|You've never been really *right* your whole life. Everything always just seemed duller, less interesting. You never got anything out of life that everyone else seemed to. Turns out there's a word for that: Depression. You were given medication, then more. Your general outlook on life seemed to get better, but everything else sucked more. You became lethargic, and felt sick nearly all the time. Nausea, loss of appetite, stomach aches, headaches... You had anything and everything they had on the symptom list and more. When you ran out of your doses, you silently cheered. Maybe it would get better. But then, things started getting worse. The withdrawal symptoms were worse than the side effects. You spent hours curled up on your bed, panicking because nothing felt real. Your body ached, and every so often it felt like someone was hitting you with a cattle prod. You thought about calling up your doctor to get a refill, but it occurred to you that the cycle would only start over again. Trapped between a rock and a hard place, you trigger.||Saff||Once a trigger is used, remove completely from this list, and add to used triggers tab (see bottom of page).|
Moronic, joke, and thoughtless triggers aren't as cool as you think they are. They just make everyone's experience less fun, and force us to reroll to get worthwhile stuff.
Sign your work.
|You got curbstomped, literally. A new gang rolled into town, displacing the old one which your neighborhood had a working deal with. They asked for more protection money than you could all give, dealt to kids, crossed lines. You joined up with others to stand up to them and fight against everything they stood for, and you got singled out to be made an example of, mouth pressed against the bottom bar of a metal stool before the back of your head was kicked, hard. Your teeth were mangled, shattered and broken, jaw dislocated, face scarred. The jaw could be fixed, but the teeth couldn't. Days after getting out of the hospital, you return to a new life, living as a symbol of the power the new gang had over the community, as well as the broken resistance, teeth still in pieces, causing you constant pain. You trigger very quietly, after a mother uses her hand to shield her small child's eyes from seeing your face.||-Wildbow|| Please Avoid:|
* Peanut Triggers (Dumb)
* Dead/maimed child Triggers (Way overdone for a long while)
* Rape Triggers (Almost always badly done, overdone)
* Events that would never ever happen or...
* Contrived/stupid events that'd only happen with powers involved
* Note classifications below, write triggers to underpopulated
* Keep Trumps to 1/2 the number of the others.
|It had been going so well. Your small business was successful, you had a wonderful fiancée, and your family looked at you in envy at your success. But then you got a bit confident, jumped off a small height into the water, showing off. Now, you knew, that you should have checked the water before. But you didn't, and you broke your neck. A one in a million chance, the docs said, that you survived. A one in a billion chance that you can even still regain the strength in your legs. And you were happy that you did too, of course! But then... your life fell apart. Your family didn't visit you as you were lying in that hospital bed, unable to move your head. You could no longer work, and the money got tight - your business had to close. You trigger as your fiancée closes the door behind her, the ring in your hand being the only thing she left behind.||Vern||Classifications:|
Keep track of resulting powers & classifications as triggers are removed from list:
|A head injury leads to induced prosopagnosia - the inability to recognize people, even when you know what they look like you can't connect the dots and put a name to the face. You're alone in a crowd of your loved ones, trigger.|
|Car Wash? A hood ornament was struck free, and you opt to go collect it before it can pop a tire, cause problems, or the customer returns. You tell the next customer to wait two minutes, sprint through to collect the ornament, and your foot gets caught in the track for one of the roaming sprayers. Two minutes pass, and the wash whirs to life. The wax application gun is right above you, and a drop lands on your shoulder. Vents for hot water are on either side. You trigger as the door begins to open, the hoses on the far side already begin to spray, then ones closer to you...||-Wildbow|
|Your parents divorced, and it would be something of an understatement to say you were caught in the middle. In a ceaseless struggle to 'win' the divorce, you were the biggest playing piece, used against one parent and then used against the other. For your mother you were the carer, the listening ear, the sensitive one, acting as if you shared in her outrage over your father's actions. To your father you were the disciplined student, the careful one, the 'good' child. Putting on a brave face in school, trying to act normal around friends, you nonetheless were being pulled into pieces as sure as someone who was being drawn and quartered. You started to slip, elements bleeding over. Everyone seemed to turn on you, as you betrayed their expectations. It was almost a relief, to be done with it all, to be hated. You pawned off every gift you'd been given to curry favor, and bought a train out, with no plans to return. But sitting in your seat, you felt anxiety take hold. You didn't know who to be. Paralyzed, you trigger.||-Wildbow|
|You were born with multiple defects, due to having a junkie bitch of a mother. Your legs never grew to the right height or muscle mass, your left eye never worked, and you were born with HIV. People look at you with pity in their eyes from the get-go, but you finally manage to fit in with a group of misfits. One day, you come clean about having HIV. They all seemed cool with it, at first. Slowly, the phone stops ringing so often. Whole weeks go by without you seeing your friends. You finally confront them. They tell you it's nothing personal, but you skeeve them out. You're gross. Infected. Physical defects they could deal with, but AIDS? You aren't worth the risk. You trigger as they walk past you.||SCG|
|Always a bit aggressive, you rarely held back and never pulled your punches when someone really deserved it. You always told yourself that they started it, that you were only a bit impulsive, but not really the one to initiate such fights. Then you overdid it - the son of an important man in town crossed your path, and you beat him into a bloody pulp, sending him to the hospital for months. You didn't even get to see his release, as you were arrested. You trigger in court, after all your friends betray you in the witness stand, restrained by the bailiff as the sentence is spoken.||Vern|
|You've loved her since you were kids, but it never got as far as you wanted it to. You were always seeing other people, one always in a relationship while the other was single. You would have dropped anyone, if she had asked. But she didn't. The final time you were both single at the same time, you waited one day too late. Someone else swooped her off of her feet. You weren't happy, but you tried to be, for her. You stayed in touch, but you never got married. You always held out hope. Years pass, and you never noticed the signs, until it was too late. You trigger when you hear the news: Her husband stabbed her over 40 times, until she bled to death on their front porch.||Somecrazyguy|
