this post was submitted on 15 Mar 2025
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Writing Prompts

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[–] [email protected] 2 points 1 day ago

"Look, Mr Bingham, I've been where you are, and I think you have a compelling argument for violation of contract.

But we've got to get a few details covered. You state that you signed a contract, in blood, with the devil. Are you certain it was the king of hell, and not some other entity. He does get imitators and soul selling scams are a dime a dozen."

"Well, sir, I reckon it was the man hisself. He had them horns, and the tail, and the glowing red eyes, and them wangs. Cain't rightly be nobody else."

"You'd be surprised how many things out there look like that. One of my exes could do a damn good version of that when I'd come home drunk.

At any time, did the eyes change color, did the wings shift to some other appearance at all? Any shifts?"

"Ayup, shore did. His eyes went from red to golden when we signed, and his wings started shining with a white light that durn near hurt my face. I had to turn away fer a moment." And I swear, when it started to dim and I looked back, he weren't red a'tall. He was almost like marble, only shinin' inside out as the light faded and he turnt back to what I seen a'first."

"Well, that certainly helps, we know it could only be a few things other than Lucifer, and none of those can give any power without the approval of the divinity they serve. Those divinities can't pull tricks in their arrangements because it isn't in them.

So, it seems that Satan, the dark lord of hell did pull a fast one.

The contract here says you wanted the power to clear a field in a day, no matter how big, no matter what the crop. In exchange, your immortal soul would be given unto Lucifer, the Exiled, to reside with him until the end of time.

The signature matches all known examples, and you specified a crop to be cleared.

I would definitely say that being caused to belch fire any time you step into a field would not match the intended exchange. Nor the, ahhhh, it says here the winds what tore a hole in your pants at the same time and demolished your harvester. No crop being present means that the field being cleared is a default of intent, and that matters in the celestial court."

"Ayup, that's what I reckon."

Alright Mr Bingham, lets get a few things signed in regular ink here. Power of Intercession, plea to the Saints and Martyrs for a hearing, and an affidavit of your version of the statements made today."

"You reckon I oughta sign anything a'tall? Last time I did that, I was fartin' tornadoes."

"If you don't, I can't stand for you in the court, I can only give you advice here on earth. That's your choice, and I have seen successful cases won that way. But you'll still have to present a plea, and the written version is the fastest. You have no idea how backed up the Saints and Martyrs are these days."

"I been backed up afore. Took some castor oil, cleared me right out. Hain't had no trouble like that since them winds started comin' out though. I reckon, if I didn't have the sense to not sign before, and it got me into this mess, maybe I oughta not have sense again, and see if'n it gets me out."

"That's one way to look at it, yeah."


As the parchments were signed and witnessed, I looked Mr Bingham up and down again. I should have seen this coming. You don't just escape a soul deal on a technicality and not piss the entity off. You sure as hell don't go on to find and help other betrayed souls to negate their contracts and begin the process of repentance.

The only question in my mind at that point was who Bingham really was. Could be one of the older incubi, they tend to be good at hiding their nature, even from someone familiar with the signs. But I don't think they would have gone with the hokey bullshit fake farmer thing.

No, it had to be something else. Maybe a greater demon, maybe one of the damned given privileges and power for the task. But it was definitely not the Mr Bingham that I had a friendly air elemental look into. Oh, it looked the part, but the real Mr Bingham didn't have that fake corn-pone drawl. And, while he definitely did fart tornadoes, he seemed quite happy with it. Had a little wind farm going, making nice income just from eating some beans every night and pointing the direction of the turbines when regular wind was low.

We would see, though. No way could it keep up the masquerade past the Celestial Gates. The guardians would sniff it out in a hot second.

"Mr Bingham, if you'll return tomorrow morning, ten a.m., I should have a response to your plea, and we can set up a time for a trip to purgatory to enter the Gates and have your case heard."

With the usual handshakes and malarkey goodbyes, I showed him out the door and made some prayers.


I'm going to continue this as a response to this comment because I don't want to hit the character limit, and I need a nap. Not sure exactly when I'll finish up, or how many sections it'll run.

[–] [email protected] 3 points 5 days ago* (last edited 5 days ago) (1 children)

I'm thinking on this one, I have an idea but it hasn't wormed its way out yet. But, I have a tangentially related one I did on reddit back a few years while I'm percolating.


There he stood in all his scarlet glory. The lack of horns and tail was disappointing, but those had always been symbolic. I glanced at his feet, but they were shod in shiny red leather, so if there were hooves, I never saw them.

