilts his head in confusion. As the sword clangs on the stone floor, the opponent springs forward and flings his cloak at the prince. Understanding the tactic, the prince jumps off the floor just before the assassin swipes where his feet would have been.
Flipping back, the prince sees the figure of his opponent. This person seems shorter than the rest, at his shoulder height at most, but he makes up for the lack of height with agility. Still, his foe stayed within his sword’s reach. A mistake.
The prince swings down, intending for an injury across the chest. The assassin blocks the blow with his wrists. The clank of metal divulges that his opponent isn’t without armor. Though, how much remains a mystery.
With his free hand, he punches the boy with a left hook. He rolls with the punch, though Niclas follows with kneeing him between the legs. Without so much as a grunt, the assassin grabs his leg and twists unbalancing the swordsman. Liquid metal runs down his opponent’s arm, a sorcerer skilled in metal. It forms into a glove. The assassin kicks at the prince and connects. The prince falls to the ground but uses the momentum to spring back to his feet.
He decides it’s time to end the duel. He swings again, but the assassin grabs the sword with his metal-covered hand. It was anticipated.
Letting go of the sword, the prince body slams his adversary. He follows up with headbutting, punching his gut, and drawing out a dagger from his boot. He stabs forward, and the assassin grabs the blade. He trips his adversary, causing him to fall on his back while still holding the dagger. Using his bodyweight, Niclas presses down. The assassin does not have enough strength to hold him back. The blade inches closer and closer to his chest.
“Why are we continuing?” grunts the assassin. His strained voice sounds almost confused. The prince doesn’t reply, not willing to let himself be distracted by the trickster. “I knocked you over as requested.”
The prince lets go of the blade and stands. His eyes widen for a moment before he lets out a chuckle. “Literal, eh? It’s a figure of speech, but…” He extends his hand to the heaving boy. The man accepts the offer, and the prince pulls him to his feet. It took less effort than he expected. “You’ll do. Give me your hand.”
The assassin outstretches his arm. The prince gives a shallow cut across the palm before doing the same to his. He presses his hand into the assassins. He recites the ancient saying, “Your blood and mine intermingle. You are bound to me. Protect my life as your own.”
Their hands glow bright, a result of the magic within the assassin. The prince feels his body tingling, almost excited. Within a moment, he withdrawals his hand and inspects it. The wound healed, yet another good use of magic.
Niclas looks around the room. All but the scarred assassin had left. That man does all he can to not chuckle. What was a glorious duel to the prince was a sloppy brawl to the expert. The young assassin, forever bound by both magic an honor as his bodyguard, heals his own wound.
The scarred man clears his throat. “Well, I did not expect you to choose this one, my lord.”
“How so?” He looks back at the assassin, scanning him for anything out of the ordinary. He merely stands there now, chest huffing from the battle… Chest…
Blood rushes to the young man’s cheeks. That should’ve been obvious, especially after what happened during the battle. He swallows and looks at his bodyguard.
The assassin takes off her mask. Short, dark hair falls just past her ears. She bows. “I’m Hana, your loyal bodyguard.” She’s not a boy, but she’s not a woman either.
“Nice to meet you.” He sheathes his sword. “Um, pack your things. We’re going home.”
“As you wish.” She picks up her sword and sheathes it as well.
Eight figures stand in the dimly lit room. Flickering shadows dance along the walls as wax drips down the side of nine candles. In the middle of the room sits a picture of a young man wearing a suit. Things were different back then. He was alive back then.
“Why the fuck is everything so dark?” Steve’s voice cuts through the darkness like End Master through Coin’s mom.
Chris swallows yet another sandwich before mumbling, “We had Maya decorate.”
“You stupid fuck!” Steve slaps the sixth sandwich from Chris’ hand. “You don’t need to decorate to have light. We invented light bulbs for that. Shit.” He looks around the room. “Why am I even here?”
Chris smiles as he opens a bag of chips. “Free lunch.”
The Irishman nods. “Good point.” He glances at the picture. “I’m sorta surprised Wibbons isn’t pissing on that photo.”
“I think he drew a mustache and glasses on instead.”
On the other side of the room, Mizal yawns, not having nearly enough sleep since she has a real-life job (that actually pays). End Master doesn’t yawn. Gods don’t need sleep. They try to stay away from the idiots and homos of the room.
“Fitting,” says the most powerful woman in CYS history.
“How so?” The dark lord’s cloak blends into the darkness. Only his phone stands out, illuminating his hands. When asked, he didn’t say who was on the other line. Probably Cthulhu.
“Ebon was cannibalized by twelve savages. Biblical judgement on the foolish heathen. Twelve’s a good number anyway.”
“I heard they got indigestion.” The backdoor slams causing everyone to jump except for End Master. He even scares fear. “The fuck?”
Maya clears her throat. “I think that was Wibbons running out the door. Anyone know why?”
No one could answer until Mizal chuckles. “He’s retarded. That’s reasoning enough.”
Wibbons runs through the streets towards the library with all his might. Mizal likes the number twelve. Ebon is dead. Obviously, that means Mizal wants to have twelve council members now. He should’ve realized that earlier.
