So I recently had a request from some IRC patrons to write up a certain type of ... adventure involving the recently released emergent puzzler Scribblenauts. As I'm trying to build my writing skills, I've decided to take it on. I promise that there will be no slash or anything too weird, but it will be a little suggestive.

Bearing down on him faster, the Behemoth was most obviously out for blood. That's just how he wanted it -- all riled up and not thinking straight. Then again, this was pretty easy. His job needed everything to be unaware of what was going on around them. Whether it was the weird helmet that did it or something else, he didn't know. Either way, it was working. Aside from that, all that really mattered was that he survived.

He snapped his thoughts back just in time to the present. Enraged Behemoth? Check. Trampoline? Check. Now it was just up to timing. As he jumped over the trampoline, the Behemoth realized what was what just too late. Wide-eyed with surprise, the monstrosity flew into the air onto a ledge. In its confusion, it didn't notice as its recent find -- a sparkling object -- was snatched by its prey.

As the Starite did ... whatever it was to get to the next destination, Maxwell caught his breath and cleared his eyes of the sweat. Between gasps, he reflected on what he did before he was given this power to bring the written word to life and this weird helmet. He missed his friends, his family, his skateboard -- not that he never got to skateboard. He needed to sometimes to complete his tasks and collect the Starites. Other times it was a jet pack he needed, or a shotgun, or Zeus himself. He chuckled at the memory of a satisfying "Rickroll" with Rick Astley himself on Medusa once. The distraction worked perfectly, albeit he couldn't figure out how to get Rick's statue out of there in one piece.

Being able to bring things to life through words was extremely helpful in collecting the Starites, though to what ends he wasn't sure. Either way, he knew it was the only way to find out why. As he saw his new destination materialize, he began to clear his head of these plaguing thoughts and searched for clues of the Starite. As soon as his surroundings became clear, he blanched.

The surroundings were familiar; he had been here before. The situation was definitely different, but he knew who was here. She was here, and she was always involved.

The druidic ruins still looked the same after so many events. Every time he appeared the scars of the previous events disappeared. The stones showed no signs of tear, the ground no scarring or depressions; and the people no recollection of him ever stepping foot on their holy ground. Then again, his job was like always like that. No one was supposed to remember. That was supposedly the job of the weird helmet. He could only speculate, but whenever he appeared for a job, the intelligence quotient of the area dropped. He couldn't carry a conversation, or get people to do anything. The only reactions he could get from people were basic: fear, anger, hunger, attraction. Plus, whenever he left and returned, no one remembered who he was. It was only logical that their memory was wiped of the previous event no matter how involved they were.

As he searched for clues, he found the tribe that was always in this area when he arrived. Again, no one recognized him. He would have barely recognized them through faces painted with markings and symbols if it weren't for their garbs. They seemed prepared for a ritual, surrounding a boiling pit of tar. Above the tar was a makeshift scaffold of some sort. Hanging from it, wrists bound above her head ... she gave him the same look she always did. This time, it intermingled with fear. No one remembered him. No one recognized why he was here. No one except for this one woman.

Whether it was an exception, whether it was a flaw in her character, or whether it was the druids' magic in the area; he couldn't tell. She always was surprised to see him, each time with a look of knowing why he was there. He flashed to when he first arrived. The task was simple: bring a unicorn down a hill and back to the druids. The task was simple enough, and the Starite appeared to him before he even got off the creature's back. But as he reached for it, he caught the eyes of a young woman also staring at the Starite's odd beauty.

She was petite in stature, with jet black hair and olive skin. Her complexion was not flawless. Nature seemed to have had its way with her at a younger age, leaving a small scar below her right eye. This didn't affect their resplendence, though. In the bright light of the day, they seemed to challenge the sun reflecting its light back at it. As she approached the Starite, Maxwell's amazement -- how can she see it when no one else has -- was competing and losing against thoughts of her thin lips and slight dimples. Her cheekbones gave her face an soft tone. Eventually, he couldn't help but give her a frame a once-over, taking note of her lithe build. Graceful and dainty as she seemed, he could tell that were he to do her wrong; she could give the Behemoth a run for its life.

As they had admired their new discoveries, he had shifted his weight and caught her attention. Their eyes locked and her eyes filled with a sense of bewilderedness. He could imagine why; what was this strange person doing here? Why did no one question him? She eyed his helmet, his clothes, his sneakers, even the notepad in his hand. Curious, she tried to ask something, but to no avail. Frantic, she looked around trying to find why, getting strange glances from her companions. Maxwell finally determined she wanted answers when she grabbed the nearest spear and rushed at him in a fit of rage. Thinking this would be a good time to go, he reached up, touched the object, and vanished.

