Profile overview for paboty.
Submission statistics

This user has mostly submitted to the following subverses (showing top 5):

5 submissions to Listentothis

2 submissions to writingprompts

1 submissions to AskVoat

1 submissions to funny

This user has so far shared a total of 6 links, started a total of 3 discussions and submitted a total of 5 comments.

Voting habits

Submissions: This user has upvoted 6 and downvoted 0 submissions.

Comments: This user has upvoted 8 and downvoted 0 comments.

Submission ratings

5 highest rated submissions:

Yoko Kanno - Space Lion [Jazz Fusion], submitted: 7/8/2015 6:07:10 PM, 20 points (+20|-0)

[WP] A man starts to suspect he is the second coming of Jesus. He is right., submitted: 7/11/2015 1:34:58 AM, 9 points (+9|-0)

Are human-piloted robots actually practical? Could they be militarized? What consequences could there be?, submitted: 7/10/2015 5:37:15 PM, 5 points (+5|-0)

[WP] Fifty years after Voldermort's fall, you plan on becoming the new Dark Lord. You will not repeat his mistakes., submitted: 7/10/2015 7:14:26 PM, 5 points (+5|-0)

JSBL - Big Kariba [Jazz Fusion], submitted: 7/8/2015 6:10:42 PM, 2 points (+2|-0)

5 lowest rated submissions:

When you troll the entire crowd, submitted: 7/8/2015 4:36:06 PM, 1 points (+1|-0)

Gasoline - The Hardest [Abstract Hip-Hop] (2002), submitted: 7/12/2015 4:16:42 AM, 1 points (+1|-0)

Pete Rock - Pete's Jazz [Instrumental Hip Hop] (2001), submitted: 7/12/2015 4:21:20 AM, 1 points (+1|-0)

Ritzy Who - In The Sun (2015) [Indie Rock], submitted: 8/2/2015 1:06:18 AM, 1 points (+1|-0)

JSBL - Big Kariba [Jazz Fusion], submitted: 7/8/2015 6:10:42 PM, 2 points (+2|-0)

Comment ratings

3 highest rated comments:

[WP] Fifty years after Voldermort's fall, you plan on becoming the new Dark Lord. You will not repeat his mistakes. submitted by paboty to writingprompts

paboty 0 points 3 points (+3|-0) ago

(Is it fair game to post under your own writing prompt? I hope so.)

“All these would-be Dark Lords. Small fry, the lot of them.” I sighed. Abe and Tom agreed. We sat in a small living room that served as a common space for our office. Orbs of light on the walls illuminated the place, shining upon worn chairs and sofas, 1920s stuff that no one had bothered to replace. A crude brick chimney even more out of place with the times jutted out of the wall, unused.

“Half the time it's just kids in it for fashion. Fancy body-mods to look like Voldemort, but they can barely cast a hex.” Said Abe. “And they get Marks that don't even work. Bloody idiots. Voldemort didn't have the Mark. His servants did.”

“We should call him Tom Riddle, you know” whispered Tom.

“Nobody does, Tom. Moronic use of the Ministry's time if you ask me. Potter's fault, too. Where's The Boy, come to think of it?”

“Somewhere in Asia, I heard. Chasing the very last Death Eaters. The real ones, that is. Potter's obsessed with the lot. He never did let Voldemort go.” I explained.

“They say he's convinced there are still more horocruxes left. They say he's got unreasonable about it.”

“Well I don't blame him, Abe. He had one on his forehead for eighteen years before he found it.”

“The ones who try to do horocruxes. Those are the worst.” whimpered Tom. Since Voldemort's defeat Horocruxes had become common knowledge. It was surprising how many people would kill for immortality, then. But splitting your soul is not that easy, and not one had succeeded, that we were aware of. Some of them only got halfway there.

I turned to face Tom. “They are. Remember Charlie?” Tom shrugged. “The house with all the screaming furniture.”

“I remember”, he said, turning quite pale.

His wife told us the whole thing. He had been researching the subject. Out of pure scholarly interest, he said. One day after supper he had turned his wand on her. As he cast the killing curse, she saw in Charlie the face of immediate regret. The kind of face you would make after you jump of a cliff, still in mid-air. Charlie had gotten the whole ritual wrong to begin with, and when we arrived at the scene all the furniture, books, clothes, everything in the room was imbued with the guy's soul. Screaming.

“Sorry for bringing that up, Tom. I forget how sensible you can be.”

“It's alright Ben. That's the line of work that I am in. I thought I would get used to it after a while, you know?” he sighed “Turns out that I didn't.”

“That's a gift, Tom. I wish I could still feel that way. It seems wrong to feel this desensitized.”

Abe changed the subject. “How long do you think they'll give him?”

“This guy? A few months tops. They can get him for False Terror, but the guy didn't do anything. Just charm some snakes and rant about Darkness.”

All these Voldemort copycats were missing the point. He was gone. He lost. A new Dark Lord wouldn't be anything like him. The aurors were missing the point, chasing snakes and smoke, worrying about dangers of a past era. The high-ranking men in the Ministry all had lived through the revival of Lord Voldemort, and some during his dark reign over England. A few still called him You-Know-Who, after all this time.

