Love this prompt

This feels a lot like Megamind.

This is pure art. I need to see a whole story written like this. Best thing I’ve ever read here, and that’s a high bar to pass.

Part 2

I look back into the mirror and realize more scales have appeared, covering my face and forearms. In fact, I can see more forming into existence on my face. My teeth look a little sharper too, and my clothes feel tighter than ever. Now, in case you didn't know, 25% of the human population (current statistic as of rn) have a condition known as a phototropic sneeze. This is mostly harmless, and causes sneezes to be easily triggered by bright lights and that's a recipe for disaster sometimes. I look directly into the bathroom lights by accident, then sneeze out a friggin' inferno. I scream briefly but cover my mouth to make sure nobody heard, and feel the urge to sneeze again. I still think that if I cover my mouth before I flame sneeze again, my head will explode in a blast of fire and germs. So I take my hand off quickly and try to not burn down the bathroom as I sneeze again and again, knocking myself into walls from the recoil.

I hear banging on the door. It's my boss.

"It's been 10 minutes! I thought maybe something had happened and as such you would be allowed to stay in the bathroom a little longer, but this is ridiculous! Are you stalling for time?!"

"No of course not I-"

"Get out here this minute, I can hear the sink is on, I know you're practically done."

The sink? I turn around and scream internally. The sink is a singed white mass of rubble and porcelain, with water spraying out of a broken pipe.

"Ooooooh... that sink."

"Yeah, 'Oh'."

Before I can react he opens the door and sees the blackened walls, the smashed sink and melted plastic stall doors.

"WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU DOING?! ARE YOU SOME KIND OF ARSONIST?! I'M CALLING THE POLICE!"

"NO SIR PLEASE STOP! IT'S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE!"

We get into a brief tussle as I attempt to wrestle the phone out of his hands.

"Get! Off! Me!"

He pushes me and I stumble, leaning precariously against the open window. My coworkers look on in shock.

"Hello? Police? I'd like to report arson and assault. My employee- GADZOOKS WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!"

I glance down and see a large bulge at the back of my pants, leading down the left leg. That wasn't there before. Suddenly my pants tear and a large tail flops to the floor. What the hell is happening to me?!

Screams of absolute horror begin to come from my coworkers.

Then I suddenly feel the urge to sneeze.

"HA-CHOOOOO!"

Flames shoot out of my mouth in a blast of fiery hell as I fly out the window from the sheer force of it. And now I'm falling to my death."OOOOH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

I feel the parking lot crunch from the impact. I wait 5 seconds. Then 10. I don't feel the pain of falling 20 stories. I quickly look at myself and see now I'm covered in scales fully, and my massive wings and reptilian features.

"Oh my god. That witch turned me into a dragon."

Normally, someone else would go scream in terror then drown themselves in a volcano or something (which is most likely what that witch intended). But, being an aspiring fantasy writer, this was a dream come true.

"WOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOO!"

I soar into the sky, passing the open window where I fell out. All my previous limitations are gone. I feel reborn, like I could do anything. I was given a fresh start, I'm not gonna waste it.

~~The End~~

Any criticisms and tips are welcome!

Okay, this is a great prompt. Also, r/usernamechecksout. (apologies if the opening is weird, it all makes sense later)

"BUAHAHAHAHA! DO YOU THINK YOU PITIFUL MORTALS CAN DEFEAT ME, SCALES OF THE DRAGON KIND?!"

My armored scales easily cause arrow and laser alike to bounce off my monstrous form. I spread my massive wings and jump into the sky, vomiting rainbow fire down upon the unfortunate armies of the 7 States. I laugh manically while doing so, but I stop because I ran out of Magic Dragon Juice^(TM). The effects of the concoction are wearing off! My scales dissipate and my wings shrivel up and burst into glitter as I fall to earth, the last of my draconic power shielding me from the fall. I turn to see the armies rushing at me with their sticks and Christmas ornaments, lobbing the later like grenades. With no option to defend myself, I can only hold uselessly my arms in front of my face as the hordes of soccer moms and stoners descend upon me.

My eyes shoot open. I had just woken up from what had quite literally been the most absurd yet awesome dream I have ever been in. Quietly noting to myself never to lucid dream while drunk ever again, I think about how boring today will be in comparison. And yet, despite being in the same old bed in the same old house, I feel... different. Even after the heavy drinking last night, I'm not even hungover! Speaking of which... I really need to figure out what I did last night. Can't remember a damn thing. Oh well, it'll come to me later.

I get up and put on my outfit for today, which feels strangely tight. Odd. I try another combination, same result. Maybe something happened with the laundry machine? Eh, it's not too tight, so I can pass on it for now. Maybe I can go shopping later, I need to get more food anyways. I pour the meager remaining portion of cereal (even though I just opened it last week, it ran out. Maybe it's just me eating it consistently?) into a too-small bowl, then add some milk and begin to eat my breakfast. What happened to my decently sized soup bowls anyway?

Doesn't matter. I turn on the news and watch, dreading the coming workday. Turns out that the company I work for is doing mass-firings and shoving heavier workloads on employees to save money. Yikes, better hope I can adjust to that. On the plus side, IF I'm ever unemployed I can always write fantasy like I dreamed of when I was a kid. On my way to the bathroom, I bang my head on the door frame and groan in frustration. I had made sure that the frame was a good few inches/cm higher than my head, with just enough clearance for me to walk through. Maybe it's started sagging under the weight of my roof. As I start brushing my teeth, I accidentally snap my toothbrush in half. Sighing, I crouch and grab a spare toothbrush from one of the cabinets. As I squeeze the toothpaste onto the brush, the canister explodes from my grip and splatters all over my clothes. Maybe I'm just too stressed right now to do things properly. I quickly change into new clothes and finish brushing using what is essentially a toothpaste-coated stick.

I hop into my old and deteriorating car and adjust the seat size as it feels too small. The damn thing never stays put and it's basically a coin flip on whether it'll stay at the setting you put it at or just a random one it sets while you're not there. As I drive some asshole with a souped-up car with whackass suspension blasting the worst rap songs I have ever heard cuts me off and nearly crashes into me. I slam my hand on the horn and, to no one's surprise, the part of the wheel breaks. This day just keeps on getting better.

As I arrive at my office and head up to work, I look at my watch and see that I at least made it on time. Sitting down on my chair and desk in my undersized cubicle, I begin typing up reports; as I will apparently be doing until the end of gundamned time if my work hours say anything about it. As I finish writing up an email to some guy who's supposedly important, Kevin passes by. He's an absolute workaholic, and his several inch thick glasses always bounce and slide across his nose bridge whenever he moves. I briefly pause and ask him:

"Hey, did the budget cuts reduce desk and chair size too?"

He responds tiredly:

"It wouldn't surprise me at this point."

I was going to get back to work when my best friend Kyle walks in. He's a very straightforward guy who would give me a direct answer to any question, even if the response is a little insulting I know he's just being honest.

"Heya Kyle! Are the chairs changed to be smaller now or is it just me?"

"Oh, the boss never said anything about reduced workspace size. You sure you don't need to check your weight?"

I chuckle nervously and say that I appreciated his input before continuing work. As I sip some coffee I got from a machine close by, I accidentally drop the cup, spilling piping hot coffee all over my screen. I immediately rush over to grab tissues and paper towels from the bathroom and try soaking up all the coffee I can before any damage is done. As I vigorously wipe a terrible scratching sound screams through the office. I move my hand and find a terrible scratch mark cutting across the screen. Looking at the pathetic brown wad of absorbent paper I used to clean up the coffee, I see that it's practically been bisected. I glance at my nails, and they look... sharper? Somehow?

It doesn't matter. I need to finish up my presentation for later today after the lunch break. Even if my screen is cracked I'm sure the IT guy has some stuff for repairs. Speaking of lunch, I take out my leftovers from last night and put it in the office microwave and set the time for 2 minutes. Without warning, I sneeze and the microwave explodes.

I get up, notice my arm is on fire, then yell that there's a fire. Then I stop. Even though I have no barrier between my skin and the flame, I feel, no, am, completely unburned. Quickly swatting the fire away, I see coworkers walk into the room and begin dousing the flames using fire extinguishers. They ask me if I'm okay and check me for any injuries. By some kind of miracle I'm unharmed, or so they say. Glancing at the smoldering remains of my pizza, decide I'm skipping lunch now...

The presentation rolls around and I walk into my boss' room. He looks intimidating. I begin presenting when I notice my right hand looks like it's covered in... scales. I ask to use the bathroom and he gives me 5 minutes.

First I rush in and close the door, checking I'm alone. Then I examine my hand, checking nervously to see if I can just pick it off and call it a day. Nope, as I painfully found out they're firmly bound to my skin. I grab the moisturizer located on the left hand side of the sink and begin covering my hand with it. I hope that it's working. I scrub with increasing force on my scaly hand, hoping it'll go away. Then, the memories of that night flood back:

That night I had been alone at a bar. Too many drinks had lead me to becoming so irresponsible I decide to drive home despite being so dead drunk I might as well be in the afterlife. And of course, I get very lost. So much so I end up in the woods next to my house. As I swerve across the empty off road trails to my house I fail to notice the elderly woman crossing, her black cat perched on her shoulder like a parrot. Well... I failed to notice until I felt I ran something over. I stumble out of the car. She's been hurt bad, fatally even. Her cat was completely flattened. Yet despite these wounds she gets up and staggers over to her cat, as if that was what was at stake here.

"Oh Mittens! Mittens! Please, no, god no! You were my favorite familiar..." She trails off in the last sentence and bursts into tears.

Now, me being drunk I decide to do the worst thing possible and say something so insensitive that, looking back on it, could have saved me from this.

"'Ey misserie... Iz jut a cat, dun be sucha such a sour-push *drunken laughter at my own dumb joke*"

She turns to me:

"YOU! You killed Mittens! And yet you treat her like some kind of ordinary house cat! I will take everything you loved, just as how you've taken from me! Oh great magic, grant me your might! Let me punish some fool's poor sight! May his form be twisted, turned, and more! Let him cause destruction evermore!"

She begins to chant this and I swear I saw her wounds mend.

"Miz I dun spek nonshenshe."

"Oh be quiet you! You'll live to regret this!"

Then she disappeared in a puff of purple smoke.

>For millennials

millenia*

Waltuh

"Nobody will hear you scream!" the serial killer said to their would-be victim.

He took his butcher knife and plunged it deep into the heart of the bystander. His victim wore sunglasses, a face mask, and a hoodie. Whatever they looked like didn't matter. What did matter was that he should have paid attention to what his victim's breathing sounded like.

"Ch ch ch ah ah ah."

The victim turns around, knife still in his back, unflinching. The killer's eyes widen as he screams and tries running away. His no-longer victim grabbed his leg and drags him to a dumpster, before tossing him in and repeatedly slamming the lid until his attacker's head rolled off.

'Sigh, 20 years of retirement later and I still get stabbed.' Jason Voorhees thought to himself as he walks away from his kill.

40k Orks are best Orcs.