placebonaut
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Feb 7, 2026
- Messages
- 1,407
Anyone fancy a bit of BL collaborative short story writing?
AI allowed but only if you guide it significantly.
SHORT STORY #1
Double Down Darren
At 11:20 p.m., Darren “Double-D” Dawson stood outside the Clockwork Oracle with a levitating canvas bag tugging at the end of a leather lead. Inside were moon-silk rope, three emergency lockpicks, anti-curse biscuits, a danger-pointing compass, and a silver whistle labelled IN CASE OF EMERGENCY.
Darren wore a stolen dragon-customer-service uniform because the tower’s outer wards admitted accredited civic workers only, and he had never been accredited for anything more respectable than loitering. Perched on his shoulder was Kevin, a small green dragon with folded wings, one singed eyebrow, and the expression of someone who had accepted a companion’s position after being promised "snacks".
Magic was not unusual in this world. It was used to light ovens, carry shopping, settle minor arguments, and occasionally to control the magical wildlife. People traveled by enchanted lawn chairs, dragons answered complaints about faulty fire insurance, and most cafés employed a wizard—usually behind the counter, and sometimes under a table.
Darren had already eaten the mushroom powder. He had meant to take Brightcap, reputed to increase intelligence and dexterity. Unfortunately, the hedge wizard who sold it had been mixing the mushrooms with some glittering identification powder, Kevin guessed he must have been using the same spoon for both jars.
Kevin had made Darren summon the wizard to the tower.
“Which one did he eat?” Kevin demanded.
The hedge wizard, whose beard contained several small birds, inspected the contents of the wrapper through the haze of the bogplant powder he'd be taking since sunset on the day of the whimsy fair.
“Brightcap?”
“You sold him Wildcap!” exclaimed Kevin, the effort of which caused a small smoke ring to shoot out towards the wizard from his left nostril.
“I sold him something bright." pleaded the wizard, "Wildcap causes bright hallucinations, distorted time, and—” looking down at the label on his jar,
“—dissociation, random magical outbursts, and a heightened appreciation of REALITY,” said the wizard. “Philosophers love it. It’s the only drug that makes them briefly certain they’ve solved existence, before reminding them they’ve forgotten the question.”
“Does it look like Brightcap?”
“It’s blue.” muttered the wizard,
“It thought is was more confidently blue than the other one at the time" offered Darren uncertainly, the effects of the mushroom really starting to take hold.
Kevin turned to him. “How are you feeling?”
Darren looked at the hedge wizard, who now had three heads.
“Fine,” he said. “Although one of him is lying.”
“There’s only one of me,” said the wizard.
“That’s what the other two said.”
The effects were growing worryingly fast, Wildcap was known for being much more potent than Brightcap. The cobblestones were breathing, the bag was tugging toward the tower like a dog that had spotted a sausage, and three translucent Kevins were now whispering contradictory advice into Darren’s ears.
The Clockwork Oracle tower itself was another matter. It had the suspicious look of a building caught somewhere it had no business being and waiting for everyone to stop asking questions. The tower had suddenly appeared in the marketplace, replacing the town fountain without moving the pigeons. Its brass walls ticked like an enormous clock, its windows looked onto places that did not exist, and its entrance changed shape every few seconds.
The tower was run by elves. At midnight, it would predict which city the approaching Dragonstorm would infect. Whoever retrieved the prophecy would receive a fortune, a royal pardon, and one impossible wish. The pardon mattered. Three nights earlier, Darren had tried to impress a princess with a minor illusion and accidentally duplicated the royal palace, redirected the kingdom’s mail system into a volcano, and enchanted the king’s trousers to announce his crimes whenever he sat down. He had called it a controlled magical experiment. The court had called it treason, fraud, and deeply irritating.
A bell rang inside the Oracle.
“Thirty-nine minutes,” announced a disembodied voice. “Commencing cognitive duplication.”
The tower’s door opened.
Darren took one step forward.
The bookcase lunged out and tried to bite him.
He ducked, the levitating bag shrieked, and Kevin shouted, “Whatever you do, don’t use the emergency whistle!”
Darren’s hand closed around it.
“Why not?” he asked.
From somewhere above them, a dozen elven voices answered in unison:
“Because we already did.”
