Weaver Dice - Trigger Events (Old/Defunct)
The version of the browser you are using is no longer supported. Please upgrade to a supported browser.Dismiss

View only
Visiting the country out on your cousins' farm, you tell a joke that they do not care for. You find yourself hogtied, dumped in the pig pen, and left. As you try to free yourself, you are jostled by the largest pig, and wind up with your face down in the mud. With some frantic struggling, you manage to turn your head to the side and clear an airway. Then it starts to rain. Then you start to drown in the puddle your head is stuck in. Then you realize you are dying. Then you trigger. OctoberUSING ANOTHER SHEET DUE TO PERSISTENT ISSUES WITH THIS ONE
You were out hiking by yourself, a spur-of-the-moment (ie stupid) jaunt, when you slipped, your expensive hiking boots providing no help. Arm broken and leg caught between rocks, you've been staring up at the large rock hanging precariously over you for the last hour. With every movement, the rocks around you shift, and you're sure it will fall before you can free yourself or find help. Trigger as the boulder finally starts moving toward you.Twonkhttps://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1gcJoGA4wwkFbL6fpjaeiQTQ-hKrp6BOChOfgxRn14xk/edit?usp=sharing
A strange email alluded to private things between you and your partner. It weirded you out, and it weirded you out more when your partner acted squirrely about it. You did some digging on their computer, and what you found was a website. You knew your partner had a submissive side to them. What you discovered, however, was that your entire relationship, they haven't been making any of the calls. When and what sexts to send you, what to wear, what to do on dates, how and what decisions to make on a personalized present they gave you, the night you did anal. There are scripts for what to say on dates. Crowdsourced decision making, and to help them make the right calls, your partner's dished all the details on how you eat, sleep, talk, fuck, what you wear. People have been speculating on who you are, some quite creepy, and it looks like the team of people running the site (there's a team!?) are trying and failing to stay on top of it. You hear the key in the door. You meet your partner, and you see them smile, as they always have. This time, however, you hear them speak the words to greet you, and you feel horror mixed with violation as you hear not her voice, but the tens of thousands of detached internet users speaking through them. WildbowClassifications:

Keep track of resulting powers & classifications as triggers are removed from list:
Mover: 44.2
Breaker: 36.7
Master: 51.8
Tinker: 36
Shaker: 45.2
Blaster: 45.6
Thinker: 40
Striker: 38.3
Brute: 42.7
Changer: 39.9
Trump: 16.7
Stranger: 34.6
College hazing. End of a long week of head games and bullshit, you get drunk with the rest of the fraternity. But there's a final task: you're taken to the basement, made to strip, and given tweezers. The head of the frat dumps a box of rainbow sprinkles on the floor, telling you you're supposed to sort it by color. Groan-worthy, especially when you're drunk off your ass, but when your group finds the light switch, it's a strobe light. Your cries of being epileptic are dismissed as another head-game, you're called a mole for the frat, believed to be a final obstacle by people who are so drunk they can barely stand. Your blind struggles to reach and turn off the light switch are stopped by the others, the light flashes against your closed eyelids, and the pattern is making your brain hot, your personal tell for when a grand-mal is coming on. Probably more than the one. It's going to fuck your brain up, maybe permanently. And, you know, trigger you.Wildbow
Your 15 year old brother straddles the railing of the balcony, 16 floors up, holding all of your photography equipment. He used too much data on the phone service you shared with him, you cut him off, and now he's threateing to jump and take thousands of dollars of your equipment with him, if you don't cave to his demands. The equipment doesn't matter - his life does. You say you're going to call the cops, he threatens to jump if you try. Left with no other option, terrified, you concede and agree to turn his cell phone back on. Your parents get home, and you tearfully explain the situation. They give your brother a short lecture, then make the online payment for the cell phone for him. Nothing else. He smirks at you. The trigger happens the next day, when you don't let him have the TV remote. A threat of suicide, a precarious perch on the side of the balcony, to the point where you worry he really will fall. Knowing you have no out (too poor to even leave home), terrorized, knowing this will happen again and again as he uses the nuclear option to win every time he wants, you trigger.Wildbow
Your mother died five years ago. You were catatonic, barely able to even go to ID the body, as the last surviving member of your family. Lately, you've been rebuilding your life, and as a homage to your mother, you intended to get married in her wedding dress. After going on a pre-wedding vacation with your fiance, you return home just in time for halloween, only to find out that your cousin, who knew damn well what the dress meant to you, decorated it in fake blood for her costume. She thought it would wash out, and panicked when it didn't, scrubbing it with bleach and destroying beading and lace in the process. It takes you right back to the day you found out, unable to deal on any level, as you stare at the thing draped over the back of a chair, which looks more like a used tampon than a dress. Trigger.Wildbow
You can't help it: you're jealous. It's been a problem in past relationships, but your current SO seems to be surprisingly willing to check in every hour, to cut off opposite-sex friends, and everything else you demand. You're still anxious and worried that they'll leave you, but things seem like they may go well this time. Then it happens. They don't check in. You give them a minute or two, then call. And call. And call. No response. They're fucking around behind your back, you just know it. You thought they might have been the One. Trigger.Nonagon
You have a fight with your partner, an argument that turns into a screaming match. They say that you never contribute, that you're lazy and selfish. Maybe it's true, maybe it isn't, but it's something you always worry about, that you're not doing your fair share, and having those words come out of your loved one's mouth... it's just too much. You step out, not able to take it, and just wander, their words going through your head over and over, as you turn your life over piece by piece, trying and failing to find objectivity as you analyze everything. The sheer stress of it, the feeling of uncertainty, and the repeated running over some of your worst moments in order to try to figure out the truth is enough to make you trigger.Nonagon
You've figured it out. The people who run the government, who run the *world*, they do it right out of that building there. You watch it, day and night, a long, silent vigil, taking notes on who goes where and does what. Days and weeks of staking out the building start to add up, but no matter how hard you try, you can't quite work out who's really running the show. It could be any of them, from what you can see. You think you're on the verge - it's just a matter of who comes in during the night today. You struggle to stay conscious, but your body is no longer nearly so cooperative as it was when you first started, junk food and sleep deprivation taking their toll. You pass out as the sun goes down, and by the time you wake up, you've missed your window. You fucked up, and who knows how long you'll have to wait for another opportunity to present itself? Your frustration reaches an apex, and you trigger.Nonagon
You're at the bar, you're having a good time. Everyone's laughing, looking good, and the place is lively. You take a sip of your drink, nothing seeming amiss. A few minutes later the room starts to spin, your limbs feel weak, everything going blurry. "Whoopsie," a blurry figure says near you. "Looks like my friend here's had too much to drink." That was your first drink of the night! You can't even muster the energy to get up out of your chair, and your "friend" says "I'll make sure they get home safe and sound," waving off the concerns of the other patrons. You've never seen this person in your life, you're sure of it, as they lift your arm up over their shoulders and drag you out of the bar, and a thought works it's way through your murky mind - you've been drugged. No! No! You attempt to struggle, raise a shout, but all you manage to do is trip a bit and moan. You're not getting away under your own power. You think you hear the person carrying you chuckle, and you trigger.