What stood out the most was his visage. Not because of any facial features; other than being incredibly handsome, nothing stood out in that regard. Even the perfectly groomed mustache and goatee weren't anything that stood out.

The glare in his eyes, glowing faintly red, and the curl of his lips into a sneer as he began to speak are what seared into my memory.

Standing at a crossroads in the middle of rural Tennessee, having just summoned the devil himself would be something to remember by itself, but his words crushed my dreams.

"Let me guess. Another human trying to sell their soul?"

The raw contempt and disgust in his voice made me shiver in fear. I opened my mouth to respond, but he raised a well manicured hand before I could start.

"I have no use for the damned things. I know you humans love to pretend they have value, but they're useless to me. If I did want them, millions of souls are consigned to me every year by their own actions and no cost to me. I do not, nor have I ever, given anything in exchange for a human soul. That isn't to say I'm not in the business of trade, but souls? Even Jesus himself has no use for them.

No, if you have something useful, we can make a deal. It won't even guarantee you a spot in my soul sauna since the father gave you screeching monkeys the escape clause of repentance. All souls are hers no matter where they reside."

Stunned, I tried to process his words. My brain scrabbled at Satan calling god both father and her for a moment before it slipped back into gear and recalled my purpose. I didn't sacrifice that goat for nothing!

"Oh hail and praise thee Lord of Darkness, I have come to make a deal."

His eyes rolled as he muttered something about Ozzy and Anton needing an ass kicking, but I continued.

"I would offer my soul in trade for power over my fellow man, and great wealth."

He cocked his head to the side. "Are you dense, or just fucking with me?"

"Um. Sorry. I had this whole ritual planned and, well, I thought it was the thing to do."

He ran his hands across his face, then through ebon hair. "Humans." He then sighed and went on "Look, Charles, I know who you are, I know what you want. And I know what you have to offer. My staff are excellent at gathering that kind of thing before I ever show up. So let's cut the bullshit, shall we?"

"Yes, um, my Lord?"

"If it makes you feel special, Lord is fine. You tell me what you want, in reasonable detail. I tell you what I want in return. Then maybe we don't both go home with a million mosquito bites at dawn and get home quickly instead."

With that, he slapped one of the offending insects, a slight puff of sulfurous smoke rising from the spot on his neck.

"Yes my Lord!"

And I told him. I wanted the ability to charm the masses, to sway minds with my words. For that power, the influence and wealth it would bring, I would swear anything.

He listened, watching my hands as they fluttered until I reined in their nervous flight. As I uttered the last word, anything, a devilish grin spread.

"I can do that Charles, oh I can give you that indeed. The price isn't even onerous. For that power, all I will require is that once you have risen to wealth and influence you form a small company dedicated to the sales of cheaply made electronics."

"Cheap electronics my Lord? That's all you want?"

"Well, that and I'll need about tree fitty."

"Tree fitty? Is that a South Park reference?" Did old scratch just make a South Park reference?

He sighed again. "Yes. They got what they asked for. I should know better than to trade a bag of "the dankest weed ever" for a subversive cartoon that features me. They smoked it all, and that's the best joke they came up with.

But yes, I need you to make cheap electronics."

"Yes my Lord. Um. Why?"

"You dare ask me why? My reasons are not for the likes of you to know, and you could not comprehend the skein of plans woven within plans that your tiny efforts will assist."

"Yes Lord. Cheap electronics it is. So, do I sign in blood, orrrr?"

"Pff, if you wish. You humans do enjoy ceremony. But there's no need. It's not like I need paper and a signature to collect what I'm owed."

With that, he snapped and a fussy looking little imp appeared with parchment, a quill and a syringe. The imp looked eager, his tail twitching in anticipation.

"No need my Lord! Your word is good enough for me!"

"Yes, it would be."

With that, he stepped forward. Fire and smoke began streaming from his hands. He touched my brow, then my lips and throat. The vermilion depths of his pupils boring into my own as heat washed from each point his hands touched.

I couldn't move. The fire from those touches spread across my skin, sinking down into my body. As they reached some immaterial but perceptible part deep inside me, my vision flared white hot and consciousness fled.

But as I fell the the ground, I heard him say, "Come Grossclout, we have an appointment with the postmaster that needs keeping."

When I woke, it was still dark. The crickets sang as I walked back to my car, filled with confidence and a plan.

[–] [email protected] 1 points 5 days ago

looking forward to the shenanigans of the devil blessed cheap electronics store clerk