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In. Fingers crossed for a Phil Foglio card.
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Sep 20, 2017 01:02
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:I like a man who knows what he wants
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Sep 20, 2017 08:25
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Djeser posted:[extremely goon voice] wha...what is this...mah-gick?
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Sep 20, 2017 10:44
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Can't make it. I got an eye infection a few days ago and have barely been able to manage my writing for grad school this weekend, let alone a story on top of it. I thought that I'd be able to pull through, but no. What I have is about half of what I had planned. Also, will people please stop saying "daylight savings"? It's not a goddamn bank account.
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Sep 25, 2017 00:52
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Looks like I was able to finish it after all! Did In 1416 words Mawl barges through the throne-cave's door in a regal clatter, cutting off the argument. "An' anoth'thing!" the goblin king slurs through the stockade of his fangs. "Tell 'at sonnabitch 'e's dead tomorrow morrin' an' 'at's final!" The cowering servant who had followed him in bows low and hurries out, dutifully slamming the door behind himself. Mawl's cauldron of a gut sways as the stout body behind it, laboring beneath a crown of gratuitous dimensions, settles into the thick royal cape, whose red velour serves as unacknowledged upholstery for the solid gold throne. In all fairness, there are better things to make a throne from its unyielding surface is uncomfortable after more than five minutes (though none who sit on it would ever admit that), and the soft metal has sagged and bowed over its centuries of liberal use but what goblin king would settle for anything less? A crass folk with crass tastes, the goblins have exactly the throne they want, and they wouldn't give it up for all the other thrones in the land. They would be much better-off if they traded it for even one. Deep in the slumber of drink, the crown having toppled from his little head to join the treasure piled high about the throne-cave's floor, the king is now dead to the world, and the discussion resumes. "Oh, fair enough. You're right. If it didn't count in '43, it doesn't count now." Like most disputes over scoring, this one was short-lived. The enchanted throne's twin ruby-eyed heads have been at this for nearly as long as their home has seen use, and the pace of the game has been smoothed by time into a steady current. Time was when it was more than just a game. It wasn't for their complacency that a wizard trapped Kaspar and Ferrin in a gaudy golden chair, and from the beginning, they were determined to make the most of their lot. But after a few decades of trying to rule by proxy, they were forced to concede that it wasn't worth the trouble the goblins were simply too stupid and incompetent to carry out any of the heads' ambitions. Strategies of escape proved equally fruitless: No amount of irritation or trickery could make the goblins part with their greatest treasure, and of the brave adventurers who managed to breach the throne room, those with the ability to help knew better than to give their trust, and those who trusted the throne's heads bungled their plans as badly as the goblins. Eventually, resigning themselves to fate and seeing the whole farce for what it was, Kaspar and Ferrin decided to play along: Two points for putting a goblin on the throne, one for each goblin he killed. Mawl's ascent was a gain for Kaspar, but it did little to abate Ferrin's lead, 2371 to 2029. Kaspar hates that he's losing, not because he takes the game seriously but because of a pet superstition that being in the throne's right arm entitles him to better luck. Why does such a trivial comfort have to be so directly repudiated? He takes some small solace in having won this last argument, hoping that it portends bigger victories. As Kaspar stews in his hope, the snoring of the sleeping king is joined by another sound: Crrreeeaaak... The intruding servant steps silently toward his king with a softness and delicacy almost inconceivable for his kind, taking care to avoid waking his better as only a true lackey in abject fear of a beheading can. He picks up a fallen goblet from the floor and refills it, gingerly placing it within the king's reach on the throne's arm, and turns to go, when he hears a whisper. "Psst. Grode." Grode turns in surprise, wondering who else could be here in this deepest cavern under the goblins' mountain. "Grode. Luggum has poisoned the king's wine. You can't let his plot succeed." "Who'zat?!" Grode nearly shouts in astonishment, but he is able to stifle the outburst to a stage whisper. "Someone who knows, Grode. Who knows what goes on around here." The glinting red eyes of the head in the throne's right arm bore into him, and there is no mistaking now who what is talking. Mute with shock, Grode manages to nod and picks up the goblet. He backs toward the doorway, inch by inch, not daring even to breathe. As his heel passes the jamb, it connects with an advancing toe. "Wot the bloody-" "Shh! Don't wake the... king... oh, you bastard." Luggum has not poisoned Mawl's wine, but he has been Ferrin's favorite for a successor, and Kaspar has just put a wrinkle in that plan. Luggum draws the dagger that he had meant for the king, only for it to be knocked from his hand by an empty goblet. The fight is between them now; all thoughts of Mawl or poison flee from their minds, replaced with that most fundamental goblin drive: He hit me? Gonna hit him! As the goblins beat each other, oblivious to all else, a guard on his rounds approaches the entrance to the throne-cave. Seeing an altercation, he follows his rigorous training as a goblin guard and joins in. Baff didn't get to patrol this deep in the mountain by sitting on his goblin hands. As the fray grows in size, its volume escalates to match. The oaths and insults, the flesh striking flesh, echo through the passageways and draw more to the spectacle. Before long, a mob of brawling goblins is battling it out in and around the throne room, caught up in the glorious orgy of combat, moved as one by a symphony of sounds more beautiful than any music to the goblin ear. There is looting. There is even a bit of loving. And through it all, the drunken king sleeps... Until a flying tooth buries itself in his nose. A sneeze, a plume of blood, ricocheting enamel, and the king is on his feet, angry as he can be through his daze. "What in the name o' the GODS is goin' on in my chamber?!" bellows Mawl. He is paid as much mind as can be expected. "Out, the lot of ya!" He can only stare in rage as this unwashed horde not that he bathes especially frequently himself, but he knows what's supposed to separate kings from knaves trashes his royal trove. And this after they had the gall to wake him up! "Y' worms! You kneel before your king!" What a loathsome insult this is! His chamber, his treasure, his kingdom, and these imbeciles are trampling any sense of his authority like dirt in their idiot fight. He's been king for two days, but he feels the wrath of two lifetimes. And despite his contempt for it, he can only join the melee. Seized by hatred, he grabs the first weapon he can find: his crown, lying next to the throne. And with the full force of his goblin strength, he hurls it at the biggest, nastiest reveler he sees... It misses. It connects with a pile of treasure at the wall behind. The mess of gold, stacked tall into a corner, is too heavy and secure to be dislodged by a single blow but the magical elven sword balanced at the top wavers, then plummets toward the stone floor. The blade sinks into the rock up to its hilt with a deafening TWUNGGG like an enormous tuning fork. Cracks CRACK into the rock around it, branching out from each of the blade's edges to the edges of the chamber. The stone is sundered. The goblins are stricken. The silence is concrete. In a great gush, lava floods the throne-cave and races up through the goblins' web of tunnels within their mountain. Streams spew forth from the mountain's sides, while the top is blown off in a deafening rush of ash and dirt. Goblins the lucky few fly through the air, flailing madly on their way to the rocky ground. A stronghold that had stood for millennia is destroyed in a single bloody sneeze. Somewhere deep in the heart of the mountain is a twisted, melted mass of gold. It isn't pure gold; there are other metals, like silver and steel, and gems stud the mass's folds and furrows. Two of these gems, rubies, strain somehow in the direction of two others. And though nobody can hear it, buried in solid stone, a voice mutters: "I suppose I win." 
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Sep 25, 2017 03:38
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Nice that my first attempt lands smack in the middle of the rankings. High enough to reassure me that I don't suck, low enough that I don't have anything to live up to next time around. I like to think that I'd have landed a place higher if I'd been cleaner with my last-minute edits (no way can I forgive myself for repeating "deafening" like that at the end). Sham bam bamina! fucked around with this message at 04:56 on Sep 26, 2017 |
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Sep 26, 2017 04:53
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Thanks a ton. Flattered!
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Sep 27, 2017 08:04
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I'm in and will have a flash rule.
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Oct 2, 2017 12:01
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Goddammit, I fell asleep. And I'm not going to submit the horseshit I was writing between three other projects after an all-nighter, because I can see now that it would have been a guaranteed loss anyway. Sorry. 
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Oct 9, 2017 12:13
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Obliterati posted:INTERPROMPT 42 words The light said that the valve was closed. It's not my fault that they didn't design it right. Like you would have known better! And why would anyone put an indicator on the back of a control panel? "Operator error" my rear end!
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Oct 9, 2017 17:42
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Copping in to atone.
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Oct 9, 2017 21:50
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Magic number seven, give or take. 469 words It started slowly, like big things do. Nobody saw it, because what was there to see? Who hears the voice missing from a crowd? Who feels the line missing from a palm? Who tastes the grain of rice that fell on the floor? "That fucker! That orange FUCKER!" Amber yelled at her screen as the USA decapitated itself. And across the state, Devin breathed a sigh of relief that the nation had kept its head. They would spend hours that night locked in 140-character combat, each giving no quarter until the other admitted to pulling or trying to pull the guillotine's lever. But it wasn't a decapitation; it was just another fallen hair. "You didn't... have to... do that...." a bleeding mouth moaned horizontally. The riots were getting worse along with the world. On the spur of the moment, an army could mob the streets for any big enough cause, driven by a common desperation. Common sense says that common conditions should pull people together, not drive them apart. The armies might have been themselves united, but what small armies, and how many of them! The wall pressed, and the holes opposite obligingly swallowed and spat. People were thinking only of themselves. Smart people were thinking only of themselves. Who was surprised to see the Gateway Arch scoop the river? Thoughts flashed thick and fast, clouding in swarms that swirled into countless points. This was talk, this was news. This was enough, at last. It had been disturbed, but every disturbance eventually settles. This was progress. Jera wandered down the sidewalk, her head abuzz with thoughts, her screen abuzz with thoughts. It was nice to be able to go for a walk again. The dirty bird above the awning she saw, and so did her friends and followers. It was just like the bird she saw above ~scarykrishna's street, a street that in its own way was just like the one ~serif23 probably lived on. What a world, what a web of a world. Nazis were dead. Again. People barely knew what a Nazi even could be. Could there be a more meaningless category? And what even was a Communist? What was anything or anybody anymore? Who did you know was right? And why were all the others wrong? The ocean was higher, as it had always been or hadn't. ~snatchbandicunt 7 minutes ago can you even blieve this poo poo ~snatchbandicunt 5 minutes ago another loving democrat ~snatchbandicunt 5 minutes ago who is even voting for thse people serious q i dont know anyone who dindt put down a right in The scalp was beginning to get a distinct bald spot. Somewhere, a number probably dropped from seven to six. ❖ Much later, much more bickering. ❖ The ocean was definitely too high. ❖ Rice all over the floor.
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Oct 16, 2017 05:00
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My entry is untitled, by the way; the spoiler is my prompt. You'd think I could have included the actual name of the law involved (Miller's), but then I probably would have been smart enough to write a story that wasn't that one. ed: also probably smart enough to remember that the deadline is tomorrow morning holy poo poo 
Sham bam bamina! fucked around with this message at 05:19 on Oct 16, 2017 |
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Oct 16, 2017 05:16
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Obliterati posted:FURTHERMORE, NERDS, I am livecritting here: BUT... the Asimov character is named Susan Calvin. Susan Calman is someone else. Sham bam bamina! fucked around with this message at 21:39 on Oct 16, 2017 |
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Oct 16, 2017 21:37
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In!
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Oct 16, 2017 23:51
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gently caress it, flash.
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Oct 17, 2017 03:30
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Sham bam bamina! posted:gently caress it, flash. steeltoedsneakers posted:Actually, me too pls mojo.
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Oct 17, 2017 20:01
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Is it too late to  ?
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Oct 21, 2017 12:10
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[Edited post-competition to fix a missing line break that's been unreasonably getting under my skin.] Flash rule: Scary clown protagonist Behind the Paint 808 words Eureka was an oven, and Six Flags was an overloaded casserole dish. Probably not as loaded (or greasy) as Silver Dollar City across the state, but no less an emblem of the Missouri summer. From Looney Tunes trinkets to overpriced food to scrupulously DC-branded thrill rides, it was a place for many things, but in all of them it was a place for families. This was why Jake Mathis was here. He was here with his family. I'm gonna throw up. Help. I need to get off. I'm gonna throw up. I'm gonna A black shirt wasn't the best thing to wear in this shimmering heat, nor was the grease paint that clung slickly to Jake's face. But Jake wasn't wearing them he was them, and so were the brother and sister who had come with him. Finally, after twelve years, he was at Six Flags with his family, and nobody was going to gently caress it up. It was a miracle, pure motherfuckin' magic. "What the hell? What the hell, Jake Tanner!" The vomit drips, reeks. Reeks in him and on him. He can't do anything but sit and stare. "Good job, Jake. Good job getting on the roller coaster when you knew you were too full." A dripping pause. "Jake, the ride's done. You gonna get off or are you just gonna sit there like a retard?" His arm is grabbed, and the seat is empty. Empty apart from an orange puddle. Tad grinned in monochrome. "Come on, ninja! Let's do this poo poo!" On his torso, the flaming face of Jack Jeckel echoed his enthusiasm. "Where do you guys wanna go?" asked Jake. From behind Amber's map: "Holy poo poo, the Joker has a ride?" "poo poo yeah, the Joker has a ride!" The 'lette led the way. The wrong person sees. It's crowded, but no crowd can stop this. "What's that? That's how you treat your little kid?" "Who said it was your business?" "I'm serious, man. That ain't right and I know you know it." "gently caress off." Jake follows his parents off the platform. "You know who treats his kid like that? A BITCH." Rick Mathis runs back toward the staring crowd. Jake couldn't believe it. This was fun. This was fun. Not fear, not pain, just a loving trip to Six Flags. Who gave a poo poo if people sometimes looked at the ninjas like they did? Who gave a poo poo if he smeared his paint trying to eat a turkey leg? Who gave a poo poo about anything, sitting in a Ferris wheel or behind a go-kart's wheel? There aren't any punches, though not for lack of trying. There's no longer a crowd but a wall of arms, and the struggle is fierce but brief. Nobody's even called security, but the Mathis family or its patriarch has had enough. The ride home is silent except for Dad's yelling. The tears were sudden. Jake stopped walking toward the Xcalibur and just stood there like no, a close call, but he wasn't going to think of that. He was going to cry and cry for the right reason. Tad and Amber had stopped a few feet ahead; they saw the streaks and blobs and came back to him. "You OK?" Jake threw his arms around his family. "I fu... I fuckin' love you guys!" Gripping the chair. Stripes from the belt. A woman crying louder from the other room. This was it. There was The Boss, towering over the northwest end of the park, a coiled dragon on a nest of timber. Twelve years later, it was the same groaning, heaving giant that it was the first time around Jake watched in awe as the track bowed out on every bend the cars rounded. Even waiting in line for this beast was a thrill in itself. And he was going to ride it. 2:00. It's all over. Jake's watch chirps its tiny alarm, and he carefully, as silently as possible on the creaky springs of his ratty mattress, slips out of bed to the floor. His backpack is packed a couple changes of clothes, his toothbrush, his ancient Walkman from Goodwill, and a sick-rear end tape called Riddle Box. He's lucky enough to have friends he can trust with this, and he knows that he'll make it with their help. After arranging the clothes that won't fit in his backpack as best he can under the blanket, Jake climbs through the window and closes it without a sound. He doesn't run away. He runs home. Jake, Tad, and Amber shared a row in the third car from the front. Jake could feel his hands distantly gripping the safety bar somewhere a mile away from him as the train rattled up its chain. A dip, another rise, and then the bone-rattling drop. He barfed, and nobody cared. Sham bam bamina! fucked around with this message at 20:08 on Oct 24, 2017 |
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Oct 23, 2017 04:59
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Dr. Kloctopussy posted:More like package loss.
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Oct 24, 2017 05:23
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In. I hated my last story as I was writing it and need a palate cleanser. Edit:
Sham bam bamina! fucked around with this message at 10:37 on Oct 24, 2017 |
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Oct 24, 2017 10:33
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Can I ask for some specific advice? Neither of my crits picked up on the alternating tenses in my story, which I thought were a good way to present two temporally and thematically distant sequences simultaneously without their getting in each other's way. That structure was the one thing about it that I was actually happy with. Is there a better way to do this that people won't have such a hard time understanding? I think that it should be possible to pull this off, and it came as a surprise that I apparently didn't.
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Oct 24, 2017 16:54
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Start with a Large Fortune 840 words "I've been putting this off way, way too long. I'm done here." It's been four years. Four years of treading water while imagining it's a breaststroke. Four years gone to waste, but better four than five, than ten. "What? What's that supposed to mean, Evan?" "I mean... what else do you want me to say? I can't do this anymore! I'm done!" The sign above the door is off for the night. The Henhouse has sputtered across the finish line of another day. Fumes have been enough to run on for a while. ❖ I've always loved to cook. I think I got it from my dad, who got it from his mom, who got it from who knows where. There's nothing quite as satisfying as putting a bunch of poo poo together, doing just the right things to it, and ending up with something innately different. Innately better. It feels like this should violate some law of physics, always getting out more than you put in. I'm sure it's the same way with any craft or art, but with me, it's cooking. Cal's a little different. He likes getting out exactly what he puts in, or more accurately, what other people put in, minus expenses. He's an Entrepreneur, capital E, the Jobs to my Woz, the one who makes poo poo happen. I've never seen him happier than when he totaled up our balance after our first year and saw that we were a few thousand in the black he'd worked his rear end off pulling everything together, making sure that it all worked, and his machine had gotten past a rough start and was running smoothly. It was a miracle, and he was proud to have worked it. We were proud. ❖ I always got to make dinner on Saturdays, and I probably would have done it the rest of the week if not for school. Cal would come over a lot. What I remember most was how impressed he always was cooking was something that adults did, but here I was, doing it like some kind of magic trick. I think the biggest trick for him was the Moroccan chicken and rice, impossibly tender and flowing with the tastes of meat and tomatoes, since that's what he ended up mentioning first when he came to me a decade later. ❖ There is nothing sadder than a spoiled chicken. Nothing except ten of them. It feels so stupid to care about it the way I should care about a person. What's my problem? ❖ The Landons first came in on a whim sometime late in our first year. We saw them again a few weeks later it was little Allie's birthday. They still come in. They even came in today, had chicken barbecue pizza. I'm going to miss them. ❖ I remember when it first hit me. My brother was in town, and he wanted to treat me to dinner. I took him up on it; it would be nice to have someone else make it for a change. We went to Demetriou's, a Mediterranean fusion place downtown, and I decided to have a lamb burger. The restaurant was packed, but my burger came out in half an hour. It was goddamn perfection. And biting into that lamb, the feta and olives on top of it, the thick bun that held it all together, I realized something: I could have made this. Why the hell wasn't I making this? ❖ Hindsight is 20/20, but I guess some things should have been apparent even then. Our location was good on paper, with plenty of visibility from the highway and not too much competition, but we were dwarfed by the Home Depot across the street, and that's probably what stuck in people's minds instead of us when they drove by. Another problem is that chicken is really easy to cook in really boring ways, and when most people think of it, they probably aren't thinking of the things that we I like to put together. The "Henhouse" branding might have been honest, but it was wrong. ❖ It's one thing to get tired of something, to know that whatever it might have been is gone and isn't coming back. It's another thing to get tired of something bound up with someone you're very close to. And when it's bound up with you too, it starts to really fuckin' hurt. I can't do this. I can't just rip it out to let it die. ❖ God dammit. I can't do this to Cal. Maybe next week. Now it's been three. ❖ "That's it? You're done? What the gently caress does that mean?" "I-" "You think you can just give me the mother of all gently caress-yous and I'll lie down and take it?" "This whole thing's dead, Cal. It's dead and it's killing me and you too. I've found something else. I know you can." He walks up and knocks out three of my teeth. ❖ The interview went very well. ❖ I start on Monday.
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Oct 30, 2017 08:01
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Oh, I probably should have included mine.sparksbloom posted:8 of Cups + The Star (Rider Waite Smith) http://learntarot.com/maj17.htm
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Oct 30, 2017 08:19
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Exmond posted:Requesting Crits and uhh pointing out your prompt never called for emotion and strong characters.
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Oct 31, 2017 07:22
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steeltoedsneakers posted:"Hello - Yes, officer..? There's glass and stones everywhere. Yeah, from the inside... I know, right? It's a shambles."
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Oct 31, 2017 10:15
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In.
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Oct 31, 2017 14:19
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[Edited post-competition to remove a superfluous line that I hate.] Can't Always Get It 420 words "Mio..." Stifled tears. "Mio figlio. Non posso credere..." The tears were getting less stifled. "Shh. Ci sarς." After some time, the landing gear lowered and connected. Napoli wasn't supposed to be gray. It wasn't supposed to be cold, either. I knew that this was a stupid way to think, but all my life, I'd been shown the Mediterranean in exactly one kind of weather, and in the back of my head, it somehow felt like reality was wrong, not my stereotype. It had taken me a long time to get here. Twenty-eight years. Twenty-six of them knowing that I was probably adopted, two filling in the blanks after the sketch was inked. And now, here I was, countless Internet rabbit-holes and telephone labyrinths, and a plane ride, behind me. The Spaccanapoli beneath, slick and caked with slush. And somewhere before me, a house where Carla Bianchi, my Neapolitan mom, was waiting. I felt like the worst kind of modern schlub, an ugly American, nose buried in my phone as it led me off the main street past buildings I wished I could bother to look at. Or would gawking be the tourist trash thing to do? Why did I even care when whoever built them centuries ago would just be happy they were still here? I was suddenly at the door. Knock. Knock knock. The moment hung as I could feel the synapse of my life closing. I was here. I wasn't ready, but I reveled in it. Huh. I really wasn't ready. Not for the silence that had swallowed the stoop. I knocked again, a little harder. Had Carla left for something without telling me? I reached for the bell, but there wasn't one. Straining to the limit the reverence that I had built for this meeting, this person, I raised the bright screen of my phone to the window and peered in. The lights weren't on at 1 p.m., but with these clouds, there wasn't much sunlight either. But I could make it out in there, a rocking chair, a small table piled with silhouette. Wait, on the floor... My numb fingers mashed out 112 (no idea how I remembered it), my lips slapped together something like the address, and I lay down shivering on the wet steps. They probably heard me on the other end. She had left me a decent amount of money, and I gave a decent funeral back. Things began to return to normal, even if they did it without me. Sham bam bamina! fucked around with this message at 06:16 on Dec 28, 2017 |
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Nov 6, 2017 05:57
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In! I thought for sure that I was cruising for a DM this week at best. I still hate that I wasn't able to do more, but I'm glad that what little I did apparently worked.
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Nov 7, 2017 07:09
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Yoruichi posted:You are insufferably smug Sham Bam Bamina. Brawl me.
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Nov 7, 2017 09:11
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Djeser posted:Toxx up so I know I'm not wasting my time. icate me now.
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Nov 7, 2017 11:36
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Thanks, Sitting Here!
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Nov 7, 2017 20:03
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sebmojo posted:you still need to toxx for your brawl.
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Nov 7, 2017 20:35
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Might as well .
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Nov 10, 2017 15:56
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Viewing single user's posts in topic: Need HELP with this girl! 1,536 words http://forums.gamercitadel.com/showthread.php?t=22858&u=1292 higurashi94 Tue Sep 3 2013 11:39 So this is my first year at college and classes have started and I'm ready to grow the heck up and be a man already right? And as you can probably guess from the title there's well a female of the species here and I think I might have a chance (for once). I'm not that bad looking and we both like anime and well now that I'm free of the high school pecking order I can start things off on a level playing field. So any way I would like some pointers so I can start things right and not make a fool of myself out of the gates know what I mean? Thanks all in advance. Also she's in my history class if that's important to know. Her name is Mandy (short for Amanda). higurashi94 Tue Sep 3 2013 20:23 Well it's great to see some responses already which to be honest I wasn't expecting so thanks! I didn't see her today because it's Tuesday and history class is MWF but I'm preparing for tomorrow so wish me luck with this lovely girl. -=NovaShade=- posted:I don't have much to say but I wish you the best. Are you just trying to get laid or hoping for something long-term? bob posted:Heh, don't worry, females are easy as hell if you know what you're doing. I can give you some conversational patterns if you're interested. Vapor Snake posted:You say she likes anime, so is that something you've talked about? Talking to her would probably be more helpful than talking to us. higurashi94 Wed Sep 4 2013 18:46 I didn't get the chance to talk to her today sorry guys. I will keep you posted though if any thing happens. bob posted:Okay, rule #1 is DEMONSTRATE HIGHER VALUE. Let her know she can't afford to let you get away. Here's a page with some really effective first-time openers: http://short-her-circuits.net/patterns/intros.htm higurashi94 Thu Sep 5 2013 18:04 I can't believe it I saw her! But I didn't know what to say to her because it was a surprise and I got stuck darn it! She was studying in the library which gives me an idea. But I can try tomorrow so wish me luck all. higurashi94 Fri Sep 6 2013 10:17 Here goes no thing! higurashi94 Fri Sep 6 2013 19:07 Well let's just say it could of gone better. I started with a pattern from the site you gave me bob but it didn't look like it was working so I just didn't bother and decided to play it from ear so to speak. I asked her about Lucky Star but I guess it was just a song not the anime so much for that. Maybe she likes a different anime but I don't know since she had to go to the bathroom or maybe her next class (she said both so I don't know which one). I think she was a little shy but now that I have my foot in the door things should go smoother from here I hope. sonicsucks posted:Dude she's not into anime. I guarantee she was singing Lucky Star the Madonna song. Vapor Snake posted:I get the impression that there really isn't much between you two. What is it that makes her so important to you? higurashi94 Sat Sep 7 2013 19:38 Hey all guess what I was able to edit us together in a picture today let me know how it looks! http://i1253.photobucket.com/albums/hh587/higurashi94/mandyandme_zpsezzpyjk6.jpg I can't wait to take a real one with her! Vapor Snake posted:OK, why do you want to be her boyfriend? It doesn't sound like there's anything here to build that kind of relationship on. Don't you have anything in common? bob posted:Don't worry, man. Things don't always work the first time. Try playing the long game with some NLP: http://short-her-circuits.net/nlp/beginners_guide.htm higurashi94 Sun Sep 8 2013 13:56 I love this lovely girl what is your problem! sonicsucks posted:Holy poo poo thread has delivered. Best laugh I've had all week, thanks higurashi! -=NovaShade=- posted:I just about pissed myself laughing. Never thought it would come to this. bob posted:Good job, man. That'll win her over. I'd normally tell someone to aim higher for an LTR (that chick's a 6, low 7 at best) but even she's out of your league at this point. 69tales posted:lmao this is the funniest poo poo but for real your a fuckin creep Vapor Snake posted:I have no loving words. Good luck with this girl, I guess. higurashi94 Mon Sep 9 2013 10:09 OK here we go again. Hopefully with my foot in the door from last time I will have a better chance. higurashi94 Mon Sep 9 2013 17:23 Heck yeah things went a little better this time around! I wasn't able to print the picture for her but I managed to sit closer to her in class which made it easier to start talking when class finished. I think she's starting to have feelings for me because I saw her look at me a few times while we were in class so that's good! Any way I asked her how history was going for her and she said fine then I asked her if there were any other Madonna songs she liked and she said Express Yourself. That was one of the songs I heard on Youtube so I was able to sing some of it for her and I guess I'm not very good at singing because she laughed a bit then she had to go. I wasn't expecting that but she has a pretty laugh so I didn't mind and be sides my other idea is ready now. In the end things are looking up for me and her together! sonicsucks posted:LMAO I wouldn't count on it buddy! 69tales posted:all i'm gonna say is whatever you do don't show her that fuckin picture higurashi94 Tue Sep 10 2013 19:56 Well my idea was a dumb *** mistake and I don't know what to do now! So when I saw her at the library last week she was studying for history which is why I was there too. She was at a table by the French history books because we're studying the French revolution right now but she had an intro to calculus book with her. So I decided to look up the intro to calculus class and sure enough it meets right before I saw her (3:00 to 4:30 and I saw her around 5). So today I was ready and went to the table where she would study history after calculus and set up the picture of us that I printed out plus some fan art of the Lucky Star characters singing Lucky Star which I thought was clever and went over to look at the shelves before she came in. Well any way she came in and went over to the table with her stuff and she was going to sit down but then she stopped and looked at it then I came out from the shelves and asked if she wanted some help studying. She didn't say anything back she just turned and walked away very fast! You were wrong bob it did not win her over! So that was a waste and embarrassing too. So I just walked back to my dorm and watched Accel World to wind down then I checked my email and it says I have to meet with a counselor because Mandy LIED about me and said I was harassing/stalking her which I DID NOT DO! She is a **** ***** and I can't believe I thought I loved her for crying out loud! Mods please change this thread's title to **** YOU AMANDA COLLINS!!!
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Nov 12, 2017 05:41
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Thanks for the critiques. Wish I could have walked that line better.
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Nov 14, 2017 04:20
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Antarctica, after.
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Nov 14, 2017 05:43
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Thank you for doing justice to my masterpiece.
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Nov 15, 2017 20:09
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Fine here. Did you remember to select SynIRC?
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Nov 17, 2017 01:31
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Brawl entry A Meeting in Moscow 1137 words I didn't bother to get my umbrella. Maybe I should have. The evening October rain was like a curtain of whips when I stepped out, and the shock of cold, the growing weight of my hair and clothes, caught me off-guard outside the apartment door. Was I ready for this? It was too late. I had already started. The metro wasn't far, but I would have walked straight across the city if I had to. The street's incandescence gave way to underground fluorescence, grass to concrete to metal, but the rain stayed with me beneath the streets and buildings. It was a longer ride than I'd expected; more stops, though not as many people. I had plenty of time on the way to think about my brother. What would he be like now, in the Federation? We were young Soviets when he had run away. The scrap of paper burned in my hand as I looked down at it, sitting and dripping in the clattery yellow marshrutka as it grumbled down the street. 109 Lenintsev, #312, in ink that bled in my clammy touch. I heard the rain's roar overtake the quieting engine, felt the forward shift of gravity, took a second or two to realize why. I paid the fare and got out. Up the stairs, then up some more. Television babble behind one door, the merry beeping of a Dendy a few later. #312. My knock got no answer, so I tried again. The light was on in there. "It's me. Lena!" It was hard to be audible, polite, and familiar at the same time. I don't think I managed it. I heard talking on the other side, and the door eventually opened. She was a little over my height, her face a mask of forced composure. And leaning back against the wall, on a ragged mattress... I despised Andrey when he had left me alone with our broken, hateful parents. It was only a few more years of false love and real scars before I ran too, but I couldn't make myself forgive him. Now, seeing him as a man for the first time, I felt it all race into the past like the ocean after a breaking wave. There was nothing left to hate in this husk of a man. "Yelena," he breathed, and he held out his his thin, white right hand to me. His left was at the end of a dead green mess slumped beside him. I somehow forced myself from the doorway and dripped a trail across the apartment, past the other woman, past the pile of needles in the corner, past the pitiful clutch of first aid supplies on the table near the dark window. I began to realize just how rotten the air was as I came closer to Andrey. I bent down over him, trying to smell anything but his flesh, and took his hand. I knew he was twenty-nine, but that hand felt fifty years older. We didn't move. He broke the silence. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?" His mouth bent into something like a smile or a wince. "I was afraid that you'd find me first." I didn't know how to answer that. "I guess I did," I answered lamely. "Wish I'd remembered my umbrella." Andrey gave a wisp of a laugh. "So that settles it." He looked up, over my shoulder. "Nika. Come over." She came down to the mattress, at the worse side of my brother, who turned hesitantly back to me. "We weren't supposed to meet like this," he said to me with a tunnel's gaze. "I was going to get my foot in the door somewhere, get things ready, come back for you when I could take care of you. That was... that was how it was supposed to go, Lena! It was, was-" He broke down, sobbing silently and without tears. Just an awful shudder that wracked him again and again. My eyes were brimming, but I managed to hold the worst back for him. If Nika was there, I didn't see or hear her. At last, he managed to continue. "...But I guess a girl ended up taking care of me instead. So fuckin' much for Andrey Sergeyich! That's how it all works out!" The sudden spiteful life in my brother gave me equal joy and revulsion. I probably looked the way Nika had when she answered the door. Andrey turned to her. "Thank you, Nika. Thanks for everything, and I'm sorry for making it all a waste." "It's not a waste!" Nika immediately shouted back, hardly a seam between her words and his. "I don't know if I'll ever get you back up and about hell, I probably won't! but you're still Andrey. You were Andrey when we met and you always will be Andrey. And that's what's important! I have you. You finally have your sister. We have each other, and that's impossible to change. It's, it's..." She trailed off, grasping for a finish that she couldn't reach. "Come on, Andrey," I said. "Maybe it didn't happen the best way, but we're back together. I have some money, I'll get you to a hospital and we can-" "And what'll they do? They'll chop off my arm and send me to a clinic, where they'll tie me to a bed until withdrawal finishes me off. Look at me! I'm fuckin' dead anyway!" We had nothing to say. "Until you came here, Yelena, I was able to leave it all behind. Did I come back for you? No, but as long as that loose end was hanging, there was always a hair of a chance that I could eventually tie it up. Some small hope that I'd keep my promise in the end. But now it's final. I failed. I left you behind," he continued while I fought to get a word in, "just to let you down. And it took me fuckin' long enough! We have a whole new country now, just as lovely as the last one! And a whole lovely century to look forward to! Everything's horseshit! And it's not like I've been doing anything to make it better!" The moment passed before it could register. With a surge of his withered body, Andrey had lurched off the mattress and was stiffly striding toward the tiny kitchen. His arm flopped as he walked; the skin was splitting, and something yellow swelled through. We watched him grab a pan from the stovetop as we stood up, realizing too late what he was doing. With every cell he had left, he smashed the window. We scrambled for him as he climbed out and fell through the flooded air. I was frozen. Nika began to cry, the first honest crying from any of us that night.
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Nov 22, 2017 08:52
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