You knew dating a gang leader was a bad idea, and dangerous besides, but hey, they're sweet, and don't look half bad. Well, all your fears and trepidations come to pass one day as you're on your way to your car, snatched in the parking lot and jabbed in the side by a taser, your vision fading to black before you have the chance to panic fully. When you come to, you're lying prone in the rear of a van, a man with a bandana covering his lower face, decorated with uneven, serrated fangs. He's on the phone, and the fabric over his mouth does little to mask his tone of sadistic glee. "Quiz time! Question number one. We've got a special guest on our show tonight. Hint! She soooounds a little like –" he taps your exposed thigh with his forefinger, and you feel it -shatter- at the touch, your scream echoing in the cramped interior of the van. "Well, you get the point. Question two! Whaddaya think is gonna happen to our lovely guest if you don't show up in time? He lays his index and middle finger almost gently on your clavicle, and you flinch. As the timer ticks down, he recites the seconds as they pass, savoring each passing minute with unbridled delight. Finally, you have a minute left, then seconds. "Oh, it looks like they're not coming," the masked man says, mock pity in his voice. Trigger. Antioch
You knew your dad was messing around with a girl half his age, who was probably only interested in him because of his money. Then he got killed. It turns out he was a villain, a Breaker who split into three complementary forms, and all three were destroyed in a single blow. His savings - hundreds of thousands of dollars, earned from years as a villain - fell into your hands. The problem is that his old girlfriend knew who he was - he told her, apparently, wanting to impress her - and she knew you'd inherited his money. She started blackmailing you, threatening to sell you out to the same guys who'd killed him, and she isn't letting go easy. She bled you dry, and when the money ran out, she didn't believe you. She confronts you outside your house. "I need the money, bitch. If you won't pay, I *will* tell them. Don't think I won't." Trigger.Nonagon
Your spouse makes the money, and you... well, you sit at home and you look pretty on their arm at events. It's not a *bad* life, per se, and it's one you opted into, wanting the security that they could provide you. Two years in, you're so bored at home, you take up a hobby, one thing leads to another, and you've got a job offer doing something you love. You tell your spouse, and there's a cold look on their face for a moment, but they seem supportive. Then the job offer seems to evaporate into thin air. Weeks later, you accidentally stumble on an email that was trashed on your main account, offering you the job. Another, asking why you weren't responding. A third, telling you they'd given the job to someone else. When you tell your spouse, they inform you that your job is to stay at home and keep yourself looking good, and they were just looking out for you, deleting those mails. The sheer depth of the betrayal flabbergasts you and makes you trigger.Nonagon
They found Charlie, his spine broken in three places, his eyes staring at nothing. A few days later, Mark was dead too. All you fucking do is deal to junkies and protect some working girls, but apparently some psycho has decided you need to get taken out. You want to get out, but you don't really have the means, so you're sitting, tense as fuck, day after day, watching the girls work, handing out drugs to the junkies, your hand constantly pawing at your weapon. One sleepless night, you hear scrabbling at your door, and as you reach for your gun, you find it missing. Trigger.Nonagon
Your older sibling was always a fuckup. Couldn't keep a relationship going more than a month, money problems, the works. You, on the other hand, were the together one, with good grades, a good SO, and all the prospects in the world. You let them stay over in your apartment for a few weeks, trying to convince them to put their life together, and that's when you found out they were a parahuman, a Changer who could change their appearance trivially. Some time later, you take off a summer from college, hitchhiking across Europe to find yourself, and when you get back... well, things aren't good. Everyone's angry at you, your bank account's empty, your SO won't answer your calls, and based on everything you can put together, there's only one conclusion: your older sibling stole your face and wrecked your life while you were gone, probably not even on purpose. Trigger.Nonagon
You're out late one night, walking home alone. Seemingly from nowhere, somebody grabs you from behind, and you feel cool metal on your neck, your eyes going wide. "Don't scream," he warns you, his voice a whisper. "Don't make a noise. Just be nice and quiet, and nothing too bad has to happen." You don't listen to him, the worst possibilities running through your head. Instead, you flip the fuck out. You struggle against him, and in the process you accidentally cut your own throat on his knife. Trigger.Nonagon
It's a fairly simple trick. Your SO and fellow magician gets in the box, tied up, and is suspended ten feet in the air. Then water starts to pour in and they escape their bonds, and the box itself, to rousing applause. Only this time, they aren't getting out. They're lying, motionless, at the bottom of the box, and you scurry to try to save them, getting the crowbar you keep for just this occasion, climbing as quick as you can on top and trying to pry the lid off. As you do, the crowbar just snaps in half ("Made in Thailand," some part of you thinks), the hook toppling off the box to the ground. In a panic, you strain to open it with your bare hands, but you can't get the grip you need. Trigger.Nonagon
You're dying. It's been a reality for half your life, and things have finally reached the point where you're feeling your mortality. You need a kidney, and while you waited, you gave up hours of your life every day to have your blood filtered of toxins. Then you hear - a second cousin who attends the same school you do is a good match. You reached out, asking for help, and they agreed, but they asked you to wait a few months for the summer break, to give them a chance to wrap up their university classes and think things over. That was a year and a half ago. Since then, they've manipulated and blackmailed you, fucked with you, milked you of cash, all while dangling the organ out of arm's reach. The time you spend every day hooked up to the dialysis machine gradually increases, your overall health wanes, your vision getting worse, and there's nothing to do in those times but stew, simmering with loathing and hatred that accumulates over time. The breaking point comes when you talk to your cousin, and they casually mention they have a friend they want you to fuck. You don't have to, of course, but... and you know. You can't walk away without consigning yourself to death, and you can't ever get your organ, because your cousin will never give up this power they hold over you. You trigger.Wildbow
You're out doing humanitarian work. There aren't many doctors in this area, and parahumans run roughshod over most of the local logistics. A patient comes in - a young woman, carried in by one of the local major villains, some kind of flying artillery-type Breaker. She's been shot, several times, and he tells you in no uncertain terms that if you fuck this up, you'll be in very big, very lethal trouble. You get the vague impression she might be his younger sister, or his wife, or something like that. You manage well enough, treating the wounds and stopping the blood flow, but the antibiotics must've been bad or something, because they get infected. Every passing hour sees your patient get that little bit closer to death's door, writhing in a mixture of agony and painkiller-induced confusion, and you're increasingly certain she's going to die, and you're going to follow her shortly. The two of you trigger simultaneously.Nonagon
