“It is the time!” Spoke Bob.

“Indeed.” Answered Alice.

“I must admit,” admitted Bob, “That I’d never thought it would come to this.”

“I didn’t think it would come to this either.” Alice repeated.

“I have something to confess”. Confessed Bob.

“Oh! Why, in fact I wanted to confess something too!” Responded Alice.

“Well out with it.” Spat Bob, “I’m not waiting for the figurative and/or literal end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it to end before you say it.”

Alice made a face. Bob had seen faces before. He had seen Alice’s face before. But not this face. This face was one he had not seen before.

“I refuse.” Shouted Alice angrily. She made another face that was different to the face she just made, that Bob also had not seen before. She was going to continue, but Bob interrupted her with a question that moved to the top of his thoughts.

“Why?” Bob asked, as calmly as he could - which was very calm, going off what Dumbledore asked Harry Potter, in the movie, ‘Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire’. He though the book should have followed the source much more closely though.

“Why?” Alice repeatedly repeated.

Feelings were things women had. Alice was a woman. Therefore she had feelings. Her feelings told her to shout at Bob. She thought about it for an moment, and then shouted at Bob. Angrily. Very angrily. She said “Because my feelings.”

They made up, and the world-as-they-knew-it did not end, it cotinued.

Baked Schtrudel unt Zinamon mit Black Plum ~

My older sister had a wild life. I don’t envy her, I wouldn’t have been able to survive; but thinking of her always makes me think of the Strudel we ate growing up in Salzburg.

Alas, she is with us no longer, but she killed many men in her early twenties. Which is exactly what this dish will do - it’ll kill; at your next party or Sunday supper ~!

Murderers from the future were trying to kill dear A. but by God’s grace, the first of them was an idiot and she stole his device. She hired a nanny to stand in her place during the usual hours she’d be alone and vulnerable, and would be able to document her poor child’s murders, and then go back herself to intercept the killers, no matter how well trained and prepared they were. Well, now onto the recipé ~

I learned from the best: Anton Ego, Pete Wells, Anthony Bourdain. Every column is a story, complete with heroes and villains, intrigue and gossip. The food? The food is just an excuse.

When Verguenza opened in New York, I was sent to cover it. The young prodigy, Sterling Rivera, had just left a stint at the celebrated Farmhouse Inn after a spectacular conflagration with the head chef. Sources say the argument centered around the restaurant’s famed Gorgonzola Mac. Rivera is reported to have thrown a carbon steel skillet clear across the kitchen, screaming that his genius was being wasted on “shit Kraft casserole”. The new restaurant was supposed to be a statement by the critically acclaimed youngster – proof that he could revolutionize the world of fine dining with a global, no-holds-barred approach.

The only meal available at Verguenza is a four-course, prix fixe dinner. The courses change nightly, depending on the seasonality of rutabaga, the availability of jamon iberico pata negra, and, most importantly, the temperament of the chef. In the restaurant, the guest is never handed a menu. They are simply promised “a delightful surprise”. Rumors abound among chefs about Rivera’s legendary commitment to perfection. It is said that if salad is served as a course, the chef at the grill station was likely fired that night. The chefs I’ve spoken to describe an intense, militant culture to Rivera’s kitchen. They say that no one lists Verguenza on their resume unless they stay for more than a year. Leaving before then means only one thing: you were lacking.

I can happily report that none of the dishes served to me were salad. In fact, the menu was remarkably creative, and lived up to its billing. Rivera himself came out from the kitchen to introduce the meal. In his words, the meal was a “voyage across continents and worlds, inspired by the work of Salvador Dali, the absurd made mundane”. The first course was a hamachi ceviche cured with yuzu and citron foam. It left a delightfully zippy taste that quickly faded into effervescence. Next came a lightly chilled soup described as pumpkin gazpacho. It perfectly prepared the palate for the main course, a seared filet of alligator served on a bed of peppery spring greens. Finally, the biggest surprise of the meal was final course: candied ants. Several of the diners recoiled when presented with the crystalline nugget meant to evoke arthropods trapped in amber. Four actually walked out of the restaurant. However, for those brave enough to partake, this dessert was a singularly spectacular treat. I can only hope that this dessert makes a return to the menu soon, though based on the chef’s penchant for switching things up, the odds are slim. I left the restaurant with high hopes for the future of fine dining. Rivera, at least, is not content leaving things to the status quo.

August 1943

Emo-chan wrapped her arm with an ace bandage. She’d underestimated her prey, and now she was on the defensive. Sirens blared across the alley, as she deftly hid from flashlights searching for her. She could hear the regiment commander barking orders. “Finde das magische Mädchen! Der Führer verlangt es!” She was lucky, the rain would mask her scent and keep the dogs at bay, but she wasn’t willing to give up her prize - the ultimate trophy. She pulled out her raven wand and began casting a spell. “I call upon the power of emotion! Despondent blade!” A purple glowing magic circle appeared in front of her on the cobblestone street, and a sword of black energy, emminating a bright pink aura emerged from it. She grasped the sword in her good arm and the magic circle crackled and then faded away.