I worked at the Ministry's Dark Lord Prevention subdivision, which in reality was occupied with chasing rebellious teenagers, nuts, and megalomaniacs. It had become sort of a joke amongst Ministry departments and had many nicknames: the assylum, the shaggy-doggy, jester squad, Potter's army. That last one wasn't meant to be a compliment. It's surprising how easily one can tarnish a legacy. The Daily Prophet had nicely summed up the popular sentiment: “Potter seems to have inherited all of Albus quirkiness and none of his brilliance.” No that the Prophet had spoken highly of Dumbledore when he was alive. Praise to the dead seems to come easier.

The room had settled to a pleasant silence when the chimney lit with emerald fire. Jane's head formed crudely in the flames.

“We've got a report. Ben, your squad is going.” That meant the three of us.

“Another snake-charmer?” spat Abe.

“A man claiming to be the new Dark Lord is yelling naked atop Gringott's roof. He says he wants to duel Harry Potter.”

I knew it was going to be a long day.


The man eventually did get down from the roof after I promised him the Philosopher's Stone. He was distraught to find out it was just a common rock, but restraining him was pretty straightforwards after that.

I got home late in the afternoon. Home was a dingy little apartment in the Ninth corridor. You probably don't know about the corridors; not many do. They're places not quite in the magical world, not quite in muggle Britain. In-between places. Not the kind of place you would like to visit without a wand. You'd think being able to use magic would get me something better. You'd be wrong.

Most of the place was crowded with books. The two full shelves didn't quite fit against the wall and sat in the middle of the room, shrinking it even more. Books were sprawled upon my desk and piled up on the living room's chairs: “How to Spot a Dark Magician”, “Horocrux: Truth and Myth”, “History of Dark Magic vol. ii” (the first one was wildly inaccurate), “Eastern Incantations and Philosophy of Magic”, “Beyond Prophecy: An Inquiry into Time and Destiny”.

From them I had learned the kind of things I needed to do my job. The kind of things that would help me become a Dark Lord.

[WP] Fifty years after Voldermort's fall, you plan on becoming the new Dark Lord. You will not repeat his mistakes. submitted by paboty to writingprompts

paboty 0 points 1 points (+1|-0) ago

I was planning on writing more if there was any interest. Part two coming up :)

deleted by user submitted by instressed to AskVoat

paboty 0 points 0 points (+0|-0) ago

A personal favorite of mine is Lowering the Bar. A funny yet thoughtful blog about strange occurrences in the legal system.

A few notable posts:

3 lowest rated comments:

You're last google search was accidentally posted on a social media website (Facebook, Twitter, etc...). What do your friends think of you now? submitted by The_Clit_Licker to AskVoat

paboty 0 points 0 points (+0|-0) ago

"search is currently disabled voat"

So probably, "What is a voat?"

Everyone has at least one good story. Reddit told me theirs, Voaters, what's yours? submitted by okjersey to AskVoat

paboty 0 points 0 points (+0|-0) ago

How to pack your pot:

I went to a weekend trip with some friends to Tepoztlán, a village near Mexico City known for its beautiful hills, great climate, relaxed atmosphere, and (somehow) UFO sightings. When it was time to go back to the capital we still had a big, bulbous bag of pot. The three of us smoked some of it, my friend R stuffed it in his bag, and we took a bus to the city. We arrived at the bus station still red-eyed and hazy but we managed to find our way to the subway, where I submitted my friends to an intense interrogation about who had been fucking whom on the roof the night before. I never did get an answer.

After some time we got down at the Golden Line, the City's most recent addition to the subway network, floors shining and guards miraculously in their posts, all bright lights and fresh paint. This was before it had to be shut down for some months due to malfunctions. So we are walking towards the next train when we spot an X-Ray machine some distance from us. We all stop in our tracks, fully conscious of the bag of weed in our friend's bag. After it became clear no one was willing to hide it up his ass, we decided to just go ahead and hope for the best. I'll blame the lingering effects of pot on this one, but we agreed that if we were questioned its contents would claim that it was oregano.

My friend A goes through the checkpoint, surrenders his bag to the X-Ray machine and passes through without incident. Then I do the same. Now it's time for R and his ganja filled bag to go through. We exchange some nervous glances as he sets it down on the conveyor belt. From the other side of the check point we can't see the details of what is going on, but we see that the bag doesn't enter the X-Ray machine, and that our friend is having a conversation with the police. I knew it in my heart that we were screwed. But after some time R passes through the checkpoint. We don't ask questions, not this close to the police. So we walk away with all the calm we can't muster until we are far away enough. "What happend over there?" "It didn't fit. The bag didn't fit through the opening of the X-Ray machine. So they just let it go." And that boys, is how you should pack your pot.

deleted by user submitted by instressed to AskVoat

paboty 0 points 0 points (+0|-0) ago

A personal favorite of mine is Lowering the Bar. A funny yet thoughtful blog about strange occurrences in the legal system.

A few notable posts: