Shades of Twilight Eternal
The elevator doors slid open with a whisper, and Emmalynn’s sensible flats squeaked against the obsidian marble of Nocturne Industries’ lobby. Her internship packet trembled in her hands, damp from the Seattle mist still clinging to her cardigan. The receptionist—a statuesque woman with a nameplate reading “Esme: Eternal Administrative Assistant”—glanced up, crimson lips curving into a smile sharp enough to slice through the tension. “Mr. Nocturne’s expecting you,” she purred. “Floor 217.”
Emmalynn’s stomach lurched as the elevator ascended, its mirrored walls reflecting her flushed cheeks and the single strand of chestnut hair that always escaped her ponytail. Clumsy, her mother’s voice chided in her mind. Always so… average. The doors parted to reveal an office bathed in the ashen glow of rain-streaked windows. Behind a desk the size of a coffin, Caspian Nocturne leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. His gray silk tie matched his eyes—stormclouds trapped in ice.
“Miss Greene,” he said, voice like a velvet-wrapped dagger. “You’re late.”
“I—the bus—”
He silenced her with a wave. His cufflink glinted, etched with a sigil she couldn’t decipher. “I don’t employ interns for their punctuality. I employ them for their… malleability.” He rose, his movements unnervingly fluid, and circled her. The air thickened with the scent of bergamot and something metallic, like bloodsteel. “You’ll assist me in finalizing Operation Red Room,” he continued, trailing a finger along the edge of her collar. “A VR experience designed to unshackle desire. Tell me—do you crave liberation, Emmalynn?”
Her throat tightened. “I… I don’t know what that means, sir.”
His laugh was a low rumble. “Sir. How delightfully submissive.” He snapped his fingers, and the room plunged into darkness. Panic flared in her chest—until a screen flickered to life, projecting a neon-lit dungeon where faceless avatars writhed in pixelated ecstasy. “The Red Room isn’t a game,” Caspian murmured, his breath chilling her ear. “It’s a testament. To control. To surrender.”
A notification pinged. Emmalynn blinked at the tablet thrust into her hands. Debugging Required: Sensory Overload Error (Code: ECLIPSE). Her fingers fumbled, brushing his. A static shock jolted between them, and he hissed, pupils dilating into voids. For a heartbeat, his skin shimmered—a sickly chartreuse aura bleeding through his tailored facade.
“You felt that,” he growled.
“Felt… what?”
Before he could answer, the doors burst open. A woman strode in, her tailored pantsuit screaming authority, her amber eyes blazing. “Caspian,” she sneered, tossing a manila folder onto his desk. “The SEC’s sniffing around your offshore accounts. Again.”
Emmalynn gaped. The nameplate on the woman’s blazer read “Selene Voss: CFO & Lycanthropic Compliance Officer.”
Caspian’s smile turned feral. “Selene. Still bitter about Budapest?”
Selene’s growl reverberated in Emmalynn’s bones. “This ends now. The board won’t tolerate another incident.” Her gaze flicked to Emmalynn, lingering on the tablet. “And what’s this? Another plaything?”
“An intern,” Caspian corrected, stepping closer to Emmalynn. “One with a peculiar… resonance.”
Selene snorted. “Resonance? She smells like wet Labrador.”
The room hummed with tension. Caspian’s hand closed around Emmalynn’s wrist, cold and unyielding. “Run the debug, Miss Greene,” he ordered. “Let’s see if your innocence can withstand the Red Room.”
The screen flashed. Emmalynn’s vision blurred as code cascaded—a labyrinth of firewalls and flickering avatars. Somewhere in the digital haze, a figure emerged: a man with Caspian’s eyes and a crown of thorns, whispering, “You were born to burn for me.”
Her finger hovered over the Enter key.
The lights died.
Darkness swallowed the room, broken only by the hellish glow of the Red Room’s screen. Emmalynn’s pulse thundered in her ears as Caspian’s grip tightened, his fingers leaching frost into her veins. Somewhere in the black, Selene snarled, the sound guttural, unhinged. A desk splintered. Glass shattered.
“Run the debug!” Caspian barked, shoving Emmalynn toward the flickering monitor.
Her trembling fingers stabbed at the tablet. The code writhed—a serpent of corrupted data—as the Red Room’s avatars contorted into grotesque parodies of desire. The crowned figure loomed closer, thorns piercing his pixelated brow. “Submit,” he commanded, voice syncing with Caspian’s. “You know you want to.”
A clawed hand seized Emmalynn’s shoulder. Selene’s breath, hot and feral, seared her neck. “Pathetic,” the CFO spat. “You think a human can fix his mess? He’s been bankrupting this company for centuries!”