She darted out from the alley and found the nearest soldiers, slicing through them. The blade passed through them, and the men fell to their knees and cried out. Though no injuries were visible, they suffered intense emotional trauma and quickly passed out. Emo chan quickly dispatched the remaining members of the contingent and made her way back to the central administration building. She has lost the element of surprise when her first assault had failed, so she figured she might as well try the direct approach. As she made her way down the hall, she couldn’t help but admire the trophies along the hallway. The Cyber dragon in particular was impressive, retaining the semblance of life she so revered in her own works. If only the artist wasn’t a Nazi, perhaps she could have taken the time to meet them and discuss thier interests.

She came to the main conference room, where she had first arrived. It was a poor decision in hindsight, appearing in front of the target and assuming the shock would make him an easy mark. She didn’t realize he wasn’t just her pray, but a fellow game hunter, and time traveler.

“Du Narr! Hast du wirklich geglaubt, du könntest mich besiegen?” Emo-chan turned to see her target, standing across the room, a large gauge rifle in his hand. She chuckled and smiled at him "I don’t know what you just said, but let me guess, something along the lines of “I am all powerful! You could never defeat me!” Hitler smirked. “You think you are the first? I have slain many hunters before you. You will soon be another trophy in that hall, part of mein menagerie.” She raised her sword in front of her face and began chanting. The sword’s aura changed, and a deep green hue began to emanate from it. “Power of emotion - Terror, Awakened!” A pulse of energy began emitting from the blade, creating an enormous pressure wave. Hitler struggled to maintain his stance, as the energy wave pushed on him. The final battle was about to begin.

I have been overlooked my entire life. I have lived in the shadow of my brother. By the age of two he was reciting poetry and reading ancient philosophy, while I was playing with blocks and learning to speak. My parents favored him and showered him with their love and praise while I was left to fend for myself. By the age of ten he had been granted a seat on NCWP, the National Council for Worldwide Peace, which oversaw the direction of the country and its relations with the other nations. I was trying to find where my next meal came from as our parents seemingly forgot they had another child.

I’ve cut ties with all of them and for the past ten years have been living in the streets honing my skills to one day get back at them. Yet, no matter what idea I had, there always seemed to be a perfect response from my brother, even though he should have had no idea what I was planning. At times it almost felt like he was having me tailed or was inside my head reading my thoughts, it was unnerving to say the least.

I had given up on getting back at my family, as it seemed no matter what, there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t go and ask for forgiveness as I’m sure they forgot that I even existed. One day, however, I saw a picture of my brother plastered all over the front page of the newspapers, he was surrounded by a group of people all smiling and laughing. One headline read “YOUNGEST PERSON CHOSEN AS POPE” and another read “NEW POPE CONSIDERED THE CHOSEN ONE”. I couldn’t believe it, my family wasn’t even religious, how on Earth did my brother become the Pope. I grabbed one of the papers and read through the article. In it I saw that apparently the “chosen one” was so well loved and respected that he united all religions and peoples and brought about world peace. World peace? Where was my peace, I was thrown to the side and forgotten by this so-called “chosen one”! I was forced to steal and scrape by to survive while those people lived in the lap of luxury, how could they say they united all people when I was still left out?

A thought pierced my mind. They have left me out and forced me to steal to survive. Why shouldn’t I use those skills to steal back what I am owed for my miserable existence? If peace had truly come to the world, then where was my olive branch? Where was my unity? The only way I could be whole once more is to inflict as much chaos as I could, and the only way I knew how to do that was to take everything from my “brother”. After this I will no longer be overlooked, I will be known by everyone as the only person in history to steal from the sacred Vatican vaults and bring down the “chosen one”.

Morgiedama here, apparently this is the start of my villain arc.

August 1943

Emo-chan wrapped her arm with an ace bandage. She’d underestimated her prey, and now she was on the defensive. Sirens blared across the alley, as she deftly hid from flashlights searching for her. She could hear the regiment commander barking orders. “Finde das magische Mädchen! Der Führer verlangt es!” She was lucky, the rain would mask her scent and keep the dogs at bay, but she wasn’t willing to give up her prize - the ultimate trophy. She pulled out her raven wand and began casting a spell. “I call upon the power of emotion! Despondent blade!” A purple glowing magic circle appeared in front of her on the cobblestone street, and a sword of black energy, emminating a bright pink aura emerged from it. She grasped the sword in her good arm and the magic circle crackled and then faded away.

She darted out from the alley and found the nearest soldiers, slicing through them. The blade passed through them, and the men fell to their knees and cried out. Though no injuries were visible, they suffered intense emotional trauma and quickly passed out. Emo chan quickly dispatched the remaining members of the contingent and made her way back to the central administration building. She has lost the element of surprise when her first assault had failed, so she figured she might as well try the direct approach. As she made her way down the hall, she couldn’t help but admire the trophies along the hallway. The Cyber dragon in particular was impressive, retaining the semblance of life she so revered in her own works. If only the artist wasn’t a Nazi, perhaps she could have taken the time to meet them and discuss thier interests.

She came to the main conference room, where she had first arrived. It was a poor decision in hindsight, appearing in front of the target and assuming the shock would make him an easy mark. She didn’t realize he wasn’t just her pray, but a fellow game hunter, and time traveler.

