Board Thread:What Would You Do?/@comment-39954802-20190701172507/@comment-34904368-20190804152934

This one’s gonna be different. Watch out for typos/

(1 day earlier.)

Some people, like me, are just content being alive. This was what I thought as I shuffled back to my apartment with my bag of cheap groceries. The day was almost over, my shift at my dull job over. I wearily pushed open the greasy glass doors to the apartment complex, the “Vickery Heights.”

Stepping out of the way of a slippery floor sign, I fumbled with my baggy pants in preparation for the long trek ahead. Since Vickery Heights was, to be frank, under-maintained and run-down, the elevators never worked. This meant I walked to the eleventh floor.

I fumbled with my keys, causing both my wallet and my phone to drop onto the floor. As I bent to pick them up, a carton of eggs dropped from my grocery bag and hit the ground, making a yellow mess. I sighed, unlocking the door and walking in.

Putting my groceries on the table, I unpacked what I could afford. Two cans of asparagus, a litre of milk, and a cheap TV dinner. I tossed the TV dinner my greasy microwave.

Many people who knew me, if not personally, asked me why I didn’t try to move ahead in life. They questioned my placid attitude towards shitty food and the fact I ate it everyday. They wondered why I was content living in a dilapidated flat with a living room (which also served as a bedroom; I hand’t the money for a bed.), a bathroom, a kitchen, and no heating. Some even went as far as to ask, in their (admittedly justified) need for an explanation, why I never did anything to change my way of live.

Truth was, I was simply content living in bad conditions. I was perfectly fine with dropping a carton of eggs, or a bag of carrots, or anything for that matter. I couldn’t worry less about the fact I hadn’t a social life outside of dreary conversations at my dreary city job people were always trying to move out of. I wasn’t fazed much by the notion I had next to no money to spend freely, and certainly not in any severe financial trouble for now.

All these monstergirls were coming in, trying to improve the standard of living for everyone, which was a selfless deed. I couldn’t agree more for them to get rid of poverty, and supply fresh water to the underprivileged children, and whatever else they may have wanted to do. But not for me. I was fine for a simple reason: I was in a perfect position.

I was not completely poor, (even if I did drop by food drives then and again) but not middle class either. I had enough money to take care of my needs, but not enough for me to become greedy. I had enough foresight to make it past the next week, or even month, but not enough to worry about what would happen to me next year. Simply put, I was on the fine line between “very poor, malnourished, worries about present” and “middle class, arrogant, worries about future.” I had no worries, nobody I needed to care for, no real deadline I depended on to keep my head above the water financially. I had, in this effect, put myself into a lifestyle of minimal stress, worry, and strife, at the cost of a few basic luxuries that I could live without in the first place.

This is what I thought as I opened a can of spam over the sink and ate it with a cake fork. No regrets, nobody close enough to judge me, nothing tugging at the back of my mind. Sure, my life was monotonous, and the few friends I had constantly attempting to pull me from my comfortable routine, to “try something new.” I didn’t want new things. New thing lead to a want, which lead to a fuss over how to obtain this want. I was happy living in my dingy flat with no hot water, heating, or TV.

I curled up on my couch, clutching a sweater to my chest and pulling a frayed quilt over my body. Tomorrow was another busy day.

Two figures crouched upon the rusty windowsill, eleven stories in the air.

“Lesha, are you certain you want this one? He lives like an urchin and has no qualms about personal condition.”

“Trust me, he’ll make us big money.”

“It’s coming out of your paycheck, not mine.”

“It’ll be fine. What’s he gonna do, really? It’s the Wheel of ryone finds love.”

“I suppose your right.”

Upon conclusion of the conversation, both flew off.

I woke up in most intruiging a predicament. I had gone to bed lying on a couch in my scruffy apartment. I had woken up being dragged down a hallway by presumably a pair of young women, one with a stripy tail, ears, and massive claws, another with blue skin and long points in the place of legs.

How odd.

“Ladies, what the hell is this?” I asked. A broad question to see which way they would answer. That might help me determine my situation and perhaps file a restraining order.

“This,” began the stripy one, “is the Wheel of Love reality TV show. You’ve been selected to be the lifelong mating partner of a beautiful young ma-“

I interjected. “Look, ladies. If this is some sort of Bachelors rip-off then you may as well let me go now. I don’t want to be married off to some monster twat.”

As I was saying this, they pushed open a set of double doors, exposing me and my harsh speech to what looked like a theatre.

It was a fairly large, cinema sized room, with rows of seats for the audience to ooh and ahh at whatever. In the front there was a podium with some sort of purple cat, next to a large spinner with countless little bits of writing on it.