Caspian materialized behind them, eyes pitch-black, chartreuse aura crackling like a dying star. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Selene,” he drawled. “Not after you begged me to turn you.”
Selene’s roar shook the room. Fur rippled across her cheeks, teeth elongating into daggers. “I’d rather die mortal than live as your pet!”
Emmalynn’s thumb smeared blood across the tablet—a papercut from the internship packet. The screen flared. Code rearranged itself, the dungeon’s walls dissolving into a meadow bathed in artificial moonlight. The crowned figure faltered, thorns crumbling to dust.
“What… is this?” Caspian whispered.
“A patch,” Emmalynn breathed. “I rerouted the… the trauma algorithms into a… a gratitude subroutine?”
Selene froze mid-lunge, nostrils flaring. “You infected the Red Room with… positivity?”
The Red Room’s avatars paused, pixelated faces slack with confusion. One reached tentatively for a floating heart emoji. Caspian staggered, his aura sputtering. “You—you broken it,” he hissed, rounding on Emmalynn. “Do you have any idea what you’ve cost me?”
“Yes.” The word slipped out, sharp and sudden. Emmalynn straightened, her ponytail askew, cardigan singed with static. “A tax evasion scheme. And a really bad boyfriend.”
Selene barked a laugh—half-human, half-wolf. “Oh, this is rich. The lamb chews the wolf.”
Caspian’s snarl dissolved into a shudder. His skin paled, the gray silk of his suit fraying at the seams. “You think this is over?” he hissed, backing toward the shadows. “I am eternity incarnate. I am—”
“Fired,” Selene interrupted, tossing a severance packet at his feet. “The board voted. Turns out your ‘eternity’ clause has a non-compete.” She yanked Emmalynn aside, her claws retracting. “Run, girl. Before he starts monologuing again.”
Emmalynn hesitated, her gaze snagging on Caspian’s—a storm frozen mid-tempest. For a heartbeat, something flickered in his eyes. Not hunger. Fear.
Then the sprinklers erupted.
She fled, Esme’s laughter trailing her down the stairwell. The lobby doors spat her into the Seattle downpour, internship packet disintegrating in her fists. Behind her, Nocturne Tower trembled, a single window exploding in a shower of chartreuse sparks.
At the bus stop, Emmalynn stared at her reflection in a puddle. Her eyes—still fawn-like, still average—glinted with something new. A spark. A debugged subroutine.
Somewhere, a wolf howled.
But not for her.
The End.
Thank you!
This short story was generated using DeepSeek R1. (~98% AI)
Prompt: Give ten popular works of fiction that are - by objective standards - severely overrated. Order them accordingly.Here’s a list of ten popular works of fiction often cited as overrated, ordered by the perceived gap between their commercial success/popularity and critical reception or literary merit. This ranking reflects common critiques rather than absolute judgment, as literary value remains subjective:
Fifty Shades of Grey by E.L. James
Criticized for weak prose, problematic romanticization of control, and repetitive storytelling, despite massive commercial success.
Twilight by Stephenie Meyer
Panned for flat characters, melodramatic pacing, and perpetuating unhealthy relationship dynamics, yet a cultural phenomenon in YA literature.
The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown
Bestselling but derided for formulaic writing, historical inaccuracies, and shallow character development.
Ready Player One by Ernest Cline
Loved for nostalgia-driven references but criticized for relying on pop culture over plot depth or originality.
Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand
Polarizing for its heavy-handed philosophical preaching, one-dimensional characters, and bloated narrative.
The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho
A global bestseller often deemed overly simplistic, with a repetitive, fortune-cookie-style narrative.
The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks
Popular for its romance but criticized as formulaic, sentimental, and lacking in emotional complexity.
The Bridges of Madison County by Robert James Waller
A bestseller dismissed as melodramatic and clichéd, with idealized, unrealistic romance.
Divergent by Veronica Roth
A YA hit overshadowed by critiques of derivative worldbuilding and underdeveloped themes compared to peers like The Hunger Games.
The Shack by William P. Young
Commercial success marred by critiques of clunky prose, theological oversimplification, and emotional manipulation.
Note: This list reflects recurring critiques, but artistic merit is inherently subjective. Many of these works resonate deeply with readers despite their flaws, highlighting the diversity of literary tastes.