There was a man who often came round to your house. Your mom told you he was a doctor, here to deliver her medicine. You never thought that was quite the truth - they always spent such a long time alone together, and locked you in your room whenever he came round. You hated that. One day, it took longer than usual. You weren't sure whether they forgot you were in there, that you couldn't get out, but you were stuck in your room for hours. The pressure in your stomach built up, and the pain became excruciating - you had to relieve yourself in your bedroom, shitting in one corner. It was still hours as the stench filled up the room, making you nauseous, woozy. Eventually you hear an exclamation - "What the fuck is that smell?" - and the man enters your room, immediately seeing the turd in the corner. Furious, he slams you against the wall. "You think it's funny, to shit in your own room? You like shit so much, you try it!" He rubs your face in the leavings, and as the disgusting stuff fills your nose and mouth, the grip on your neck agonizing, you trigger.Isaac
The plan was for you to put the bomb at a key point in the building, then escape before it went off and made the whole building come down on everyone inside. You must've fucked up the timer, because it goes off way too soon. As the building collapses to rubble, your leg gets pulverized and ripped apart by falling stones. You're in agony, your ruined limb keeping you from escaping the scene of the crime. You trigger along with one of your victims, who is trapped inside and having a claustrophobic attack.Nonagon
You're sick of your family - and that's fair, every teenager goes through that phase. But it resonates a little more strongly within you, and you decide to take matters into your own hands, delivering an ultimatum to either attend a boarding school your next year of high school or drop out. Your grades aren't bad, good enough in fact to get you into a maths and sciences oriented school four hours away from home. The first few months, you relish your freedom, your new friends, the novelty of a new environment - and you hate to admit it, but you're slipping. Little things, at first, reminders that you're unable to live on your own. Not showering for weeks on end because you hate the gross, filthy public showers. Forgetting to brush your teeth, their condition worsening from all the candies and sweets you're buying, now that you're purchasing your own groceries. And what really damns you is the coursework. Skipping classes to stay in the dorm and play video games, shoot the shit with your new buddies - initially a lapse committed out of boredom, gradually becomes a habit, racking up disciplinary infractions for unexcused absences. Your grades fall below the minimum requirement and you don't even notice, up until the counselor pulls you into her office at the end of the semester and tells you you're being expelled. It takes awhile to process the ramifications, but when you do, you realize that worse than discarding all the friendships you've made over the past several months is the fact that you delivered an ultimatum to your parents - implicitly saying you'd be better off without them - and failed miserably. Trigger.Antioch
When you crash your car, skidding on a sharp curving ramp into a roadside ditch, you get off scot-free. Not a scratch on you. Your friends tell you you've got the devil's luck. Well, your car, she ain't so lucky. It gets towed to a shop, and for the next few months you're constantly bumming rides off your college buddies, trying not to miss too much class. Well, inevitably, your grades suffer, but what really compounds the stress is calling up friends or family to help with the costs, and the repair shop. Three months after the fact, you finally get word that the car's been totaled. Faced with the reality that you need a car to get by, looking at the damage that's already done, and struggling with a slew of stressors you haven't had the time nor mental fortitude to tackle, you find yourself wishing you'd've died in the crash. Trigger.Antioch
You were kidnapped, held by some psychotic stalker. You don't think you'd ever even spoken to them, before, but they blathered about how you were theirs as they kept you chained up in their basement. They scarred you, physically, long work with a hot poker to slowly and irrevocably etch their name into your skin. You couldn't have said how long it was, with the lack of sun. When the cops found you, you were taken to a hospital, where you convalesced. The scars never healed fully, leaving their name written on your skin, mocking you every time you looked in the mirror. Disgust at your own body wells inside you as weeks turn into months, until you finally trigger.Nonagon
You like to think of yourself as a Machiavellian mastermind, coldly manipulating everyone in your friend group to your own ends. You drag others down to raise yourself up, cut throats for the slightest advantage, and generally work your ass off to take everything you can in the zero sum game of life. Then it happens. This one bitch who thinks she's so sweet and nice takes a position you wanted. You don't let it lie, of course, immediately beginning a campaign, dragging her down with constant petty barbs, escalating into false accusations of cheating on her boyfriend when that doesn't work. It has exactly the opposite effect from what you wanted, though - everyone turns on you, recognizing your behavior for the selfish, manipulative garbage it really is. Exiled from your friend group, your self-conception and understanding of the world shattered, you trigger.Nonagon
Your spouse keeps you living in a constant state of fear. Screaming, hitting, insults that bite to your core, they keep you living in terror of them. It only escalates, never getting any better, and finally, you get a gun. Just to defend yourself, you think. In case it ever gets that far. It's not a month after the purchase, though, that you completely snap. They tear into you, leaving you battered and bruised in the bathroom, before just stomping away and going to bed, telling you to sleep on the couch. You can't fucking take it. You grab your gun from its hidden spot, and shoot them in the head while they sleep. As you stare at their corpse, a dead, dull feeling in your chest, you wonder if your life is over. Trigger.Nonagon
Your spouse used to be a bright, intelligent person - someone you admired and respected. Then... then they were kidnapped. You don't know quite what happened to them, but two years after their disappearance, the police found them in a storage container along with dozens of other people, apparently having been taken and used as slaves. They were never the same. Not even close. A shell, not talking or writing, needing you to take care of them. Every night, they wake you up two or three times with screams and fits from nightmares. You try to take care of them, like you would hope they'd take care of you if your situations were reversed, but it wears on you, constantly. You can't abandon them, but at the same time, you don't know how much longer you can take this. Trigger.Nonagon
When your sister was born, the umbilical cord cut off her oxygen for a long while. She was born without a heartbeat and recusitated shortly after. Everyone talked about how she was such a miracle in surviving, but the reality was that she was mentally disabled. Her being around made everything so very hard, from eating to sleeping to finding time for yourself. When you joined junior high (7th grade), you thought it was all over when your sister tried kissing/slobbered on a guy in your grade a week into classes. You pretended you didn't know her, and chased her off. You spelled your name differently, you made up a family, and somehow got into the group of cool kids. Everything was fine for so long, but a 7th grader isn't very good at lying, and the lies came tumbling down - your sister came to greet you after school, shouting your name in that voice of hers, and it was like a nightmare. Someone asked her who she was, and she called herself your sister. In your shock, you could barely refute it. All the cool kids were staring at you, looking disgusted. Your social life for junior high and high school, utterly destroyed.Wildbow