The crowd let out an audible gasp at my words. I just shrugged. Poor as I was, I could still have opinions, especially when they involved me being sold off to some sort of monster-woman.

“Well, that was a bit harsh, how wasn’t it?” tutted the purple cat girl. “Anyway, with that out of the way, i’m your host, Scarlett Felidae. And I welcome you to this week's edition of "Wheel of Love". This was met with clapping and cheering from the crowd, comprising of mostly middle class monstergirls and thekr husbands.

“Our soon-to-be husbando will spin this big wheel over here,” she tittrerd, gesturing to the wheel, “and whichever mamono it lands on gets a free pass to pound town from out luck bachelor here. Any questions?”

I raised my hand. “Why?”

The purple cat looked at me with an expression I could only describe as infantile confusion. “What do you mean why? You get a wife, and you don’t have to live so shittily anymore!” She gestured to a screen that had been lowered from the ceiling, which began to show videos of me going about daily life, from many different angles. This coaxed a pitying coo from the audience, as they watched me unfreeze and ear the same meal day after day, and sleep on a couch surrounded by dirty clothes and food waste.

“What if I don’t want a wife?” I asked. I fully knew what reaction I would cause, as another gasp rang through the audience. Someone jeered. I would’ve felt shame if I cared.

The purple cat was looking uneasy. “What about you spin the wheel?” she asked. The crowd supported this with clapping and cheering for the better part of a minute.

“If I spin the damn wheel can I leave without a wife? Which I did not consent to by the way.” This made the hair on the purple cats tail bristle with anger.

“Just spin it or we choose a Devil Bug nest.” I shrugged, and spun the wheel.

“Alright crowd, let’s see what this poor soul gets!


 * click click click click click click click*

“Ooh, it’s slowing down! Ladies and gentlemen, is it-“


 * click click click click click*

“It it-“


 * click click click*

“YES IT IS ! IT IS!”


 * click*

The crowd erupted into cheering as I leaned in to read the one it landed on.

“What the fuck is a Ren Xiongmao?”

A bear-girl of sorts sauntered her way onto stage, immediately thanking the purple cat, before she wheeled over to me, slipping her hand into mine. I yanked my hand away.

“Alright, Reisha, what do toy have to say before you leave with your lucky husband?”

She grabbed the mic. “I just want to thank Wheel of Love for providing me a husband who I can cherish forever! This will be a life-changing experience for us, and I hope I will be able to lift this sad soul from his plight!”

“And do you have anything to add?” Asked the purple cat, holding the mic out to me.

“Nah, I don’t really love her.”

The crowd was stunned silent. The bear-girl and purple cat gasped, the former muttering something under her breath and the latter beginning to sniffle.

“Look. I’m happy the way I am, the way I live, a d I just want to go back to my routine which I am totally comfortable with, that I have no qualms about. If that is too much to ask, then you really don’t care about humans.

I halfassed the excuse out, and awkwardly ran from stage and back into the corridor I was dragged from as the bear girl began to cry and the crowd full on booed me. I just turned my thin coat inside out as I exited and ran out of that place as fast as possible. Back home. Back to my routine. The routine was the most important thing. Nothing else took priority.

Night fell as I made it back to my flat, opening the doors and quickly having a nice, cold shower. I popped open a can of anchovies, and began to dig in on my couch. Salty but satisfying.

Thinking back, what would have happened if I did decide to take the hand of the bear-girl in marriage?


 * Probably nothing good* I thought as I pulled my thin quilt over me and went to sleep. Back to regular routine, work, eat, sleep. No need to care, no need to stress. Call me old-fashioned, but nothing was better than a routine.

(Five years later)

Scott and Akalia finished their second round of sweaty sex with a massive orgasm, the young man letting out a blissful moan while the panda girl wailed in pleasure, before falling on his chest, breathing in his thick scent.

“Holy fuck,” gasped Scott, lightly spanking Akalia’s supple ass, “it gets fuckin hot here.”

“That’s what you get for buying in Malibu, you stud,” Akalia answered, before pulling Scot into a deep kiss.

They lay in silence for a while.

“Say,” began Scott, “I did mesn to ask you about something earlier.”

“Go on,” she replied.

“You were on some reality TV show a while back before we met and moved, right?

“I think so, yeah.”

“Yeah. They tried to set you up with this scumbag who rejected you in front of the crowd. Damn. You could have been married to some dirtbag.”

Akalia shifted, before kissing him deeply again. “I’m so glad I’m not, Scott. You’re the best thing that could have ever happened to me. I love you.”

“I love you too.”