The young (wonderfully bearded and eyebrowed) man smiles. This will please Mizal. Maybe then she will accept him as a worthless piece of shit rather than barely better than fucking Coins.
He spots a large line of people, so he stops. A woman with a flock of chickens sits at a desk. She signs book after book. Wibbons waives. She looks away, hoping that he doesn’t approach; however, he approaches.
“Your book hit bestseller too, Sabley?” he asks.
She nods. “Yeah, it’s my third. It won an award by End Master too.” It’s just too bad she never won a trophy yet, not by anyone. Even though several people were given a trophy for less, poor Sabley never received any personal ones. Just ones for achievement.
“Groovy!” says Wibbons, undaunted by the supior writer sitting before him. “Hey, since Ebon’s dead and all, I’m trying to fill his position. Oh, and Mizal wants twelve council members now too. You wanna join?”
Sabley scratches her head. A chicken squawks as she lays an egg. “Yeah. Sounds great to me, but are you sure it’s being changed to twelve?” He nods like a bobble-head. She cringes at the site, being reminded of far too many hoosiers, hicks, and rednecks. “Well, I have a daughter.”
“Congratulations!” He claps. A rooster drops a giant shit on his foot, but Wibbons doesn’t notice.
“No, not like that. She’s adopted and a pretty good writer too. Maybe try her next? She’s right now raising money for puppies at the animal shelter. It’s so wholesome! And, she’d be a wonderful new member, especially since the council lost their previous young teen girl.”
He cocks his head to the side. “Excuse me? Um… Maya’s still there.”
Sabley smiles and looks right at the man. “I wasn’t talking about Maya.”
His shoulders droop, but he nods. Wibbons runs off to the animal shelter, still fully intent on fulfilling Mizal’s wishes. When he arrives, he spots her immediately and his jaw drops. In all CYS’ history, there has never been someone like this.
AYT waives at Wibbons as the halo hovers over her head, a true sign of wholesomeness. She holds a dog in her hands, a corgi mutt.
“Can I ask you a favor?” He squints from the light emanating from her halo.
“Sure. I just finished the fundraiser.” She looks down at the dog. “I also just saved this little guy from getting put down. They said he’s defective, but all life is precious.”
His eyes almost melt from wholesomeness overexposure, but Wibbons keeps his resolve. “How come he’s-”
“GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!!!! RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPE!!!!” The dog’s piercing, grating screech tears through everyone’s eardrums, but AYT refuses to drop the dog. What if it would hurt its foot? (SO WHOLESOME!)
“See what I mean?” she asks as Wibbons’ eardrums bleed. “But, I won’t give up on him, no matter what.”
Suddenly, the dog glows. AYT smiles as the animal floats out of her hands. For a moment, Wibbons stares dumbfounded before the form of the dog shifts. Arm, legs, hair instead of fur. A (fortunately clothed) man appears in place from where the dog once floated. AYT claps in joy.
“Thank you!” he explains. Seeing the others’ perplexed faces, he realizes an explanation is due. “I was placed under a curse by a furry. I’m actually a decent writer and would love to call this place my home. Clearly, anywhere with a person as wholesome as AYT can’t be all bad. Also, I’m not retarded about three minutes a day.”
“Yes!” shouts Wibbons. Three minutes a day? Those numbers are nearly unheard of outside of the mods or the greats of CYS. He can hardly manage two seconds himself. “I’m recruiting for the Council of Nine since we need Twelve members. AYT, you’re wholesome, so you’d be great! You’re the direct antithesis of everything we stand for! Plus, your mom just joined too. Corgi.” He turns to the man. “You say you are not retarded for three minutes a day?”
The man nods. “Yep. Maybe I could host a fun little contest too as thanks to these people.”
“Then, how about you join us too.”
“Great, let’s go get Sabley. Just one more member to…”
Wibbons stares off into the distance. There, he sees a young lady painting an unused billboard. Her clothes are in tatters and she has two bug antennas, but it’s the painting that captivates the man. END MASTER IS AMAZING!!! it reads.
“Who is she?” he asks.
“Her?” AYT scratches her head. “I think she’s a recent immigrant.”
Wibbons continues to stare at the painting. Before an idea sparks in his mind. The young woman stops for a moment since her cellphone chirps. She takes it out of her pocket and quickly texts something before returning to her praise of End Master.
“I know our final member.”
It shouldn't be. The commendation system is automatic, so the commendations would've been given regardless of my post history. (I even double checked the commendation history of all the orders. No one has ever received commendations for a published article.)
The Commendations article incorrectly states that 10 commendations are given for every article published. That is incorrect. I didn't get any commendations from having my article published. After looking through the orders' commendation history, it appears that no one has ever received commendations for publishing an article.
So, it's false info in that article.
It's a reference to the Canis lupus hodophilax, known as the Nihon okami in Japan. They were a species of wolves that used to inhabit the islands until the early 20th century. In their folklore, the wolves would guard travelers as they make their journeys (which's what my wolf does).
I had no idea about that video game. That sucks. I might have to change the name now.