“Du Narr! Hast du wirklich geglaubt, du könntest mich besiegen?” Emo-chan turned to see her target, standing across the room, a large gauge rifle in his hand. She chuckled and smiled at him "I don’t know what you just said, but let me guess, something along the lines of “I am all powerful! You could never defeat me!” Hitler smirked. “You think you are the first? I have slain many hunters before you. You will soon be another trophy in that hall, part of mein menagerie.” She raised her sword in front of her face and began chanting. The sword’s aura changed, and a deep green hue began to emanate from it. “Power of emotion - Terror, Awakened!” A pulse of energy began emitting from the blade, creating an enormous pressure wave. Hitler struggled to maintain his stance, as the energy wave pushed on him. The final battle was about to begin.

As someone who showed up a month late, can I just say I find both of these ideas wildly interesting! Now I’m a little worried that they don’t look bad to me. 😀

• The disgruntled younger sibling of the “Chosen One”
• The main character has traveled back in time to kill Hitler. Little do they know is Hitler is now a skilled killer of time travelers.

I think the second one especially could be a lot of fun. Not sure I’m clever enough to come up with all the interesting traps he would have to devise, but it could be a little zany if ultimately the story was entirely focused on their battle of wits, completely leaving the holocaust angle out of who Hitler is until the very end…

“gate’s open come on in.” Burzimeth said, motioning the newest recruit into the office with a wave of his claw and a smile like a razor. “We’re having shorts day today, so I’m afraid you’re overdressed. You will do better next time I’m sure.” Another wave. “This here is Graftak, our expert on ennui. He’s going to be your mentor for the next [indeterminate]. This here is Yunsothalblirg, our office secretary. She will designate your alloted usage of the waterwarmer and the coffeesponge. And looking good while doing it. Ain’t that right babe?”

“what do you mean, you’re not supposed to be here?” Everyone loves it here and you will too. Won’t he, Snubrtyuftagingadplort? Of course he will! We are a team here and you are the newest member of our team. So what do you say, teamy? Teamy tim? Tim time teamy o buddy oh pal? Tim timminy Tim Timmity Timtimsharoo? Ha! You’ll love it here, and I can tell already you’re going to fit right in!

“Mark my words buddy, you’ll get the hang of it in no time. We have Muzak Mondays, Taco Tuesdays, Waffle Wednesdays, Taco Thursdays, Taco Fridays and on Saturday and Sunday we have soup and songs… And ocassionally tacos.” Every other week we alternate clothing and food so we never get bored! And we’re having a luau soon. Ah here is your desk, see. The chair is fitted to you specifically and the clockhands keep you at the desk for the [indeterminate]”

“Tim, my buddy, pal, friendorino. You’re not getting out that way.The gate won’t open again 'til management says you’ve done your part. Look, just give it some time. I’m sure you’re going to be a valued member here, licketysplit. All you gotta do is put in the work, put in the effort, be a team player, keep your hands on the ball and glue your eyes to the prize. Let’s you and me go forward together, we’ll get you onboard. We’ll touch base and keep socializing until we solutionize the heck out of this. Comprende comrade? Capiche cabron?”

[low groans of anguish, clicking of claws, the smell of burnt toast and, finally, the squishing of coffee]

“Ahh, that hits the spot, babe, thanks. Told you Timmy was gonna work out. The clockhands never fail to granulate and interrogaze. Oh, be a dear and get the poles will you? It’s limbotime.”

The disgruntled younger sibling of the “Chosen One”

What do you mean by bad idea?! this is a great idea! Admittedly you are aiming for a comedy of some sort, or a subversion of Fate, or are otherwise deliberately flipping a trope, but this makes a great idea for a potentially interesting character point of view. Same with the Taxidermy-obsessed medical girl. I want to read a story about a goth magical girl now, I’m already sold.

Cowboys and digimon.

Well, Jim Butcher already did The Lost Roman Legion and Pokemon (the series is called Alera), I don’t see why this couldn’t work.

And aren’t all office buildings already an extension of purgatory? ;)

The love story feels too much like some bad anime tropes, I wouldn’t want to read that. A heist on the Vatican vault on the other hand, that sounds interesting.

That’s the ones that provoke some thought in me.

And if no one writes about the goth magical girl, I might do it myself.

deleted by creator

I’ve given this way too much thought:

Goth magical girl is the younger sister of the leader of her particular squad of girl power heroes and puts up with being dragged along for the heroics.
But the setting is more of a wild-west-themed fantasy world, and has the magical equivalent of Digimon (perhaps they are fey creatures instead of digital creatures)
Their adventures lead them to needing to conduct a raid against the vault of the biggest church of the lands, where they fight off a powerful (but misguided) young priest.
One of the items they successfully raid is a scroll with a prophecy that seems to indicate that the heroic older sister is supposed to fall in love with that same young priest and have a child who will be the final key to saving the world against [Threat]. But the two of them hate each other now.
Twist: Goth girl thinks that priest boy is kind of hot.

I also cross-posted this idea and thread to Royal Road here.