You want friends. You really do. But when you talk to people, your brain runs itself in circles, fucking you up with paranoia and stress. You can't just "be yourself," because "yourself" is a neurotic mess in any conversation with someone outside your immediate family. You stew on it, disgust at your own patheticness welling up inside you along with the crushing loneliness, until you finally trigger.Nonagon
Your SO was controlling. What you wore, what you said, what you thought, they wanted to control every last bit of it. It was smothering - you felt like you couldn't breathe under the pressure. So you broke things off, cut contact. You run in the same circles, and they've managed to dress it up as some sob story. Everyone around you is now pressuring you back into a relationship with them, and no matter how you try to explain it, nobody listens. Unable to bear the constant pressure, trapped by your social group, you finally, sulkily, go back to them. As they put one possessive hand on your shoulder, you trigger.Nonagon
Your mom and dad don't understand. You're a deer! They call it a 'ridiculous fantasy' and talk about taking you to a psychiatrist when they think you aren't listening. But you know, deep down inside, that you're a deer, you have a deer's soul, you were supposed to be born a deer and not a human. You paint your face to look more deerlike, you refuse to eat meat, you study deer, you work and struggle to be more in tune with your deer brethren. Your father tells you that after school today, you're going to go to the psychiatrist, and you freeze, like a deer in the headlights. As he shuttles you off to school, you're already making plans to escape, to run away from your oppressive horrible parents and live in the woods as a deer. In the middle of the school day, you make your escape, prancing off into the woods to finally live free the way you were truly meant to. It's not two hours into your sojourn when you realize you're completely and utterly lost and have no idea where the good spots are to eat grass. This is all your stupid parents' fault! If only they'd accepted you, this never would have happened! Furious at your parents for their part in your current situation, you trigger.Nonagon
A monster. That's the only word for it - it's a person, but it's a monster. Skittering across the walls and ceiling, coating this warehouse in some strange, viscous material that covers the windows and the doors, blotting out sound and keeping you trapped. It's obssessed, and it's taken you, the object of its obsession, here. The food is the unappetizing, prepackaged kind, and it doesn't trust you with so much as a kitchen knife, so you're eating soup and fruit out of cans, along with the occasional biscuit. It tries to be nice, sweet, some odd alien purr to its voice, but you hate it. You've begged it to let you go, tried to escape yourself, but it's smart, it's good at what it does, and you can't get free. One day, weeks into your ordeal, its sticky, slimy fingers grasp your shoulders, then your chin, forcing you to look at it. It presses its equally sticky snout up against you, its long, alien tongue trying to worm its way past your lips. It's trying to kiss you, you realize in horror and disgust. Trigger.Nonagon
You met someone, someone decent and kind, and you came to feel affection for them, wound up getting married. They were more into the sex than you, but hey, that's normal, different people have different sex drives, right? Maybe it's not, you realize now. After a couple years of marriage, building a life together, you meet someone else. Being with them is electric - it feels like you're on fire, almost, burning with desire that was always subdued or absent in lovemaking with your spouse. The difference is that the new person you met is the same sex as you. You're gay, you realize, far far too late. You do care about your spouse, but not in that way. You don't want to hurt them - and you know it will, if they find out - but lying to them about this isn't easy, or kind, or right. It tears you up inside. You lie awake one night, staring at their sleeping body, your mouth struggling but failing to form the words, trying to admit the truth to them. Trigger.Nonagon
Your big brother is kind of a jerk, and he has been, for most of your life. Hogging the TV, being rude, not playing with you even when you ask - you put up with this for years. Now you're in middle school, a little more world-wise (so you'd like to think) and you figure you can get him back for all the crap he's put you through. You call the cops on him, after figuring out he's been toking on the reg, and sure enough, the boys in blue come on over and throw your big bro into the slammer. It's good, at first, more peace and solitude, but the demeanor of your parents noticeably shifts, growing more and more distant. Bad parenting? They talk amongst themselves when they think you aren't listening, and the conversations invariably get heated. When your parents raise the idea of a divorce, you know that it was your actions that led to this. Combined with the growing weight of responsibility you feel for your brother's incarceration, dreading the day when he returns, you trigger.Antioch
They were a hero; they saved you, talked to you, took care of you in your time of need... it was almost love at first sight, for you. They wanted you to help them clean up the city, so you set up a meeting with some local criminals. The plan was for them to use their teleportation power to pop in, take down the baddies, and call the cops afterwards. It didn't go right - too many thugs, and you wound up revealing your true allegiance in the fight. Your hero teleported away, up to a high perch, out of reach of the thugs. The thugs surround you, wailing on you, venting their anger on you. You stare up at your hero where they sit, still and silent, watching you as you're being beaten to death, no expression on their face. You trigger from the betrayal, and the raw physical trauma.
Times were tight before your significant other lost their dream job. After that they were downright horrid. You scraped by, month after month, sliding deeper into debt. Everything would have been okay if they had managed to get another job, but application after application and email after email came back, rejecting them. After the first couple of months, they stopped applying, sinking into depression. Some days they didn’t even get out of bed, when they did they were barely more than a robot, blankly going through the motions. None of your encouragement makes a difference as you watch them waste away, all while working yourself to the bone.
That is until one day, when they get out bed with a spring in their step. They’re lively and animated, a far cry from the shadow they’d been for the last few months. You head off to work, hopeful for the first time in ages. Even the parking-lot traffic on the freeway can’t get you down. Until you spot a familiar figure on the edge of an overpass. You scream in panic as they step up onto the ledge and your recognize your other half, before leaping into the open air with a smile on their face, before plummeting towards the sea of cars below. Trigger.
You were raised by parents who taught you the value of politeness with screamed expletives, so you took it upon yourself to be the image of perfect calm. Years passed by at school and home and the facade held true; people called you nice, lovely, a good person. You loved it at first, smiled at the thought of being better than your parents. Now, however, years later, it's dawned on you that this act can never end. Your friends don't know who you are and neither do you. Is this your fate, to be acting the part of someone you aren't?
Unsure of your own identity, you struggle on. You make occasional strange outbursts at friends who look at you differently afterwards. The final straw comes when your partner of many years drunkenly tells you that you are the most boring person they have ever met. Still smiling a fixed grin, you feel mental control being swept away by a furious urge to express yourself. You're frustrated by the fact that you don't know how, and aren't even entirely sure of who that self is.
