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Waterbed Wendy posted:Since it's been a couple of days, I'll put a prompt out there and since I'm new at this have a quote that I like: “In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.” -MLK "New Day Rising" Three days past and he's still talking to himself, a voice that won't go away though it's usually bad ideas. "Hasanet," he tells himself, a voice that creaks like tomb floors. "Follow them in the life after death for what they did on this earth." He blinks, rubs his eyelids down, pushes them back up. Like he's slept a wisp in time. He's blooded again, felt the wolf's whisper, but that's duality, and he has no time for it. Something in his hemophiliae which won't let him go. Outside there's a whisper of sunlight threading the lines of black smoke. Outside there are virgins. There was a voice once, that told him not to thirst, but he didn't listen to it. Didn't listen to it the one time, and that was all it took, because he was so thirsty. His lips were parched, split like atoms he knows from networks he can't even understand. There are virgins outside. There are children outside. There is young blood that flows through veins and it sticks to his lines like the whisper in black light and the words he tells himself in rivers of sound.
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Feb 23, 2017 07:45
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| # ¿ Apr 28, 2024 00:44 |
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touch those graveyard prompts at yr peril
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Feb 23, 2017 22:08
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freebie since i posted: "ive got friends that know sign language"
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Feb 23, 2017 22:10
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instead of talking about it why dont you do it kiiid 
take the moon fucked around with this message at 03:53 on Feb 24, 2017 |
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Feb 24, 2017 03:36
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i am so high from staying up for this biz muffin come out to plaaay 
take the moon fucked around with this message at 08:11 on Feb 24, 2017 |
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Feb 24, 2017 08:07
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its called picking the prompt which you said you would do if ur next post doesnt have a story im going 2 sleep e: the muff in the op
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Feb 24, 2017 08:17
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oh hey looks i wrote someth approx a mill years ago tho i didnt notice the prompt was takenSurreptitiousMuffin posted:
"How high would you even have to be to be an uncap?" Sol hears. It's a man with a low brimmed hat who threw him a look and a black chem cloud with the words he didn't ask for. What is that, Sol thinks, concentrated fungus? "What did you say?" he says. "I asked how high you'd have to wear an an-cap," Low Brim says. "You know, those caps that are living animal mutate. Mine's just black felt." A little flat, Sol thinks. A little too vanta, too slick, too embossed. "Am I wearing one?" he says. He forgot to chem himself today. "No," Low Brim says. "Just venting." Yeah, Sol thinks. Without chems everything's clicking into focus. These towers are more like spires. This glass is more stained than it should be. This marble looks like if he lost his focus, it would hurt. Maybe someone would work the wrong chem into him. Maybe he'd stumble and fall. Maybe something would hit him. Good chems, extant somewhere out there, beyond a rainbow his brain hasn't even imagined it could perceive. A black ocean, he thinks, would be better than what seeps between the cracks that might break him. A cap made of animal mutate. Maybe if you took care of it, it would like you. Maybe it would brim just the way you wanted. "Pretty high up there," Low Brim says. "Maybe near a nebula somewhere." Sol looks at him, thinks of meteors smashing into brimmed skull, body floating far away from earth, but not far enough.
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Feb 24, 2017 08:18
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boi don't look at me sour and even assume i have time for anything that isnt stories
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Feb 24, 2017 08:19
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Sitting Here posted:gently caress yall im going off-prompt no gods no masters amirite fascinating thread u got here muff
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Feb 24, 2017 08:24
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pick the dead prompt and well get a safe space unsanctioned judgeless brawl going i didnt spend a month high out of my mind on chems for no reason im gonna sleep. put a story there by the morning sil vous plait since you tacitly agreed to go first.