|You love spooky stories, creepy tales and the latest urban legends. You hunt them down, try to prove them, rush through the strangest of places. This time you are investigating a monster in the depths of an old school that the mayor promised to rebuild, but never did. Your flashlight flickers slightly as you turn into a small room, until you come face to face with the beast... the first time any of the legends are actually true. Or not. You recognize the symbol on it: "C". Finally standing in front of a true legend, you see the beast look up and rush at you, attempting to bite your head of. You can't move... and you trigger as you feel the monster's fangs pierce your skin.||Vern|
|You miss her. She was a wonderful girl, someone who you could have spent the rest of your life with. But she went ahead and died, leaving you miserable, sitting alone at her funeral. Her siblings used to be your best friends, and all they do now is leave you, ignoring you, talking with everyone but you. It's not like you don't notice. All her friends, all the people that bothered to appear, but not one word for you. You trigger as you stand in front of the crowd, trying to find your voice to give a small speech, while everyone seems to be busy doing anything instead of listening to you. They can't even give her that final honor.||Vern|
|Your family has lived in America for years ever since you were little. You're used to keeping your head down, avoiding anything that would involve put yourself out there or attracting unwanted attention. That's why you didn't know anybody you could turn to when the dreaded IT happens. The door to your house is open when you get home from school, and nobody is home. The place is a mess, as if there was a struggle. You wait in your wrecked home for hours, curled up on the couch as the pit in your stomach growing larger with each passing minute. Eventually you have to face the facts: You're utterly alone, left behind in a country that doesn't want you there. Trigger.||Teller|
|You see a stray dog staggering up the street, malnourished and possibly injured. Your heart breaks, and you rush forward to feed it some of your lunch. Trigger as the dog attacks you, knocking you into the mud and tearing into your hand with enough maddened vigor that you feel teeth scraping bone||Teller|
|You were quiet and shy. You didn't bother anybody, nobody bothered you, and that's how you liked it. Your body had different plans, however. You're the first girl in class to start developing, and how - growing out of every bra bought for you, even having to get new shirts. It's awful. The boys ogle and whisper lewd comments, but there are a pair of girls who are worse. They're the popular ones who are used to getting all of the attention, and they've decided you must be punished for having the audacity to hit puberty before them. They overpower you in the locker room and frogmarch you through the halls naked for all to see, 'SLUT' written across your chest in permanent marker. Trigger.||Teller|
|Raves weren’t usually your thing, but when you were dragged to one by your friends, you found yourself enjoying it far more than you had any right to enjoy. You enjoy yourself all night, ordering but one or two drinks, and, in a rare fit of adventurism, you took a small pill that had been offered to you. Hours later, as the rave ended, you are pretty certain the pill was nothing more than an aspirin, and more importantly, the people you thought were your friends were long gone. As you wander the dark alleys leading from the rave’s abandoned building, you realize just how lost you are, how long each shadow seems, and how very unnervingly quiet the city was after all that bass and music. It started to become harder and harder to swallow the acrid fear bubbling up from your stomach, as the darkness seemed to pull at you, beckoning you closer. You found yourself shivering as you struggle not to panic. A voice reaches out in the dark, saying, “Hey, you!” With something between a croak and a gasp of fear, you run, straight out of the alley and into the street. You are struck by a flood of light as a massive garbage truck approaches at full speed. You barely have time to figure out what to do as you trigger.||Ergoemos|
|Two years, seven months together. It's lovely, at first, finally free from the overbearing family, but living alone, just the two of you, is hard. Neither of you can hold a job for long, and after the first three or four she goes through, she just kind of... stops. Maybe it's shock, disappointment, the blatant, glaring disparity between the ideals she held and the life you live now, but when she's not asleep, she's screaming, cursing at you, blaming you for everything. You've sold off most of what you own now, but even with that it seems impossible to help her. After coming back from the psychiatrist, scheduling an appointment for next week, you come home to find her lying cold and unbreathing in the bath. You're numb, unthinking, halfway through your call with the psychiatrist, cancelling the appointment, when the phone drops from your hand and it finally sinks in.||Antioch|
|For the last three days it's been the same. She lets you out into the woods. She catches you again. She breaks something else. It's the fourth day, and you've got one working leg. She says she'll break your back if you can't escape after this round of her "game". You trigger in the forest as she steps into your view.||TreeFrogSoup|
|You live in a town hit by disaster - gang war, Endbringer, it doesn't matter - and you want to get out, to get away to a safer place. An old friend is willing to rent. The day after you arrive, the Endbringer Sirens wake you up. You trigger.||TreeFrogSoup|
|You lose your legs, she loses her life. After the funeral, the entire community in which you live in fractures, because of how well known and liked your ex-wife was. Your family becomes distant, and sides are taken. Jokes have an air of malice to them, family gatherings are awkward. People treat you differently and hold things against you. One year later, you go to a bar with some cousins. Your ex-brother-in-law is there, drinking heavily. He pulls you out of your wheelchair, screaming curses and promises to do to you what you did on accident. He wins over the crowd of the bar, and your friends leave you there as a circle forms. You trigger as he punches you in the face and everyone watches from a safe distance.||TreeFrogSoup|
|You studied for this, trained for months cramming your head full of facts and trivia. Now you're in the gameshow's final round, with a million dollars on the line, all or nothing, and you panic. You pick an answer and realize it's stupidly, hilariously wrong a nanosecond after you choose it - a joke answer that was supposed to make things easier. The host says some comforting words, but they turn into background noise, blending in with the dull roar in your ears. All you can think about is how your friends, your family, the entire nation, all saw how stupidly you just threw away 1 million dollars. Trigger.||Teller|