- Someone sets the scene and high level plot
- They create an opening paragraph
- The next person adds a line or short paragraph to continue the story
- Anyone can end the short story with "THE END" - but
- The story must make sense and come to a convincing END point
- They must then setup a new story and create an opening paragraph
AI allowed but only if you guide it significantly.
SHORT STORY #1
Double Down Darren
At 11:20 p.m., Darren “Double-D” Dawson stood outside the Clockwork Oracle with a levitating canvas bag tugging at the end of a leather lead. Inside were moon-silk rope, three emergency lockpicks, anti-curse biscuits, a danger-pointing compass, and a silver whistle labelled IN CASE OF EMERGENCY.
Darren wore a stolen dragon-customer-service uniform because the tower’s outer wards admitted accredited civic workers only, and he had never been accredited for anything more respectable than loitering. Perched on his shoulder was Kevin, a small green dragon with folded wings, one singed eyebrow, and the expression of someone who had accepted a companion’s position after being promised "snacks".
Magic was not unusual in this world. It was used to light ovens, carry shopping, settle minor arguments, and occasionally to control the magical wildlife. People traveled by enchanted lawn chairs, dragons answered complaints about faulty fire insurance, and most cafés employed a wizard—usually behind the counter, and sometimes under a table.
Darren had already eaten the mushroom powder. He had meant to take Brightcap, reputed to increase intelligence and dexterity. Unfortunately, the hedge wizard who sold it had been mixing the mushrooms with some glittering identification powder, Kevin guessed he must have been using the same spoon for both jars.
Kevin had made Darren summon the wizard to the tower.
“Which one did he eat?” Kevin demanded.
The hedge wizard, whose beard contained several small birds, inspected the contents of the wrapper through the haze of the bogplant powder he'd be taking since sunset on the day of the whimsy fair.
“Brightcap?”
“You sold him Wildcap!” exclaimed Kevin, the effort of which caused a small smoke ring to shoot out towards the wizard from his left nostril.
“I sold him something bright." pleaded the wizard, "Wildcap causes bright hallucinations, distorted time, and—” looking down at the label on his jar,
“—dissociation, random magical outbursts, and a heightened appreciation of REALITY,” said the wizard. “Philosophers love it. It’s the only drug that makes them briefly certain they’ve solved existence, before reminding them they’ve forgotten the question.”
“Does it look like Brightcap?”
“It’s blue.” muttered the wizard,
“It thought is was more confidently blue than the other one at the time" offered Darren uncertainly, the effects of the mushroom really starting to take hold.
Kevin turned to him. “How are you feeling?”
Darren looked at the hedge wizard, who now had three heads.
“Fine,” he said. “Although one of him is lying.”
“There’s only one of me,” said the wizard.
“That’s what the other two said.”
The effects were growing worryingly fast, Wildcap was known for being much more potent than Brightcap. The cobblestones were breathing, the bag was tugging toward the tower like a dog that had spotted a sausage, and three translucent Kevins were now whispering contradictory advice into Darren’s ears.
The Clockwork Oracle tower itself was another matter. It had the suspicious look of a building caught somewhere it had no business being and waiting for everyone to stop asking questions. The tower had suddenly appeared in the marketplace, replacing the town fountain without moving the pigeons. Its brass walls ticked like an enormous clock, its windows looked onto places that did not exist, and its entrance changed shape every few seconds.
The tower was run by elves. At midnight, it would predict which city the approaching Dragonstorm would infect. Whoever retrieved the prophecy would receive a fortune, a royal pardon, and one impossible wish. The pardon mattered. Three nights earlier, Darren had tried to impress a princess with a minor illusion and accidentally duplicated the royal palace, redirected the kingdom’s mail system into a volcano, and enchanted the king’s trousers to announce his crimes whenever he sat down. He had called it a controlled magical experiment. The court had called it treason, fraud, and deeply irritating.
A bell rang inside the Oracle.
“Thirty-nine minutes,” announced a disembodied voice. “Commencing cognitive duplication.”
The tower’s door opened.
Darren took one step forward.
The bookcase lunged out and tried to bite him.
He ducked, the levitating bag shrieked, and Kevin shouted, “Whatever you do, don’t use the emergency whistle!”
Darren’s hand closed around it.
“Why not?” he asked.
From somewhere above them, a dozen elven voices answered in unison:
“Because we already did.”