He never thought much of the events of that day. He had been attacked after completing tasks before. How was this new? He went on with his duties with the woman as an afterthought, but only for so long. On another odd day, he reappeared at the druids home. This time though, he found himself face to face with the girl and the blade of a rather nasty-looking wood axe. What would have been a normal situation - or as normal as it gets for a dimension-jumping collector of shiny objects - quickly became peculiar when she began to motion to him to follow her. She led him to a quarry, where a little child lay injured. He saw what he had to do: save the child, get the star.

With ease he summoned a helicopter, a safety basket, some rope, and some candy. With the kid in the clear, the Starite shined bright on the other side of the quarry. Before he could even get to the chopper to reach it, the girl jumped the quarry and began to examine them again. As he landed the helicopter and approached her, amazed at the physical feat he just witnessed, their eyes locked and a connection grew instantly.

Across several more meetings, their connection grew stronger and deeper. He hadn't been in many relationships before, but somehow the lack of words made their emotions seem that much stronger. He clearly remembered their last encounter. They both knew that the build-up was there, but they tried to keep their restraints. His work obviously wouldn't let them have a steady relationship or bond. That day though, after events involving a dragon, a gorilla, and ten cases of TNT; their adrenaline got the better of them.

Maxwell knew when the Starite would appear, but just before destroying the dragon he had used to finish off the gorilla; just before he pushed the plunger on the detonator; he grabbed her hand and ran down the hill. Bewildered, but with her heart racing like never before, she followed swiftly. He had spotted an abandoned hut, and placed a bed within it before anything else. He knew it would affect the limits of his abilities in this situation, but he knew it would come in handy this time.

As they burst through the door, it was only the two of them; but the utter chaos they created around them seemed to shake the foundations of the earth. He remembers their lips' embrace, their hands venturing across new -- and temptingly forbidden -- grounds. They clawed at each others clothes, fighting for balance while trying to overtake each other in a lustful battle for dominance. She seemed to win out landing on top of him, smiling and eying his muscular chest and arms with glee. He smiled too, though, as he flipped her onto her back. In shock, she quickly realized what happened as his lips pursued her neck and her chest. As he his hands traveled down her thigh, a piercing scream snapped Maxwell back to reality. Present. Right. Woman loved, hanging over tar. Got it.

Surveying the situation, he realized the tar pit should have a bottom. Writing "Huge Boulder" into his pad, a rock the size of a horse appeared from nowhere. Concentrating on the boulder as it floated above him, he managed to wedge it underneath his love and her possible demise - as if he moved it in accordance to the command of some sort of touch-surface, stylus-controlled, two-screened apparatus. Confident it would give her some footing, he relaxed his brow and let it drop. Seemingly successful, he prepared to severe the rope when he saw the rock sink slowly. He fretted; would it hit bottom with enough clearance for her to stand? His answer became obvious when the top of the boulder sunk below the surface and bubbled away. He and his lover shared a gaze, with the same thought of terror and apprehension in mind.

The tribe suddenly grew restless. Maxwell and the woman were startled out of their stare with chants and whoops and hollers as the tribe turned to a small hut not far away from the pit. Out of the hut came a robed figure, wearing a skull mask and carrying a scythe. Realizing the time had come, Maxwell had to rush to find a solution.

While some rituals had frivolous tasks to adorn them, this particular druid's scythe made the ritual seem quite plain. Hoping the rope wouldn't snap before hand, Maxwell thought fast. Trying to by some time, Maxwell whipped open his notebook and whipped up a gorilla. Setting him on the scythe-wielding druid, the tribe ran after it, hoping to save their evening and ritual. With only a few minutes of time to spare, Maxwell turned to his love and tried to give her a reassuring look as he summoned a boomerang to snap the rope and sent her into the tar. As she sank and struggled to stay calm, he summoned another rope and a helicopter. With the rope tied to the chopper, he tossed the rope to his love. Hoping this would work, he jumped in and took off. As he pulled her from her doom, the noise of the helicopter alerted the tribe of something going terribly wrong in their plans. Rushing back to the pit with gorilla in tow, Maxwell's jaw clenched as he saw the druids trying to grab for his lover. Kicking and thrashing, the tar finally gave and released her feet from its grasp. Free of impending doom, Maxwell whisked her off to the safety of a high ledge and free of the tribe's deadly desires.

Upon landing, Maxwell felt the arms of his lover intertwine with his own as she pulled him down to the soft grass on the ledge. Kissing her fiercely with a rush of adrenaline, he began to rediscover old passions when he felt a weight fall on his back. Instantly, he was transported and saw his lover disappear from within his grasp. Cursing the Starite's appearance, he shouted and raged on at whatever may have heard him that he would one day return to his love. He would finish collecting the Starites, and would find his way back to that era, to the arms of his lover. And, one day, finally speak to her, and express his love to her. One day ...