It's a long drive, but you and your buddies have made it before, and you decide to just drive through the night. There's enough of you that you can just sleep in shifts, no problem. Driving on the interstate, though, you hit a spot of construction, the highway down to two lanes, concrete bunkers on either side. A trucker on your right, hitting a wet patch, maybe falling asleep at the wheel, you don't know - he loses control, swerving, and the trailer of his 18-wheeler jackknifes into your sedan, smashing it against the bunker. You get a brief moment to scream as the chassis crumples, a brief moment to realize you're going to be pasted against the wall at three am in the middle of nowhere. Trigger.tubes
You're walking back from a date party, you and your date still pleasantly drunk. Who knows, maybe you'll - There's a screech, a scream of metal, as a pickup truck tries to overtake another car in the street, hitting them instead. The driver of the truck loses control, and it's happening fast, too fast, as the end of the truck comes whipping towards you. You're in the street - there's blood everywhere - people screaming - you're on the pavement? - why is there so much blood - you see your date being loaded up - where are they taking you - ambulance, this is an ambulance. It all fades to black, and you wake up in a sterile room. You're lucky, the doctors tell you, your partner cushioned the blow. A couple of broken ribs. They don't mention what happened to him, avoid the subject for a few more minutes, but they tell you when pressed. He didn't make it. Too much blood loss. They pulled the plug this morning. You trigger.tubes
You were slow to develop, eagerly anticipating your first pubic hairs and growth spurt at sixteen. Inches shorter than your classmates, unable to find your date because you looked like a fifth grader, you finally managed to convince your parents that you needed hormones to jump start your progress down that road. Before that appointment could arrive, however, you were hit by a car. Everything went dark, and you felt as though an immensely long time passed. When you woke, you instinictively knew it was from a coma, that things were horribly wrong, and... yet you felt a surge of hope. Time had passed, you had, in an ironic, twisted way, had a chance to grow up instantaneously, from your perspective. What they ended up telling you, however, was horrifying and confusing, almost incomprehensible. You lost half of your brain in the accident. You were vegetative, barely responsive, with the mental and motor functions of a one year old. Unwilling to end your life, and fearing that you would become too difficult to care for as you hit puberty, they pushed for the Ashley treatment, sometimes known as the Pillow Angel treatment. Sex characteristics pruned away, the hormones you ended up getting were intended to inhibit your growth, and to fuse your growth plates. You were referred to as Peter Pan in the local newspaper articles. But somehow, wires reconnected, your brain adapted, and you managed a recovery, with full mental function. A late bloomer now slated to be a child forever, and given the damage from your accident and convalescence, you're not an overly attractive one.Wildbow
Your mother has always been protective of you around heavy machinery, since your dad died on a construction site when you were very little. She would hold you close to her until the school bus came to a complete stop, and she would clutch your hand so hard on elevators it would hurt. It was a little extreme, but you understand why she smothered you so much. Your freshman year of college, you're hanging out with friends, watching Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom for the first time. You see the villain get crushed on a conveyor belt, and it suddenly brings back memories of your dad, leg caught under the steamroller. Extremely vivid memories you didn't know you had. You feel an enclosing pressure all over your body as you realize: you were there. Trigger.Courageo
You won't amount to anything, anyway. That's what you tell yourself while you wait in the parking lot. You never did anything with your life, but he'll be a legislator someday. He'll impact so many lives. You'd only been broken up for two months when they started sleeping together. Really, though, you feel sorry for him. He's not mature enough to know how easy it is to destroy someone's world. He genuinely didn't even consider the damage he was doing to you. He's selfish. And it would be terrible for someone as selfish as he is to write policies and laws, affecting millions of lives. He needs to learn that actions have consequences, or he'll keep on hurting people. This might be the most important thing you can ever do with your life. Teaching him this lesson -- it's why you're on this earth. She comes out of the office building. She looks just like her Facebook picture, only thicker. This makes you smile as you press on the gas. Trigger right before you hit Ms. Muffin-Top.Courageo
In some places, sensory deprivation is used therapeutically; that's not where you, however, and the maniacs keeping you there aren't terribly sympathetic about your condition after several months of hour-long deprivation followed by sudden and excruciating exposure. Half-deaf, half-blind, half-insane, you wonder how long you'll be able to continue on like this. In the midst of your pondering, you realize the room around you is shaking as you lay shackled in a bathtub, thick cotton stuffed in your ears. The realization hits you like a truck, along with the double trigger of your morbid musing and ominous observations.JBPuffin
Your husband hits you, terrorizes you, abuses you. You call the police one day after he knocks you around, and he's arrested, a court date set. He enrolls himself in a counseling program for abusers, participating fully, not making excuses for his behavior. He's genuinely remorseful, trying to correct his bad behavior and become someone more like the man you fell in love with. When the court date comes, he's had three months of good behavior, your sympathy, and the judge is impressed by his improvement: the charges are dismissed. As you leave the courthouse to get into your car, him getting into his own a half-block away, he gives you a sinister smile and wave. "No more Mr. Nice Guy," he says, and a chill runs down your spine as you realize it was all an act, and that your life is about to get much, much worse. Trigger.Nonagon
The gangs in your home town went too far. A fight between one gang and the cops sees your family dead. Adrift, something in you snaps, and you start to study the gang's leader, stalking him. Normally, he's never alone, but everyone has their vice... his is the massage parlor. You come in on him while he's getting a massage, waving the masseuse off him with a gun, then firing six shots into his backside. He dies, and it's ash in your mouth. Your family avenged; your life over. The cops or the gangs will end your story. The masseuse stares in horror up at you, her eyes on your gun. A witness. As you consider whether you should turn the gun on her or yourself, you trigger.
You failed your kid. The divorce, and the fact that you didn't see your child for two years, between the divorce and multiple marriages on your end and your ex's. Long story short, it was a nightmare, and the kid got shuttled around too much; they didn't even recognize you as they were unceremoniously dropped off. As you finished up the night's work, you could hear them sobbing in the other room. You promised yourself you'd go and console them after you finished the email... but something happened. A crack, a shudder, and they were standing in the door of your room with glowing eyes, whispering, "I don't want to be a child anymore." The next thing you knew, you were standing in the doorway, less than half your usual size, staring at yourself. They took over your body, giving you theirs. You were the child now, your life being dictated by a two hundred and twenty pound seven year old with adult hormones and medieval ideas of punishment, holding you underwater until you pass out or spanking you bloody if you so much as try to cook food for yourself instead of eating the burned shit they keep giving you. You thought they would be unable to deal, lose their job, beg for help, and you would have a window to find an answer or slip away, but they somehow find their way, building up a support network of others with shitty impulse control and childish attitudes, who give them drugs and a place to live for free. You trigger as your drug-addled seven year old talks loudly and drunkenly to the room about how to punish you for being a bad child.Wildbow