|You're working underneath your piece of crap car, trying to find the source of a strange noise you've been hearing lately. You're covered in grease and oil, exhausted, and not thinking clearly. You didn't use jack stands, you didn't block the wheels...and now the vehicle rolls forward, and tons of steel slam down on top of you. Trigger.||Teller|
|Your team is practicing at the field. A few of you are doing laps, others are practicing their hammer throws. The coach has stepped away for a few minutes, and a few people are goofing off. You're working on your discus technique, not paying much attention to anyone else, when you hear a collective cry of warning. You turn around just fast enough to see the javelin before it slams into your stomach. Trigger.||Teller|
|You hate doctors. Hate them. That's why when you sliced your leg open on the playground, you didn't tell anyone. Not even when it started to smell funny, or turned black and green. A few days, later, you're finding it hard to concentrate on what the teacher is saying, and the blackboard has gone blurry. You collapse, and wake up in a strange place, head still fuzzy and throbbing. Tubes are sticking out of your arm, there's a mask over your face...wait, is this an ambulance? Oh hell no. You struggle to get up, kicking over equipment, biting and kicking the EMTs that are now pinning you down. They're too strong, and there's no way you can escape. Trigger.||Teller|
|You slept with the wrong girl, a mob boss's daughter, maybe his wife. Long story short, you're being shoved feet-first into an ice chipper, and as it stutters and grinds its way through your thighs, spattering you and your captors in copious amounts of bloody giblets, you trigger.||Prothean|
|You can safely say that you are a content and generally happy person. Sure, there's some rough spots in life that anybody would experience, but you've got a job you love and a hobby that generally gives you drive to continue on. Specifically, stamp collecting. You've got dozens upon dozens of rare, unique, and valuable stamps, framed and hung around the small office in your duplex. You take massive pride in the collection, pariticipating in stamp forums, stamp gatherings, and are a bit of a legend in some communities. Until one day, as you return home from your job at the post office, you catch sight of a plume of smoke in the distance. A plume of smoke uncomfortably close to your stamp collection. You race home, but it's too late. A fire engine sits in front of the still blazing skeleton of your house, firemen milling about as it dies down, but you rush past them despite their efforts to stop you, plunging through embers and flame as you scramble for your stamps. You reach them, but at great cost- a supporting beam, weakened by the fires, collapses as you pass it, trapping you and your stamps within the inferno. As the flames spread from you to your cherished collection, you trigger.||Prothean|
|You learned a very important lesson in life today: Gas station bathrooms are not a smart place to try your luck with a glory hole. Some sick sadistic psycho rigged up a food processor behind it, and you just stuck your schlong in it.||Prothean|
|You went in for plastic surgery, now nobody will meet you in the eye. People are talking behind your back, saying the doctors did something very, very wrong, but won't say it to your face. You had everything done, head to toe, and the damage is impossible to put into words, but it's twisted everything, ruined every relationship. Slowly, the truth becomes apparent. Your brother had the surgeon do it because of sibling rivalry, your mom helped him, and in reality, everyone's fucking with you, to the point of ruining your damn /body/. Your attempts to go to police and hospitals are met with skepticism, even after you show them the damage. It all comes to a head when your family corners you, surrounds you, and try to extend the lie to mess with you - that you're a schizophrenic having your first break, it's all the schizophrenia, it's /not/ okay to strip naked in hospital waiting rooms and police department lobbies, and they aren't your enemy. Then they prove the lie by trying to take every last thing from you by suggesting you go to a hospital. A permanent stay in a padded cell. Seething, outraged and lost, you trigger.||-Wildbow|
|It started with identity theft. Cards declined, money disappearing from accounts, even as you changed to new ones. You almost lost your job, and even after you recovered it, you still had wary looks from your employer. It seems whoever is doing this to you isn't content to do economic and social injury, stealing your name, but physical injury as well. Loan sharks they hired come after you, guns in hand, apparently intent on making an example out of you for crimes you didn't commit.||-Wildbow|
|There's a little bit of forest you used to go to all the time when you were young, and you still go there when you want a break from the dash of city life. Like all things from your childhood, it seems so much smaller now, and safer. Except not anymore - it turns out a gang's hiding in there, and now you're running madly through the woods as they chase after you, firing their guns whenever they catch sight of you. You daren't go out in the open where you're an easy target, but they're closing in on your position... You trigger as one of them breaks through the brush and fires at you.||-pantherasapiens|
|The blackmailer just wouldn’t stop. At first it was just money. It was enough to hurt, but not worth everyone knowing your secret. Then it was documents from your government job which he somehow obtained records of you accessing. Then it was insurance fraud, then arson, and each time the evidence mounted against you. Eventually your original crime looked petty compared to all the things you’d done to keep people from knowing. Standing above the body of the man he’s told you to kill you hear the sirens. The police are already beating in the door. You’ve outlived your usefulness. He’s cashed you in. Trigger.||-HamsterStrong|
|Average weight, average height. The median grade in your class. The days pass by, and you are unremarkable. You made a few friends at first, but they quickly drifted away. You can’t hold their interest. You’re just a background character, sinking further into an unnoticeable isolation in a seething mass of indifference. And you find yourself staring down, at the gathering crowd and police sirens, and smile. A memorable death. Faced on your own terms. Maybe they’ll finally remember you. But the scream tears from your lips as you plummet down, down, down, and you realize just how overdone, how cliche it is to commit suicide by jumping. As mediocre in death as you are in life. You trigger.||Antioch|
|Your mother was the aide to a big-name politician and got caught the scandal. Now her face is all over the news, and everyone has heard that awful sound bite. Just signing your name makes strangers look at you funny. You can't turn on the television without some reporter or comic tearing into your beloved mom. At work, people seem hesitant to give you choice assignments, as if corruption is contagious. This one jerk in the office keeps making jokes and you cannot do anything about it if you want to keep this job. You really need to keep this job. Then you get the phone call- one of your best friends is seriously ill. Right then, right then, Mr. Funny decides to let loose another of his oh-so-funny mom jokes. You trigger.||Boomslang|