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Feb 24, 2017 08:32
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:motherfucker I am about to go to bed I will do that poo poo when I get up its interesting that you view sleep as more important than stories veeeeeery interesting prompt: "feelings are object permanence"  nite thunderdumbs
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Feb 24, 2017 08:42
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im fuvking around thats the pooooooooooint that post is a lot of words that dont have a beginning, a middle and an end, ywkim? so far beyond yr level that i loop around & and hang out a centigrade lower than u just to tactically hear u condescend no meds, no judges, no gods, no masters, no anyyyyyyyyything and i deal w ppl when i feel like
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Feb 24, 2017 13:01
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llamaguccii posted:The Popping of Pills seems like ur about on the rite wavelength here
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Feb 24, 2017 13:04
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yeah idk. if u wanna step 2 me i suggest al abandoning all hope first. i hope u at least used yr precious sleep to dream about someth nice 2 write about e: have you even slept yet kiiiiiid ive beeeeeeen sleeping 
take the moon fucked around with this message at 16:14 on Feb 24, 2017 |
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Feb 24, 2017 13:06
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no gods no masters muuuuuffffff im not overly concerned w what u appreciate ninja: wouldnt mind yr story tho
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Feb 24, 2017 22:53
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5D AUTISM SPEX posted:prompt: "feelings are object permanence" ＦＬＯＣＫ ＯＦ ＰＩＤＧＥＯＮＳ Waneta-Janay has blood on her hands, hardly notices. It might be paint, or holo-finish, or something else that holographs her brain like a siren. What matters, she thinks, is that she never pays attention to anything that looks wrong. It passes by her, lost somewhere, like a memory of who she is. A lost memory, another life, something taken from her. The blood on her hands is being taken from her. She has track marks up and down her arms. Could be the archmage, she thinks, spreading nanites. Gray cobwebs through her skin till she's not sure what she's doing. She's lost it all the way, and if she has, if those memories are truly gone, there's no going back. Pigeons have flocked around her. Looking for somewhere to nest. She looks and sees their wings are sharp, nanothin, like blades she can't even see and no one would want her to feel. ty e: that was a poem tho namaste take the moon fucked around with this message at 04:38 on Feb 25, 2017 |
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Feb 25, 2017 02:51
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:
Her name was Ryzinas, and she was neuro-bred. She whispers to the void to stop hurting her. Not the deep parts. It's adding it all up, and just, not caring. Love, she thinks, something she's forgotten. She's being bladed and told it's all good. It's a shadow. Wraithlike and chrome. Eyes that burn red fire. It's stringing along her blood. It's taking her blood from her. Because no matter what she does. She can't stop feeding it. 
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Feb 26, 2017 09:13
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TODAY'S PROMPT FEBRUARY 26th 2017: candles, darkness, an intake of breath.
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prompt: killed my goddess, left for japan
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Feb 26, 2017 09:30
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prompt: a vagrant-core story about ascension
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Feb 26, 2017 09:31
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prompt: complex perplexity
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Feb 26, 2017 12:14
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prompt: what you've built means nothing weighed against what you've left behind
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Feb 26, 2017 12:59
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prompt: they buried her alive
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Feb 26, 2017 16:16
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prompt: 片仮名, カタカナ
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Feb 26, 2017 21:56
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prompt: 本間 芽衣子 (めんま)
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Feb 26, 2017 21:58
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prompt: my thoughts circle like ancient sharks when my feet have trespassed 'cross sainted grass bladesSurreptitiousMuffin posted:
male suicide Ever changing, but starlight burning, and being drawn somewhere. Garrett didn't know, until he death-saw Joan, and knew it was a place. Good, or bad? Joan tries to death-see. Garrett couldn't tell, and to his sight, this far in the drawing, it doesn't matter. Flames all over, licking each other's edges, burning the virginities of the flux. Shadows hidden deep so they might as well be light. Something like dusk, somewhere, but that's a closing time, and time is still open, though decaying, like olden scrolls. Think about it, Joan death-sees. Garrett's been thinking. Doesn't seem to matter. Blood in his atoms, if nowhere else. Maybe blood between his lines. Blood everywhere. Joan. It's a scream that reaches all his aspects, 'till he's more diamond than kite. Then the fear is black, cold as teeth. What's at the end? An oracular. Trying desperately to death-see. But death sight is fear, always held back, only clung to by the brave and craven. Necrofauna, Joan death-sees. Necrofauna, Garrett death-sees. Necrofauna, they both death-see. Necrofauna. Necrofauna. Necrofauna. take the moon fucked around with this message at 20:25 on Mar 18, 2017 |
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Mar 18, 2017 18:41
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No Gravitas posted:Prompt: He knew he was wrong, but he chose to argue anyway. The heat was oppressive, despite the downpour. Emiko (Clumsascence) It's the chems, Royce says. His voice is a whisper on an ill-fated wind. Emiko shakes her head. Emiko. Born of an Emily. Emily is the code, she always says. It's just us, she says. Something in us finds sorrow, fast as heat. Then try not taking them, he says. The rain licks at his lips, scarred from picking and scraping. Theres something in Emiko's eyes. A spark, if not a fire. I havent taken chems for weeks, she says. Don't worry, Royce. Got your fallacious back, as always. Let me worry about philosophy. Royce feels the weight of the pill clutched to his palm by fingertips. It's a breezy thing. It feels like it wants to float away. Emiko is the code, he thinks, and takes it. Ponderance washes over him, and reverence, for the rain that always falls, jealous of his tears.
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Mar 25, 2017 16:52
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:
O MY GOD drat Lasandra's fingers blister and break off. Her holovatar's disentegrating as she misplays. The music in her blood is frenetic, too complicated to describe. Something heavy and weird. She hears voices shouting from afar. Just needs to see it different. What is difference, she thinks, this far in the game? Her nanobike smashes into the deeptruck so far her skeleton is halfway across space and time when it re-assembles. The world here is pink, like something long chewed off and spit aside. She can't even remember who the voices belong too. If I'm not winning, she thinks, it doesn't matter. 'Cause from now on these are my rules, hard and soft, like the boys I always wished I could touch.
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Mar 25, 2017 19:16
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No Gravitas posted:Prompt: Everything is backwards and sideways. Her agility is unmatched. Only three more to go. Snippets Kyle-Mindi hesitates. First time, he thinks, in my life. His life is just a spectrum of decided indecision. I'll be good, he thinks, then plunges forward. He pulls aside vines. In the clearing Mary hugs Jesus to her breasts. There's another child there, with tangled hair and a knowing look. Kyle hoists his spear. Only three more to go.
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Mar 25, 2017 19:46
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prompt: "your database doesn't cover the battles we had in space"
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Mar 25, 2017 19:47
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No Gravitas posted:Prompt: I'm joyful. I'm beautiful. I'm loved. Everything is fine. Float The blue indigo butterfly flutters with the breeze. Iua watches, extending claws to meet at epicentre over her palm. She's brave but lazy and not sure if she's hungry. She watches it float, the wind cutting through its wingtip, widening a slow tear. It sorrows her, but only a glacier, not a sharp sliver. The colour splashing across them both is cold and clear. The butterfly bends and hangs in the wind. She feels her tongue uncoil, a part of herself she doesn't control. She feels it unspool. She wants to weave the butterfly into her day, though means its death. 'Sdeath on the wind. Her apex primacy. She doesn't really like it. Still, as her tongue snakes out, she reflects. Sees herself in the reflection, in herself. Coiled around bracken branch, river green with jaundiced flecks of yellow. Another glacier day. Another stream of volcanic ash over what thinks it can float. She holds the coil, finds the hanging butterfly, and melts it. take the moon fucked around with this message at 17:40 on Mar 26, 2017 |
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Mar 26, 2017 17:37
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prompt: physical and spiritual debugging
take the moon fucked around with this message at 18:14 on Mar 31, 2017 |
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Mar 26, 2017 17:42
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No Gravitas posted:We are out of fuel. Did you hear me, dumbass? We are loving out of fuel! poo poo! Yeast Gala types another S.O.S. into the interface that flashes holographs metres from her face. The A.I. on top doesn't seem to get it. This isn't a math problem, she thinks. It just can't kill me yet. The interface is laid over a glowing dark cockpit. Schema remind her where in some alt universe, a biped is trying to navigate the clumsy pangs of adolescence. Wham. The inside of another locker. If I could just get this right, she thinks, I'd never let go. A transmission encodes itself into the interface. "Hey, boss." It's a warship with more lasers than a death station. In the alt it's a kid with a backwards baseball cap. TREAT AS HOSTILE? The interface spells in front of her. A huge warship with weapons pointed at her. What would the point be? LAY DOWN ARMS, she spells out. CEASEFIRE. Let's see what this warship wants.
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Mar 31, 2017 21:44
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prompt: "I can't sing so I make movies"
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Mar 31, 2017 21:44
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No Gravitas posted:The birthday is coming. How does one give a gift to someone who needs everything but will accept nothing? The ground rules of reality itself will need bypassing. yr smile could wreck me It was a short touch, like a skyscrapered fly. It was everything Keryrlas could do to not glass the cluster pool. It was void and faith at once. "My dogs gotta eat too," Arao says.
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Apr 4, 2017 20:45
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stacking up graves here someone come at me 
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Apr 4, 2017 20:50
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2 make it easier for ppl  prompt mausoleum 2.22 No Gravitas posted:The birthday is coming. How does one give a gift to someone who needs everything but will accept nothing? The ground rules of reality itself will need bypassing. 5D AUTISM SPEX posted:prompt: "your database doesn't cover the battles we had in space" No Gravitas posted:Prompt: The woman is carrying a cross up a hill. Saturn is overhead. The moon is red and in pieces. The end of days is coming. Hammer Bro. posted:Prompt: They no longer exist, but if they did, they'd try to stop me. No Gravitas posted:Prompt: The secret country of Taured exists. You'd know, being one of the people who killed their ambassador and participated in the cover-up. The problem is, we now need help of the people from Taured. Awkward. No Gravitas posted:Rewrite an ancient Roman scene, using at least one anachronistic piece of modern technology to skillfully derail things. Include Norse Gods too. No Gravitas posted:Go. Blue. Red. Flash. Green. Red. Flash. Yellow. Red. Flash. Sound. Stop. No Gravitas posted:We are running a very elaborate checklist. Everyone hopes that something was missed. Nothing was and we regretfully have to proceed to the next stage. No Gravitas posted:Prompt: You had your fifteen minutes. You squandered them. What now? No Gravitas posted:Prompt: March 13th is Holi, the Hindu holiday of colors, love and forgiveness. Will the bad luck of the unlucky 13 win? Or will the carefree joy triumph? The talking black cat knows the answer. No Gravitas posted:Prompt: Numbers. You need the numbers. You need all of them. All of them. The numbers are important, yes they are. No Gravitas posted:Prompt: A new warlord rules the streets of the city. The party was interrupted by an armed gunman with a sense of humour. A muffin has been left behind. No Gravitas posted:Prompt: He knew he was wrong, but he chose to argue anyway. The heat was oppressive, despite the downpour. No Gravitas posted:A reclusive writer, she was a shy and bookish girl. For her day job she wore round glasses, a polka dot dress, a disarming smile and a loaded shotgun. 5D AUTISM SPEX posted:prompt: "I can't sing so I make movies" No Gravitas posted:Prompt: And so it came back full circle. The Gods once more have ascended to the aether, leaving only legends in their wake. 5D AUTISM SPEX posted:prompt: a vagrant-core story about ascension SurreptitiousMuffin posted:
5D AUTISM SPEX posted:prompt: killed my goddess, left for japan 5D AUTISM SPEX posted:prompt: complex perplexity 5D AUTISM SPEX posted:prompt: what you've built means nothing weighed against what you've left behind 5D AUTISM SPEX posted:prompt: 片仮名, カタカナ 5D AUTISM SPEX posted:prompt: 本間 芽衣子 (めんま) 5D AUTISM SPEX posted:"ive got friends that know sign language" quote:nothing 5D AUTISM SPEX posted:prompt: 5D AUTISM SPEX posted:prompt: krypto rage take the moon fucked around with this message at 14:49 on Apr 9, 2017 |
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Apr 4, 2017 22:21
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spex v flerp in a from beyond the grave brawl because anarchy rules and there are no rulesquote:stacking up graves here ｉ ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ ｓｅｅ ｉｔ ｃｏｍｉｎｇ (나는 그것이 오는 것을 보지 못했다) 1. Emerge Cases Leonila Vales falls off the freeway to miss a Slade moto that she hacked for insychronicity. They'll be the death of me, she thinks. Thinks twice because the first time didn't drive it enough. The flame gnomes pick their way from the wreckage, loom on her. She reaches reflexive for her tonal. The gnomes have beards burnt charcoal black from blistering skin. If she's not careful, she'll ascend here, to a sky dark beyond reckoning. They have dagger teeth and cold eyes. This isn't where she wanted to be, when she charged her tonal at home. It's for emerge cases and she prays every day doesn't turn emerge. A headhunter deconstructed so it's her throat under the knives. She lands in an amber brown ditch. The deep forest behind her stretches to an azure horizon. She feels the blood coursing down her spine, the energy of it, to jet out and coat the canopy. She thinks about jumping, to save her nerve cells the time and space of their collusionary serrators. Instead she primes the tonal, hoping it won't misfire, blinding her or killing her. 2. Hour By Hour Her own blood is sepia. The Slade must have cut her with a razorthin windowtip as it cut by. It sparks along the tonal, the tube glowing iridescent as if from beyond God. It flickers down her palm, running electric indigo, the sparks curling black at the corners. The gnomes leer closer to her. They laugh like hissing wasps. She thumbs the press and prays for rain. Her palm engulfs in flame. For a moment she doesn't feel pain. She just feels warmth, like something tried to care about her and couldn't work it right. It's only there the moment it takes for one self to die and the other to be born. Re-incarnation, hour by hour, and this was its time. Her skin crystallizes, splits, hardens again until the tonal doesn't hurt anymore. What's the point? she thinks. I just died anyway, the moment I took violent carapace. Any other way of seeing would be delusion. 3. The Winds They're not advancing too fast, not laughing too hard. I never feel so alone, she thinks, as when I'm about to kill. It's the work of moments. Tattered skin, broken jaws, scalps. Head hunter. What did they think that meant? Then she isn't there anymore, because she's listening to something else. She's listening to rain falling. It won't cleanse her. The blood has caught in her fissures and cracks, and when she dies, is born again, it'll be there, mixed with her blood, pumping through. But it will fall on the deep forest, and whatever lives there will grow, young enough for solace, old enough to climb. The winds will rustle over the bracken, telling it not to die. take the moon fucked around with this message at 18:51 on Apr 7, 2017 |
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Apr 5, 2017 00:55
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im gonna die of a sky burial b4 any of u other chumps take me on dying lol
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Apr 7, 2017 18:48
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Better Fred Than Dead posted:Prompt: you know the edges of its fingers stretched across that place. Crossed; cats cradle. thisll have 2 do Opening Incantation Her reflection was a shadow. A deep purple in the glow. She wasn't sure where she was going. She just journeyed, far enough to break her wings. Forgot they'd already been broken, not by space, but by time. It wasn't loving random. Some slag had grassed her out by the fields. An angel, staring into space, looking for the motes that were already within. There was a note there. Something she saw in herself that she couldn't see again. She thought he wasn't real. But he was. She saw him. Saw him thrice, just to forget again.
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Apr 7, 2017 21:07
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| # ¿ Apr 28, 2024 00:44 |
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still w8ing
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Apr 8, 2017 05:08
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