You got hit by a car. You were messing around at the safe end of the driveway with your skateboard or a jump rope or something when your uncle put a foot on the accelerator instead of the brake. That wasn't the trigger. Between the shock, the very nice drugs that helped with the pain, and constant assurances, you laughed, smiled and joked through most of it. Nobody walked away from a conversation with you without a smile on their face. Except your older siblings. They were jealous of the attention, as if you'd somehow wronged them. Five years older than you, almost ready to leave the house, and they start taking some of your favorite things. A game suddenly had scratches on the disc. An autographed poster gets a rip right through the autograph. Your favorite clothes get ruined in the wash. You alternately kick up a fuss and stay silent, and it doesn't stop, nobody believes you. The smile disappears off your face as the subtle sabotage keeps happening and it always hurts so very much, the hate of it. It only got worse when your uncle came with a puppy, a present, agreed on with your mom, by way of apology. You tried so, so hard to protect it. Never let it out of your sight. You slept with it in your arms and woke up to it being smothered. In your fury, struggling to hit and hurt your older siblings with arms that still hurt from the accident, you trigger.Wildbow
Your brother, the favorite, was always abrasive, but never as bad as the bullies. Until you started going to the same school. It escalated quickly, from tripping you in the hallway to throwing your backpack in the river. You learned to take the alternate path, or leave at odd times. Or sometimes, not go at all. One day, they're waiting for you. This time, you decide to fight back, managing to black one's eye. They snap, dragging you down to the river and forcing your face under. Drowning while your brother watches silently, vision blacking out at the edges, you trigger.Scg
Living with your family is hell; your mom is distant, constantly supporting herself with unhealthy friends and habits while belittling the rest of the family, your dad constantly comes home drunk and abuses you, and your brother is a lazy layabout that stinks the whole house up with pot while you're stuck to clean up his various messes. Not to mention the terrible feuds that the parents get into on an almost-daily basis. But at least you can refuge in your studies, and you find ways to stay away from home for longer and longer periods. Tensions start to rise noticeably during the short times that you are at home, but you figure it's better that you can finally get some time to yourself. Then one day you open the door on a late night, and hear a familiar sound. Entering the kitchen, you see a horrific sight. You see your mom on the ground cut, bruised and bleeding in various places. You see your brother similarly bruised and scratched, your dad holding him up by the collar. And you see your dad in the midst of beating your brother with his bare hands. He turns towards you, drops your brother, and yells, "Where the fuck have you been?!" Trigger.Divock
You thought you found the perfect partner. You've relied on crutches and a wheelchair to get around, depending on your energy level, for most of your life, and it always seemed like a hurdle that would scare away any romantic interest. But you improved yourself, took classes, got as fit as you were able, and someone took notice. Determined, sweet, cute, funny, adventurous, they hit all the right notes. You got married, maybe younger than you should've, you bought a house and moved in, and then it all went wrong. Living out in the country, happy to use your handi-capable vehicle to get into town, you found out they'd sold your vehicle. It trapped you in the house. They started deciding what clothes you wore, what you ate, when you had sex. They took away phone and internet access. They cuffed your hands behind your back, started feeding you, bathing you. They tailored your clothing so they could dress you without ever taking the cuffs off. Your screams and pleas were met with blank stares and condescension. You were a doll, a prop in their lives. When the muscle cramps started, suggesting your muscles were atrophying after weeks of being unable to use your arms, you made a break for it, crawling out of the house like a worm the moment they fell asleep. The walk into town might have normally taken fifteen minutes to half an hour. For you, with limited use of your legs and your arms still bound behind you, it must have taken four or five hours. The edge of the town is in sight, the first buildings in earshot, when the car pulls up next to you. It's them. You roll off the side of the road and into a ditch, into frigid mud and gravel, where you can barely keep your face above the puddle-level water, in your vain struggles to get away. You trigger.Wildbow
You always struggled to be taken seriously. Being short didn't help. You smiled when your friends gave you a cute nickname, and grew to hate it when it stuck. Your family was well-to-do enough that people could make jokes, but not so well off that it earned any respect. As you approached graduation and your parents offered you a trip anywhere in the world, you saw an opportunity. You asked to go to Africa, to help with a volunteer organization. People said it was dangerous, that there were warlords, and people were sold into slavery. But you persisted. They said you'd cry and come home early, and, stubbornly, you took the money, and you bought both the tickets, non-refundable, so you were forced to commit. You -would- see this through. But as you arrived, you found that the staff was a skeleton crew, and too busy to use you. Then you got malaria, and became a liability. Left gaunt and aching, you drank the wrong water, and within a week you had worms falling out of your asshole when you used the latrines. You walked barefoot in the mud, and later found warts on your feet. Later still, it turned out the warts were eggs, and they started hatching. You got the disease created by a warlord that had passed through a year ago, then the bugs that infested your bed. In abject misery, with a month still on the clock, you've aged ten years in a summer, everything you eat, drink, or touch seems to infect or infest you. Paralyzed, useless, and terrified to touch or do anything in this strange, horrible volunteer camp, you trigger.Wildbow
You were dealing drugs at a rave when one of your subordinates comes running up to you, grabbing you. In the raucous noise, you can barely hear her as she tells you that some undercovers are after you - she recognized one as her sister's fiance's brother's boyfriend from a wedding. She, judgment not helped by some partaking of what she was supposed to be selling, points them out, and they see. You run, they chase, and it's like a scene out of a movie, except with you left breathing hard enough that your lungs hurt and you think your heart is going to explode. You step up onto the hood of a car, onto the roof, leap to clear a fence - and don't clear it. The fence is topped by decorative spikes, and one of the spikes slams through your taint and several internal organs. Shock swooping over you as the officers cease radioing for backup and start radioing for paramedics. You sit there, hunched over, in awe over how fucked you are. You trigger.Wildbow
You worked so hard to get here, a prestigious school. You got the grades, you studied until you thought you'd lose your mind. Then you finally earned admission. You're surrounded by others of your caliber, suddenly a small fish in a very crowded pond, and it starts to eat at you. It starts with stomach cramps. Two teeth crack because you're grinding them so viciously, awake and in your sleep. The study drugs aren't helping, amping you up, making your heart race, but they let you function without sleep. Then you start shitting blood. You're destroying your body in your desperate attempt to make headway. Weeks into this miserable exercise, you stare at your paper - a C-, graded on the bell curve. Something in you snaps, and you double down on the drugs, hoping they either give you the fuel to keep going or kill you. As you stare at the screen, seeing you're only writing gibberish, and your stomach starts cramping like a giant has wrapped his hand around your guts and is twisting, you trigger.Wildbow
You were always one of the best. In your small town, there wasn't much more to do than drink, smoke, and party, and you were an angry drunk. Somewhere along the line, you earned a reputation as someone who wasn't to be fucked with. You were brutal in a drunken scrap. It earned you accolades, of a sort, and earned you an identity among a few hundred rural rednecks. You started looking for the fights, the alcohol and periodic drugs becoming synonymous with the effort. And for a while, it was glorious. People picked fights with you and you fucked them up and then fucked their (now ex-)girlfriends. You moved to the city, and you couldn't find your groove again. Something went wrong, and the city kids had an edge you didn't, or they ganged up on you, or they ignored you. Sometimes the alcohol and drugs held you back. You get dismissed as a loser, and with a few too many lost fights behind you, the city youth don't even entertain you anymore. You ~want~ the fight, to get your face smashed in, and to smash in faces in turn. Without that, what are you? Drunk, as high as you've ever been, and maybe even overdosing a little, you break, screaming incoherently for a challenger.Wildbow