|Your Mom has always pressured you about your weight. Every week there seems to be a new diet or pill regime to adhere to, every New Year she buys you an expensive gym membership that you know she can’t really afford, the clothes she buys you are always a little too small. You like looking good, of course, but you feel like your mother always takes it too far - it's not like a bit of indulgence now and then will kill you, right?? One day you start to get sick. You have to rush to the bathroom every half an hour, your stomach feels tense and knotted. You go to your GP and they diagnose you with tapeworms. You’re horrified, but when you’re told that the treatment is a simple course of pills over a few weeks, you feel a lot less nervous. If it had been much worse, you’re told, you may have needed surgery. At dinner that night, you ask your mother where the pills are so you can take your first one and she avoids the question, saying that maybe it’s a good thing you have them, they’ll help you get thinner. You’re disgusted by the suggestion and insist she give them to you and she flies off the handle – “Don’t talk to me like that! I’m your mother, I just want you to be fucking healthy for once! You’re so ungrateful! After how much I paid for the damn things, you’re just going to kill them?” Horrified, you realise what has done. Trigger.||Wyrm|
|You try to off yourself. Pills. It doesn't work, but it tears the shit out of your gut, leaving you to wake up in a pile of your own puke. You try the noose, and damage your windpipe, but fail to break your neck. Slit your wrists, even going down the road, getting as far as you can before the pain is too much, and wake up in a crimson bathtub, haggard but alive. The human body is so remarkably resilient, honed by years of natural selection, and try as you might, perhaps with the help of a natural proclivity for living, you can't seem to kill yourself. Getting a handgun, you put it in your mouth and pull the trigger. Too small a caliber, perhaps. You blow a hole out the back of your head, but miss anything too vital. Sitting there in unbelievable pain, you wait to bleed out and fade away, at the very least, only to find that death doesn't come. You trigger out of equal measures frustration and overall pain.||-Wildbow|
|It is the worst case scenario. You're the first this morning to enter the lab where you do all your biohazard work, testing bacteria, parasites, viruses and potential cures, when the lights go off, the emergency lighting and sirens kicking in. In your sprint to the end of the hall, you see the disaster, a cart tipped, containers broken. You stand there, your heart dropping into your stomach, knowing you've already died. The papers that were on the cart read, very simply, 'Canberra'. The Simurgh. The name is enough to push you to trigger.||-Wildbow||Note: Canberra event is Feb. 24, 2011.||AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH -SCG|
|You were enjoying your dinner in the mall restaurant when a cape fight broke out. A fireball was flung at the crowd, and a hero erected a timely forcefield, protecting you and others. But between destruction and the forcefields, you're effectively trapped as the fire rages around you. Others flee, the fight continues off in another direction, and you're left stuck in an enclosure of forcefields and shattered booths. The fire around you isn't the problem, but the smoke is. You experience a fleeting moment of hope when the PRT arrives, dumping containment foam on fires, but that only serves to fix the surface problem. The forcefield keeps the containment foam from burying you, leaving you caught, still roasting while inhaling the too-hot smoke from fires burning beneath the floor. Trigger as hope fades and you realize you've been doomed to death by smoke and slow roasting.||-Wildbow|
|Sophomore year, you rushed for an average of eight and a third yards per carry, all eyes were on you. Junior year, blew your knee out at an out of town game, nowhere for you to go but down, down, down, nothing but the ground left for you to fall to. By July, you made a whole bunch of brand new friends- people you used to look down on. And you’d figured out a way to make real money, selling ends to your friends and it felt stupendous, chrome spokes on your Japanese bike. But selling acid was a bad idea, and selling it to a cop was a worse one- the new law said seventeen-year-olds could do federal time; you were the first one.||FOTH|
|You started to dress in your mother's clothes as a way to deal with her loss. You knew it was not normal, but it made you feel good. Meanwhile your father seemed to get stay away from the house, giving you more time by yourself, making you feel more alone. One day you decide to take a walk, dressed in drag. Not in your neighborhood of course, maybe even in a nearby town. It makes you feel less alone. One day, as you walk by, you meet your father, holding hands with a woman you don't know. You trigger when he looks at you and his expression betrays his disgust.||Teruzi|
|Your SO has a bit of a temper issue. They lose it far too easily. But that's ok, you love them and you have learned to tiptoe around it. But you resent them for it. When they start drinking, you make yourself tiptoe even more around, but the resentment turns to hate. One night, after your SO comes home remarkably drunk, you've had enough. You scream, they scream, and soon things turn violent. Your SO manages to throw you to the floor, and in their rage, starts to choke you. You trigger when you feel your throat give way under their grip.||Teruzi|
|You live in a small town, where everyone knows everyone. You attract the attention of the local gang because you are homosexual/having an affair/having dyed hair. It really doesn't matter what gets them after you. But you know it was undeserved. One day, as you walk back home you're assaulted by gang members. They beat you hard enough that you can't stand properly, and your throat is sore from screaming. The smell of gasoline fills your nostrils as they pour it all over you. A match is lit. You trigger in horror.||Teruzi|
|It was a normal night, you and your significant other are cooking dinner, your one year old son playing, trying to climb up the table. Then your SO screams you hear a sickening 'thump'. You turn around to see your child bleeding from a broken head and seizing up. You trigger as you realize there's nothing you can do and paramedics will probably arrive too late.||Spelt the Terribad|
|You found a nice chatroom online, but made a mistake. You started to lie, about your gender, about your personality, about your home, your friends. It seemed to be small at first, everyone lies on the internet right? So what if you pretend that you have cancer, or were abused as child, or that your parents threw you out when you were 15? But sadly you were a bit too open with some information that shouldn't be given freely - and then, one day, a person from the chat decides to drop by, a surprise visit, who knows your last name - but you didn't know that at first. When you told him you didn't know anyone with the name you gave in chat, you realize it, and he does too. You know each other from chat, and he immediately leaves. It didn't take long for him to log in and tell everyone, showing proof that he was actually there, and no one in chat is talking with you anymore until a mod steps in and bans you. You are left alone, staring at the screen - but nothing bad would come from this, right? Wrong. A week later you can find a picture online, chat message logs plastered all over, websites laughing about you, people insulting you after they found your social media profile, and in school/work nobody even looks you in the eye anymore.||VereorNox|
|You've always been entranced with fire. The perfect vehicle of destruction, unrelenting in its beauty. You started small, just campfires, but you could hear the whispers in the crackling- "more, more, feed me more," it hissed. Eventually, you worked yourself up to the biggest boom of all: attempting to blow up a gas station. With your Molotovs, thermite, and homemade napalm in hand, you started firebombing a local truck stop as the fuel tanker pulled in to restock. You're in awe of the ensuing lightshow, not noticing until too late the fires licking up your arms and legs. Law enforcement finds you burning and wailing, suffering from smoke inhalation, and unceremoniously tosses you in the back of the van. You trigger in prolonged agony, entire body suffering under the callous hands of the master you served so faithfully, burns left untreated in the holding cell and screaming for water or relief from your pain.||Antioch|
|You've been studiously working towards your degree, researching under some of the top scientific minds in the past few decades. You've been chugging along, dedicating your entire life towards this goal. You can visualize your dream perfectly, by this stage. Your name, right alongside the greats, on a world-changing report in the highest-esteemed scientific journals. It's these visions that distract you as you trip over a coolant tube, toppling into the path of a high-power laser beam, just as your research head flips it on. As the laser chars and sears your flesh, filling the lab with the very pleasant scent of cooking meat, you trigger.||Prothean|
|You were never comfortable with how others treated you for being a girl. As a small child, you felt a flutter in your heart whenever someone called you "young man" and a feeling of revulsion whenever your parents corrected them. At the age of seven, you took a pair of scissors to every dress you owned in disgust; when you did it a second time, your parents stopped buying you dresses. As a teenager, you cut your hair short, wore boys' clothes, bound your breasts, and took to a more masculine diminutive of your name (Chris instead of Christine, Frankie instead of Francesca, Jessie instead of Jessica, etc). If people mistook you for a boy, you certainly didn't correct them, letting them be wrong for as long as possible. You joined the drama club at school, in part because it was a place where you could pretend to be the opposite sex more or less openly. You always went for male roles, avoiding female ones with a fiery passion. Some of your friends decided you should "branch out a little," made a dress in your size, and tried to force you into it. As you panic and fight against them, holding down bile at the thought of wearing clothes like that, you trigger.||Nonagon|
|You're waiting on a subway platform to head home after a long day of work when the person next to you jumps into the path of the oncoming train. Reflexively, you grab for their arm, but they pull you down with them. The next thing you know is the deafening screech of the car's brakes and the immense pressure and pain of your bisected body, pinned between the platform and train car. All you can see is the blood-stained side of the car, and to top it all off, you're pretty sure you shit yourself when your colon got crushed.||Prothean|
|You're engaged in some... erotic behavior with your lover, culminating in you handcuffed to the bed, spread-eagle, your partner looming over you with a cat'o'nine-tails, when they suddenly collapse on you, not breathing. Trapped under them, and with the key to the cuffs on the dresser across the room, you wait for three grueling days, wearing your wrists and ankles raw against the cuffs, your lover's rotting body slowly filling with maggots. Your nose clogged with the stench of death, and the maggots making their way to your orifices and wounds, you trigger.||Prothean|
|It’s been years since you last went fishing, but for some reason you’ve had a wave of nostalgia recently and decided you want to get back into it. You buy the best new fishing rod you can from your local tackle shop and head out to the seaside. Renting out a motorboat, you ride out nice and far, just like you used to. You throw your first line, but you’re way out of practice and on the backswing, the hook whips into your left eye, ripping across the cornea and embedding itself in your nose. You lose your balance and fall into the water, screaming. As you sink into the lake, a maelstrom of bubbles escaping your lips, you feel water rushing into your mouth and lungs. Trigger.||Wyrm|
|You've finally found purpose in life- the armed forces. Boot camp was tough, but you made it, and you're now on your first deployment, delivering foreign aid to a Behemoth attack site. But something in the intricate machinery of the helicopter fails, and it stutters and tumbles out of the sky, plowing into the rubble, aflame. With your entire body covered in shredded wounds courtesy of the flying rubble, searing heat enroaching on the small pocket of safety that you lie bleeding in, you trigger.||Prothean|
|You end up on the receiving end of a freak chain of events - completely undeserved. Not that that matters now, with your car, and you in it, buried under a massive mound of trash and detritus courtesy of the broken dump truck ahead of you. As the frame creaks and cracks spiderweb across the windshield, tons of crap about to crush you, you trigger.||Prothean|
|You're into urban exploration: Spelunkers are to caves as you are to old, abandoned buildings. You're making your way through a mill forgotten by time, snapping pictures of the moss-covered wheel and lofts, when the rotted floor gives way beneath you. You fall a few short feet into the dark hollow beneath, landing on your back. Worse than the pain however, is the nest of rats you've disturbed - hundreds of them run all over and under you, damp, furry bodies scampering over your hands, legs, arms, and face. First you feel the tiny claws, and then come the teeth. Trigger.||- Teller|
|The collar digs into you neck as you strain once more to break free, bare feet and hands scrabbling at the dirt. The short chain confines you to a three foot radius around your prison, a small, ugly doghouse. Toys, balls, and bones litter the area, along with half-full dishes of water and foul tasting dogfood. After three weeks the smell of the 'home' has become unbearable, but you know better than to complain, or make any human sounds at all.|
But you don't have to talk for your Owner to know how sick you're getting. You've lost weight, you can't keep any food down, and you're trembling all of the time. Your Owner comes over, needle in one hand, steak in the other, and tearfully announces that you'll have to be put down. Trigger.