Prompt: We need to write a short story of a single scene that is even worse. To do that, pick two works from the list above, and blend some of their worst features. The resulting story must look convincing, but may also be deeply flawed. Give four very interesting combinations like that.Here are four delightfully terrible short story concepts, blending the most infamous flaws of the works from the list. Each is a trainwreck of clichés, tonal whiplash, and narrative shortcuts—yet plausibly marketable:
1. Shades of Twilight Eternal
Combines: Fifty Shades of Grey (stilted prose, power-imbalanced romance) + Twilight (sparkly supernatural melodrama, passive protagonist)
Plot:
Emmalynn, a clumsy college student with “eyes like a wounded fawn,” interns at a Seattle tech firm run by CEO Caspian Nocturne, a 217-year-old vampire-CEO hybrid who wears only gray silk suits (to “dull the pain of eternity”). He instantly fixates on her “uniquely average” scent and assigns her to debug a project titled Operation Red Room (a BDSM-themed VR app). Their romance blooms as Caspian lectures her about the “economics of desire” while they traipse through misty forests, where he occasionally glows faintly chartreuse (“my soul’s aura, babygirl”). Dialogue peaks with: “You’re mine to corrupt… but consent is so hot right now.”
Flaws:
Vampire lore explained via PowerPoint slides mid-romantic scene.
Protagonist’s sole personality trait: tripping over ethernet cables.
Climax: Caspian’s ex, a werewolf-SEC investigator, audits the company.
2. The Alchemist’s Easter Egg
Combines: The Alchemist (vague pseudo-profundity) + Ready Player One (reference sludge, zero subtlety)
Plot:
Zeke, a disillusioned barista, finds a cryptic USB drive in his latte foam labeled “Follow Your Personal Legend™.” It bootstraps a VR quest where he must collect Seven Nostalgic Artifacts (e.g., a Tamagotchi containing “the soul of the universe”) while guided by a hologram of Sigmund Freud voiced by Gilbert Gottfried. Each artifact unlocks a fortune-cookie mantra (“The password is ‘believe’!”). Zeke’s love interest, Karina, exists solely to remind him he’s “the Chosen One (Terms and Conditions Apply).” Final boss: a CGI Neil deGrasse Tyson monologuing about astrophysics as metaphor.
Flaws:
Wisdom = random 1980s trivia.
Karina’s dialogue: “You’re so… protagonist-y.”
Freud’s advice: “Sometimes a cigar is just a tax evasion scheme.”
3. Atlas Wept
Combines: Atlas Shrugged (self-righteous monologuing) + The Notebook (saccharine romance, soggy tissues)
Plot:
In a dystopia where the government bans entrepreneurial crying, steel magnate John Galen Steel (a man “with cheekbones that could cut regulations”) meets free-spirited artist Lila Rain at a train station. She paints “souls, not systems!”; he grumbles about “the moochers’ tears.” Their love is tested when bureaucrats outlaw hand-holding. John delivers a 14-page speech about “the virtue of selfish kisses” while Lila slowly dies of Plot Convenience Fever™, whispering, “Don’t let them tax… our… sunset…” Epilogue: John founds a gated community called Galt’s Gulch Resort & Spa.
Flaws:
Romantic tension = debating Ayn Rand at a candlelit dinner.
Lila’s death scene: “Your tears… are… gross domestic product…”
Product placement for Libertarian™ tissues (“For when you really mean it”).
4. The Da Vinci Shack
Combines: The Shack (clunky theology) + The Da Vinci Code (conspiracy spaghetti, “research”)
Plot:
Grieving widower Robert Langdon Jr. uncovers a clue in his wife’s suicide note: a GPS coordinate leading to a sentient AI cottage in rural Idaho. Inside, God is a nonbinary ASMR YouTuber, Jesus is a barista with a Holy Grail tattoo, and the Holy Spirit is a feral raccoon. They reveal Robert’s wife faked her death to join The Mary Magdalene Collective, a feminist cryptocracy controlling the stock market via Illuminati TikTok trends. Chases ensue: Robert flees albino Opus Dei influencers on electric unicycles while decoding actual Da Vinci paintings (annotated with emojis).
Flaws:
Theology resolved via a PowerPoint presentation titled “God’s Pronouns: Let’s Discuss.”
The raccoon’s only line: “Divinity is a trash panda, bro.”
The Collective’s password: Password123.
Each concept is a masterclass in ”How Did This Get Published?” energy, blending market-tested tropes with literary cyanide.
Prompt: Let's use idea 1 (Shades of Twilight Eternal). Blend both styles convincingly. Now write the [first/second] half of our gripping one-scene short story. No explanations or bullet points, just the story text. Write in well-formed, professional-looking paragraphs, in accordance with the styles of our two source works.