The game was Opera of the Void. It was mostly for peasant shlubs, easymoders, who did the exploring and social shit. But there was a hardcore OotV community, and you were one of the top players. Third most popular game in two Earths, with two Earths worth of players, and you were number fifty-six in Hardcore. You went Jarhead in a way that others dreamed of. Cybernetic body, huge potential for upgrades. Human brain contained within? Huge potential for skill growth. You capped both, and you were head and shoulders above the rest. The game was your life, your career, your everything. Positive others were going to track you down and kill you because of your ranking, you smuggled yourself from place to place, while hunting the higher-ranked. In hardcore, all you got was one life. One day, sick with a cold, you get on and get bored on the small planet you'd found yourself on. You smuggle yourself off-planet, and in the midst of it, suffering for your cold and lack of sleep, you don't cover all of the bases. You see the volley of torpedoes and long-ranged shots coming toward your ship, and you feel horror as real as if it was you who was being targeted. You trigger.Wildbow
Years of homeschooling (which focused more on religion than on actual schooling) left you ill-prepared for actual high school. The latest (last?) in a series of politically motivated and statewide bans on home-schooling meant you could no longer attend at home. Made to go to a normal high school, you felt like an alien in a strange land. People told you you smelled. They talked in a foreign language. Your parents were your sanctuary, they reassured, told you that you were the normal one. Yes, you smelled, but that was because you'd been told not to ever touch yourself, touching yourself was shameful, and so you didn't wash. You double checked with your parents and they said it was fine to not use soap or wash there. This was your life, and somehow you found a peaceful equilibrium, secure in the fact that nothing mattered except that you were godly and good. Then hormones started surging. Starved for all your life, you find yourself transformed into a glutton. You start noticing the boys and girls in your classes, and everything arouses. You molest yourself, and are awash in shame after the fact, but it becomes a compulsion, a downward spiral of days of misery and shame interspersed with brief moments of bliss. Then it's daily, then several times a day and sometimes in school, being less and less secretive over time. People give you looks as you reach under the desk and make faces of disgust, but what do you care about ~them~? No. The only eyes on you that matter are God's all-seeing eyes, aware of your every failing and weakness. Invisible and omipotent, the eyes stare down on you as you bite your lip and find release in the back row of the classroom, they judge, and something inside of you breaks. The devil crawls up into your body and consumes you.Wildbow
You stand at one end of the room. Your ex stands at the other. You watch the baggie rise and fall as she taps the counter with it. Two years ago, you decided you had to get clean, and you left them, you moved out, found work where you wouldn't be spending all day with other users (kitchens are hives of addiction) and earned full custody of your kids, while your ex kept on using. You flinch each time the bag rises and falls. They want you back. They want to go back to the good old days, they say. It gets harder and harder to tell yourself that you can't. The silence stretches on. You know you're going to cave. Your ex and that tiny dime baggie are little different from someone with a gun pointed at you, and their next word or the next flirtatious movement of that baggie will destroy your life as sure as the pull of any trigger. Apropos, as you trigger in terror.Wildbow
The first time was last week. Splat, something wet and sticky hit the back of your neck in class. You slapped it off the back of your neck and it stuck to your hand. A used condom. You fell out of your chair, in your hurry to get away from it, and in your shock and disgust, you were surrounded by cries of disgust and mocking jeers. The teacher turned red in the face, and that only made it worse, because it drew attention, and word spread. Before you knew who the original culprits were, others were starting to do it, and they picked you as the target. Condoms were jammed into the slot in your locker, sometimes with real spunk inside, sometimes with soap or something suitably spunk-like. Sometimes they were made to look bloody, other times they were made to look shitty, literally. In the washroom, you saw the scrawl that started the whole thing. '[Your mother] is a whore'. They found out. Viciously targeted, you fought back, and somehow, you found yourself as one against the collected body of the rest of your peers. Helpless, disgusted, you find yourself cornered. You wince and fall as one slaps you right across the eyes, then falls to the floor. You look up, and you see a crowd of boys with their weapons, spinning condoms like a sling or holding home-made condom-shooting devices. You trigger before they unleash the ranged barrage.Wildbow
You were slated to die. Cancer. The popular girl in class knit you a hat to cover your shaved head. There were events and mentions of you during school things. You got to make a wish and meet the local team of superheroes. You made peace with your fate, used it to find a kind of inhuman, impossible courage where, frail and ugly, you still managed to approach the people you were most attracted to and flirt. You took risks. Then you got better. Your hair grew back in, curly. Your courage dissipated. Some people even act disappointed or upset, as if you betrayed them, but that isn't the point. No, it's more about you. You're horribly disappointed in yourself that you couldn't follow through, even though you didn't really have a choice in the matter. You wanted to end on a high note, going out in a burst of glory as the cancer kid in tenth grade. Now you're just ordinary. Looking in the mirror, almost missing the hollow-eyed, puffy-cheeked sick version of yourself from yesteryear, you trigger.Wildbow
You're a hobbyist, and it's a silly hobby. Knitting. Not common for someone your age, but it's zen-like and pleasant. A good way to get away from everything. You're involved on several knitting forums, and all is good. But things turn sour. It starts with a relay knit, doing work on a piece and then mailing it to the next person in the relay. Someone gets your address and name, and they make a long and accusatory post online about how there was someone who assaulted and murdered a string of kids, got off on a technicality, and moved away, changing their name. They think you're that person, and cite a whole, ludicrous string of garbage about writing styles and vague name similarities and how where you lived now would be just far enough away while being in the same state and so on. It catches fire, and the witch hunt begins. You're ousted from your community, you can no longer bring yourself to knit, it bothers you so much... and then it follows you to real life. It seems no matter how hard you protest, you can't shake the label or the accusation. They dub you a monster, your boss assures you your past doesn't matter, before you manage to clear things up. But the breaking point is when you see the spray paint on the face of your (rented) house, a scarlet letter, so to speak, entirely undeserved.Wildbow
First they called you a troubled teen. They sent you to a camp for rehabilitation. Then, when you refused to play their game, they called you dangerous. Parent and coordinator probably made some deal behind the scene, because you didn't go home after the camp. They sent you straight to a hospital, and not a nice one. The world wants to forget you, to invalidate you. They call you insane, unhinged, dangerous, and you're not. You're perfectly sane. All your life, you've refused to bend when wronged, and you refuse to budge here. You fight them every step of the way, a road that leads to two men in scrubs seizing you, and a woman with a syringe aiming to tranquilize you. Roaring your sanity to the world, you pull away, and you flee, hiding. It's not about the syringe or the assault. You'll never really be able to get away from it. It's about the allegation, that drives them to use the syringe and to condescend to you. That you're mad. You trigger.Wildbow
Your family has always been white trash, caught up in petty crime. You met the detective after your parents beat you, and she was the one who gave you a coke and talked to you while you were swaddled in a blanket, sitting in the police station. She kept tabs on you over the years, trying to guide you toward better things. But when you live in a place like you lived, get raised the way you're raised, and the schools don't even care to try, well, that life has an inexorable pull. You became a delinquent, and the detective went easy on you. You became a legit criminal with a gang of hoodlums, and she was still soft. But when things escalate, a home robbery goes bad and a pregnant woman got very badly hurt after being shoved out of the way by your buddy, you find yourself in a cell, faced with the detective. She wants you to testify against your buddy. You apologize but hold firm, make it clear that you can't do that. In these circles, it gets you killed, or worse. She pushes, she really wants this, and it's personal on some level, but you refuse. In the end, though, you get six months, and your buddy gets three years, thanks to the victim's testimony. As you get marched off, with a cold look in her eye, she says goodbye, and she drops the bomb, calling you by your childhood pet name. Something only your closest friends and family would know. Your buddy, in cuffs, twists around, staring at you. You crossed the detective after everything she'd done for you, and she just stamped you with the narc label. The entire prison is going to turn on you. Trigger.Wildbow
You fell in love with them when you both were in second grade. The feelings blossomed around middle school. You became a part of their circle of friends, you pushed yourself to be better, and you had crippling, devastating failures when you slipped up, made a fool of yourself as anyone in middle school does. Those little mistakes and embarrassments held you back from confessing and asking them out. Over the summer after graduating from middle school, you work for your uncle, you get a tan and get some muscle, and you get counsel from your uncle on how to approach her. Your uncle says you need to do it the next time you see it, or it'll only be harder the next time. So you commit. You go to school and you see her sitting on a lunch table out behind the school. She's sitting with the heavy drug users, making out with the worst of them all. She's ruined, and you're left reeling, regretting that you hadn't reached out to her earlier, regretting what could have been.Wildbow
You had just passed the bar when you got the news. Your parents were dead. Killed by some multiple murderer. His defense had told a sob story to the jury, he'd gotten life in prison instead of what he deserved, escaped, and your parents paid the price for it. You drop your current job prospects, previously involving big business and high salaries, and instead join the DA's office as a prosecutor. It's not too long before the media starts labeling you: "Hang 'em High", "Long Arm of the Law". And for good reason, too: you take nearly every single death penalty case that crosses your desk, and you get your man almost every time. You're no idiot, of course. You have foolproof evidence. DNA, backed up by lab tests and scientific reports. One day, you walk into the office, only to find everyone gathered around the TV in the break room. They all turn and stare at you as you approach. Big scandal, as far as you can tell...with the lab that does the testing for your office. Fake reports, shoddy oversight. Bad results. Bad evidence. You dimly hear your briefcase hit the ground, papers scattering everywhere, as the implications sink in. You've sent at least a dozen men to the chair based on their say-so. Trigger.tubes
It was supposed to be your night, and you haven't had many nights. Your parents paid for your older siblings to go to school and they didn't have funds left over to pay your way, so you worked your way through. They shared a car through their teens, moved out, and took the car with, while you took the bus. But a work colleague became a boyfriend and then after three years, became a fiance. The night of your wedding arrives (paid for by you and the fiance, of course), and lo and behold, your older sister shows up in a white dress. You're scandalized, but you bite your tongue, and you cross your fingers that people will see it as the blatant and gross faux pas that it is. In the midst of your evening, soured by the spectre of your sister in her white dress here and there, always in your peripheral vision, you overhear people commenting on her. You edge closer, eavesdropping, in hopes of hearing some gossip at her expense, but all they talk about is how beautiful she is. You saved for this night, your night for two damn years, for this. You trigger.Wildbow
You're a doctor. Nothing fancy, just a local hospital, but among other things, you give shots and vaccinations to infants. Nothing complicated about it. Nurse brings the dosages in from the pharmacy, checks them against inventory, and you administer the shot. Routine. But it goes wrong somewhere, terribly, terribly wrong. There's a bad batch, and kids are getting sick, far too sick. Paralysis, deformity. Death. And it all comes back to you. It's all just a shock, a blur, at first. Hush-hush leave by the hospital gets revealed anyway. Journalists ambushing you. Malpractice suits. It wasn't like you had any control over it. You stare at the gun on your desk. But the responsibility is still yours. Your attorney had recently assured you the outcome for the suits was good. A headline - "Crippled for Life". Your malpractice insurance was paying out. Dead kids. You put the gun in your mouth. Trigger.tubes
Rock climbing is your thing. Free climbs, up treacherous hillsides with unstable faces, nothing but your skill and your equipment protecting you from mother nature avenging herself of your hubris. It's extraordinarily dangerous, of course, but you love it. You're tackling a particularly difficult climb, when it finally happens. You'd been told the cliff-side was too soft for safety equipment, and they were right. A handhold crumbles in your grasp and you plummet downwards, their brief resistance and your helmet turning what would be a lethal fall into merely a very, very painful one. When you come to, you've got a broken arm, your leg is painfully twisted aside, pinned in some crevice at the bottom of an even bigger crevice. Faced with a slow and miserable death by exposure, literally trapped between a rock and a hard place, you trigger.tubes
It all started with being a witness to murder, but now you’ve done them a favor and let it go ‘unnoticed’. After all, this gang is notorious for their power and influence. In addition, they’re infamous for brutally torturing and killing anyone who rats on them. Once you let them go, they gave you perks and soon you became an associate of theirs. Eventually pressure causes you to slip into direct criminal activity, and you find yourself on small jobs, feeling more trapped the more you get roped in. Suddenly, one of the higher members of the organization, the one you saw committing the murder you witnessed, is being arrested for his long list of crimes. You know you didn’t say anything, but that doesn’t mean the group doesn’t suspect you. One day you hear a banging on your door. Though it’s muffled, you recognize a couple of the members of the group speaking on the other side. With nowhere to go, and the breakdown of the door imminent, the horror stories all compound inside as you mentally shut down. Trigger.
Everyone falls into a certain group or clique when they start going to college -- yours just happened to be the campus's collective of party animals. You won their camaraderie and later their respect for your willingness to experiment, throw yourself into new situations. Within months your reputation and stock in the group rose, always accepting new substances to abuse proffered by others. When you tried hallucinogens recreationally, LSD and mushrooms, after the fact, you found a fundamental part of yourself changed. A different personality, an ugly, hollow feeling inside, and a seemingly unshakable fixation on the flaws and imperfections of others. You can’t stand people anymore, it seems, hyperaware of their faults and ugliness, and the knowledge destroys your social life. None of the people you used to party with are even a semblance of bearable, and you drop off the map, cloistering yourself away during the first few weeks as your former friends barrage you with invitations to hang out. You do your research, checking online, and it seems as if it’s an occasional side effect of hallucinogen abuse. You trigger, realizing that you’ve ruined your own brain, and much of your life with it.Antioch
Summer camp. You and the others from your cabin went out walking, because there was fuck all to do, making fun of each other, shoving each other around. You were top dog, with the hardest-biting insults, you were the strongest. The looks they gave you when you just trounced them, so good! Maybe the confidence was part of what went awry, later. Because you found a broken up rock in a crevice, and the sun was shining on it. It must have been warm, because snakes were swarming all over the thing. You stood closest to the edge because you were bravest. You mocked the members of the group who were most afraid. Then you turned your head to look closer, and someone kicked you. You tipped over, sprawled, and fell into the crevice. You squashed snakes and snakes bit you, en masse. Wedged in, stuck, helpless, you feel teeth sink into you, rock bite against your chest and back, and only barely manage to contort to look up at the others. One reaches as if they'll help, then stops. As if by silent agreement, they step back, and they run. The snakes bite, you reflexively pull away, and they bite again. Dozens of them. You trigger.Wildbow
100 Triggers at Maximum, please.
Trigger Events
Unvetted Triggers
Used Triggers
Player Characters List
The Theatre