|Stupid. Evil. Trying to kill them. According to your screaming child and their Borderline Personality Disorder, these are all things that describe you. You ignore their insults and struggle to hold them down as they squirm, kick, punch, and scream. The other members of your family look on, all too used to these episodes. You think you're through the worst of it, then a fist catches you square in the mouth and you lose it. You can't take this any more. You haul them to their feet, slam them into the wall, and punch them in their face, over and over again as your family watches, horrified. Awash in a mixture of shame and rage, you trigger.||- Teller|
|You're doing the laundry when your child's school calls you - there's been a fight, and your child instigated it. Normally, it would be dealt with by a suspension and an apology essay on all sides, but the victim in this case is in critical condition in the hospital, greviously wounded by overzealous bullies - one of which is your child. As your friends, all fellow parents, abandon you, not willing to have their children spend time near your monster, you trigger, not in shame for your child, but out of selfishness, knowing you'll never be accepted again.||Prothean|
|You can't beat him. This video game is your life, the thing you have learned and become excellent at, the thing you have trained and worked and studied to do as best as you can- and you're still not good enough. It would be one thing if he was some long-term rival or as-yet unbeaten champion, but he's not. He's some young up and comer, and he keeps beating you, thrashing you again and again. You rewatched the replays of your first match and went into it again. Another loss. Again. Again. Over and over, the cycle repeats: review, study, training, practice, improvement, defeat. Nothing's good enough. He's just better than you. Maybe you should just give up. Trigger.||Nonagon|
|You read about it in an online article. How to turn a pole-mounted transformer into an electromagnetic pulse. Erase and destroy all electronics in the immediate area. All you needed to do, according to the article, was drop it into a large body of water. Walking by the dipshit neighbor's house, you fantasized about dropping the thing into his pool. Everything was positioned so well. Drunk, you talked about it with budddies, talked yourselves into it, and then gathered the tools. What really happened, though, was the pole broke, the tension in the wires kept the thing mostly aloft, and made it land on the fence. Your buddies die (stupid, in retrospect, to use a metal ladder by a chain link fence), and you're left standing there as a hell of electricity and fire unfolds around you, crackling along the fence, puddles on the street, and igniting the grass. You trigger.||-Wildbow|
|You need your medication. You know that. The doctors know that. It's not - nobody is denying that. They're just making you beg, like a dog, to give you what you need to keep from feeling like death warmed over. Literally on your knees, your eye twitching, your hands up and pressed together, begging like a fucking dog, because you need it so badly. Fuck this place. God. Fuck. Why did you have to be institutionalized? The doctor takes your daily pill, puts it close to your open palms, and then snaps back, laughing. They're all laughing. Trigger.||Nonagon|
|This is your chance - you see your abusive stepfather sleeping in the driver's seat of his car, and you know he keeps a pistol in his glovebox. Sneaking quietly out into the driveway, you gingerly crack open the passenger side door, setting off the car alarm. He wakes with a start, the sudden rhythm of the horn jolting him awake, and he grabs your head in one massive hand, slamming you into the dashboard repeatedly. Through blurred vision, you can see your mother staring at you with concern on the patio, too afraid to do anything.||Antioch|
|You don't live in that great of a neighborhood. Too low on the income bracket to be in the good books with the cops, one day your house is subjected to a search and seizure. You'd picked up a stray a few months back, despite your parents' warnings against it, and proved them both wrong - feeding her, housetraining her, picking up an odd job for the veterinarian bills. And now your excitable pup, barreling down the hall, starts yapping at the stranger in your home, leaping towards the officer. He doesn't hesitate, shooting your dog in the head, spattering gore and bone fragments onto the wall. You stare in shock for a moment, processing the situation, and scream in outrage - and the cop slams you into the wall, dislocating your shoulder, charging you with theatening an officer as he slaps the handcuffs on your wrists.||Antioch|
|"Follow your dreams!" your parents said, and for a while, you truly believed you were special. You declined a full-ride scholarship from a nearby in-state university, and went to a prestigious art school. It's nothing like you'd expected, the unrelenting crush of projects as the end of the semester arrives, and you pull consecutive all-nighters, slipping further into your shell. This isn't your dream anymore, you seethe to yourself, but you're already in debt and you're too stupid or stubborn to not back down and go with your second option. You suffer through the five years needed - yeah, you had to drop some classes, retake a few, but you finally make it, early onset arthritis and debilitating carpal tunnel plaguing you, but six months after graduation, you're still unemployed, once again living with your parents, who've changed their tune. This is bullshit, you gripe, you're meant for better things than this. Your father quietly slides a want ad for a local fast food restaurant over the table at breakfast one day. You trigger.||Antioch|
|You knew that online dating was a bad idea, but you just couldn't help it could you? “It'll be fun!” your friends said. “Come on, just try one date.”|
And so you did. You found a fairly attractive man and started exchanging messages. You even went on a date with him. But then you realized that this person was crazy. You firmly declined any advances and tried to end the date as politely as possible, but he insisted on talking to you and seeing you more, even following you to your neighborhood in his car.
Before you knew it, he was blowing up your online profile. You blocked him, only to find that your date had already made 5 other profiles to contact you with. So you closed down your profile for good. Then your phone buzzed. And buzzed. And buzzed. 33 messages in ten minutes, each one slightly more threatening than the last. Blocking the number didn't help. How he got a hold of 6 different phone numbers you'll never know. One message asked to confirm your address so he could talk this “misunderstanding” over with you in person. How did he get your address? You call the cops, but through sheer stupidity on the part of the law, pure genius on the part of your stalker, or some unholy combination of the two, your old date gets off with a metaphorical slap on the wrist and he continues his behavior as if nothing ever happened.
Now you're reaching a breaking point. You're looking over your shoulder every minute of every day. You're scared to answer the phone. You can't go online without being bombarded with emails and PMs. You don't leave the house unless absolutely necessary. Your health is failing and the people around you are concerned. Finally, one of your friends tells you that they're willing to let you live with them for a little while until this whole situation blows over. You breathe a sigh of relief and get into your car in the dead of night. As you look in the rear-view mirror while backing out of your driveway, you notice a person in the car and you are knocked out before you can scream. You wake up in a panic, tied and gagged at the mercy of your stalker, where you trigger.
|Wow. You fucked up, big time. You grew up in a fairly nice, but very strict and religious family. You lived across the street from the most beautiful girl you'd ever met, and little did 7-year-old you know, she would become the love of your life. The two of you were a classic romantic comedy: sharing the first kiss, going to prom together, having a few small fights, including a big one where you broke up and dated other people for a while, and meeting up again at a time in your lives when you are both old and mature enough to finally settle down. You two have been engaged for six months when you get much more trashed than you expect to one night.|
The next morning, you wake up in bed with another woman naked next to you. You look at your phone and notice 5 messages from your fiance in your phone, and rush home hungover as hell. Desperate and scared, you lie to her. Your excuses are fairly weak, but she trusts you. Three weeks later, you get a text from a name that is vaguely familiar. The two-word message seems ludicrous at first, but then you put the pieces together and you sob alone. Your heart sinks as you reread the text, trying to find a way to explain this to the person who was to be your lifelong partner. Negotiations with the other woman are to no avail. “I don't know if I'm keeping it, but if you won't tell her,” she says, “I will.”
The conversation with your fiance goes worse than you could have ever imagined. You come back home one day after work to find all of your belongings thrown haphazardly outside of the doorway. The lock has been changed. You trigger when you realize that you have forever thrown away the only consistent source of happiness in your life as you know it.
|“If you're not living on the edge, you're taking up too much space.”|
Who even said that quote? You don't know, but it's been your mantra for the past few weeks now. Skydiving, rock climbing, jet skiing- if you can think of it, you've probably tried it at some point. Your best friend was recently diagnosed with a terminal illness, and rather than moping around in a hospital bed, she's blowing the last of her savings so that the two of you can finish her bucket list. This time you're going deep-sea diving. You've been putting this one off, to be honest. But hey, the girl's only got a few months to live. You can put off a little claustrophobia and fear of open waters for her, right?
So now here you are, who-knows-how-many leagues under the sea, stuck in a tiny cramped suit, surrounded by creatures the likes of which you could never possibly fathom, with nothing but this slowly dying flashlight, an oxygen tank, and a dying girl who's more alive than you could ever be.
After the two of you have spent more than enough time in this freezing dark hellhole, she signals that she wants to go up. She begins to rise as you take a few steps toward her and slip on a coral outcropping. You tumble clumsily as you curse yourself for tripping underwater. Suddenly your line tightens and you realize it has looped around the coral. Your friend is too far away to signal and the two of you never got a radio. Even worse, the air is getting thinner. You glance to the side and realize bubbles are coming out of your oxygen tank. Hurriedly you try to fix your line when something hits you from behind- hard. You lose more of the precious little breath you have as you are knocked into the outcropping. You turn in time to see whatever attacked you make a second turn in the water, swimming at full force to strike you again, this time knocking the back of your head and the oxygen tank into the rock. Now you're losing air and consciousness fast. Dizzily you look in the direction that you think is up and can't see any sign that anyone is descending to help you. You're having a hard time focusing on staying conscious, and you have completely run out of oxygen at this point. It occurs to you that, in a way, both of you may have had your lives cut tragically short by her illness. You look and see the creature swim into you again and you barely register the pain this time. Water enters your lungs, your vision begins to blacken, and you trigger.
|You've always wanted to be a fighter pilot when you grew up, just like every other kid and their dreams of a fantastical action-packed jobventure. Unlike most of them, however, you actually followed through, even making it into the Naval Weapons Academy. On a routine training exercise, your rival, and wingman, showboats as usual, but this time, he's also flying in formation with you- very close formation. You're caught in his jetwash, sending your fighter into an uncontrolled spiral, g-forces sending your limbs flailing. Unable to reach the eject lever, and with the ground rapidly approaching, you trigger.||Prothean|
|Somehow, you got roped into a shady job with your buddies. You've always been a follower, but when your new boss gets you packing ammonium nitrate, diesel fuel, and nitroglycerin to make enough IEDs to take the city's power down, you start feeling a little uneasy. Everyone around you is joining in, though, so you keep your mouth shut and work. You and your buddy get sent off to blow a power substation, duct-taping your jury-rigged bombs to the transformer and setting them to blow. Something went wrong - fuse cut too short, a bad fuel mixture, a leaky container, you're not sure, but a massive explosion rocks you, searing your flesh, and you watch your buddy get simultaneously crushed and electrocuted by falling electrical equipment as you yourself writhe in agony.||Antioch|
|They were popular, attractive, charming, and insistent. You weren't sure at first - some nagging feeling in the back of your mind - but finally, you decided to go out. It was sunshine and roses for a while, then the real them came out. Vindictive, insulting, petty, controlling. It became too much for you to deal with, and you broke up. They didn't leave you alone, and their friends didn't leave you alone either. Anxiety and fear became your constant companions. The rocks hitting your window in the middle of the night, only for their thrower to scurry away into the darkness. The unsigned notes that you knew were from your ex. No one listened to you - they were more popular than you, by a large margin - so you suffered in silence. Finally, you went to the police/school administration and they told you (not in so many words), to fuck off and stop slandering your ex. Trigger.||Nonagon|
|Your parents set a bad example for you. You never learned to mediate conflict with your partner any way besides violence, and you already had a pretty short trigger. When you'd argue, you'd yell, scream, and eventually hit. It's normal to you. Your current partner's pretty much the same way. Whenever you get in an argument, it ends in bruises, scrapes, cuts, ripped out chunks of hair, and more. Once or twice one of you has had to go to the hospital. This time, though, it went too far. A fight over the dishes escalated into a screaming match, and then you started hitting. They hit back, and soon enough, the two of you are rolling on the floor, your fingers digging into their skin, occasionally punching them in the gut. They grab a plate and slam it into your face, ceramic shattering in the process, and they keep using the biggest shard, which cuts into your skin horribly. There's far too much blood spilling out onto the floor, and you realize it before they do, screaming at them, trying to get them to stop. They don't, confusing fear for more anger. Trigger.||Nonagon|
|You've always known there was something not quite right about your dad. Unlike most kids your age, you weren't too wrecked by your parents' divorce. If anything, you're just glad that the screaming has finally stopped. After all, you can only blast the evening news so loud to drown out the bickering and screaming. You've never liked the days that you had to spend with your father. His house smells like cigarettes and he drinks too much and he always makes you watch stuff on the TV that scares you. With your mother's impending remarriage things with him have been escalating. His temper has been getting shorter, and you've been smacked around more than once. But, you have to go.|
One day you're there for dinner, but you're overcome by a sudden bout of anxiety. Something just isn't right, and you can feel it deep down in the pit of your stomach. You ask your dad to take you back home--Back to your mom, and he refuses. When you try to call her on the phone to come get you, he unplugs it. You know the way home, but it's too far of a walk and it's getting dark, and even if you did leave he would just come and get you. The situation escalates to screaming and crying and him slapping you brutally across the face. You make it to the sliding glass door, but with nowhere to go and a knife in your father's hand, you trigger as he drags you back inside.
|Your first day working with your uncle's yardwork service- a shit job, but your parents want you to chip in while you stay with them, trying to work out what to do with your life and your Philosophy degree. Hours of raking, hauling mulch et cetera have left you bushwacked in the heat of the day, and halfway through mowing the place's yard, the damn mower's stopped working, stuttering to a gasping halt. Your uncle told you this happens time to time, so you turn it off and find some stretch of metal cord wound around the blades, a couple sharp tugs unable to dislodge it. A third attempt, and the sound of whining |
metal- and you're screaming as blood gushes out of your stump hand in time with your pounding heart. You trigger.
|It was you and your brother's secret hiding place- he's just tall and strong enough to reach the trapdoor to the attic. He dared you to go up there three weeks ago when you first moved in to this decrepit, ancient house, and now you've cleaned it up and go up there every time your parents leave the house. You can draw on the walls, make as much noise as you like, and pretend it's the fantasy world of Attica- your brother likes to be the dragons, you the questing hero. One summer evening, parents still at work, he chases you into one of the dustier, fiberglassed areas- straying off the safer planking. Shrieking and laughing, you plunge through the floor, over a story down into the living room, straight through the glass table. The pain is excruciating, and your arm- you can see the bone. You trigger.||Firlz and|
|You've been living at Zach's run down apartment with your SO- mattresses on his empty living room floor, he's actually got a job, and you never see him, so you two have the place to yourself. Zach's bad at paying the bills, weeks can go by without power, water or internet- usually one is down. Therefore, you're not surprised to wake and find the power's out- business as usual. Your SO goes to heat up the TV dinners in the oven. She opens it, and the smell of off eggs and minerals that's been lingering for a day or two intensifies. Before you can stop her, she pulls out her lighter to see what the issue is- and the place explodes. Half-blind, charred, and ears ringing, you trigger.||Firlz and|
|The Whirligig! This is your favorite ride at the whole fair, and you make sure you get on it every time it comes through town. You preach the gospel of it to all you friends, and you get on as you do every year with them, excited as always. But as you spin, and spin, and spin, and the ride raises, and flips upside down stories up, you hear a strain, a creak. You're harnessed in, it's probably nothing. But a sudden shudder, and you're in freefall as your harness gives way, a rusty bolt snapped. Trigger.||tubes|
|You're working between two train cars when things suddenly move. You leap for safety, but only half of you makes it, the remainder sandwiched violently between pieces of metal. The pain is bad, but not as bad as you would have thought. People are called, the ambulances arrive, and then a team of doctors appear. They give you the bad news. Crush syndrome, it's called. Your lower skeleton was crushed, your kidneys are failing, and when things are pulled apart, your entire body is going to be flooded with the byproducts of destroyed muscle and bone. They dope you up, give you time to prepare your family, and counsel you about the shockingly low chance you'll survive, and then prep you, giving you something to drink. As things are pulled apart, however, you feel yourself dying, and you trigger.||Wildbow|
|100 Triggers at Maximum, please.|