Sankaku Complex Forums Topic: The Writer's Thread

Mistress Antika on "The Writer's Thread"

Mistress Antika — Thu, 31 Jan 2013 13:31:34 +0000

Something I wrote for the BDSM Forum I am part of. Thought I might as well post it here and revive the writers thread. Also, STEFAN, WHERE'S YO SHIT AT? <blockquote>Chapter 1 Spelling Bee with Arthur I didn't expect you to be this disobedient. Though I was doing my best to be kind to you, to not leave the marks you so disliked wearing to your work... And then you did the unspeakable. You actually dared to misspell my name. Oh, I know you knew. Even though you flinched as soon as my eyes narrowed angrily, I know you wanted to try me. Try my patience. It was so exciting for you, yet you knew this kind of thing would make me absolutely mad. Why would you test me? I knew you expected the message that was to come on the Skype chat: "Get here, now." And the "Yes, Mistress" came back in seconds. And I saw you bit your lip while you typed it, as you do when you're being naughty. I print screened it. Then you appeared on my doorstep after a while and looked at me straight in the eye. And it wasn't your fault - seeing as the whole day had been a mess - but that was the last straw. I grabbed your hair and pulled you down on your knees. - You shameless creep. Who the fuck do you think you are? - I'm-- And before the word could come out of your mouth, I slapped you. I slapped you hard; the sound of it filled my ears. You sucked in your breath, surprised at the roughness of it… Of me being so mean towards you. Well of course, I spoiled you most of the time. But most of the time, you'd been obedient. You'd spelled my name right. You'd been careful not to look me in the eye. With your right hand on top of your cheek, I saw the memory of a smile on your lips. How far where you going to try me? Really. I bent down, putting my arms on my knees and looked at you. You stared at the floor, frozen and with your right hand still covering your cheek. I caressed the other cheek and grabbed your chin. - Look at me. Your big blue eyes looked up to me. I loved those eyes. Those eyes made me melt. And that's the reason why you weren't allowed to look at me, because I knew that with you staring at me, I'd want to spoil you more than you deserved. It wasn't right to do that, because you acted so stupidly. You needed the punishment. But now, those eyes made me more irritated. - You know why I brought you here, don't you? The dubious look in your eyes told me you weren't quite sure if you were allowed to respond or not. I wouldn't give you the satisfaction of answering that for you, so in the end you just nodded. Safe choice. - Who would do that kind of mistake? Really. My hands went to your hair - that beautiful brown hair, waving its way down through your ears and ending on your neck. My fingers closed around the brown waves and pulled your head back. I stared down on you and spoke close enough to your face for you to feel the smell of wine in my mouth. - Why are you that stupid? Haven't you learned anything? You closed your eyes. - Arthur, look at me. You didn't. You went as far as to deny direct orders. My voice must have hurt your ears when I screamed at you. - Arthur... OPEN YOUR DAMN EYES. So you did. And my frustration took over. It took me 2 seconds to rip open the buttoned shirt you were wearing, buttons flying away. I yanked it off you, I didn't care if it ripped, I just had to take it off as soon as possible. Then I grabbed your belt and pulled it out, putting it around your throat and closing it tightly around you. Without giving you a second to accommodate, I pulled you out of the entry hall down to my bedroom. You had to walk hunched down, in a very awkward way, to keep up with my quick steps. I heard you bumped on the stairs and probably hurt yourself, but I knew that what you had coming would soon erase the memory of that. The iron cuffs where the first thing I grabbed when I entered my room, and I tossed you on top of the bed. You tried to sit back up on your knees but I pushed you down on the bed and sat on top of you, pinning you in place. I pulled your hands together on your back and put the cuffs on and then I reached for the blindfold and made a tight knot on the back of your head. I stood still for a couple of seconds and finally I calmed down and leaned forward, pressing my elbows on your back. I grabbed the belt around your throat and tightened it, feeling you tense underneath me. Then I released it and you coughed a bit. I laughed. - I sure hope you feel comfortable. You'll need it. I got up on my feet and started pulling your pants down, along with the boxers covering your perfectly round ass. There were marks in your inner thighs from the lashings I'd told you to do on yourself earlier that day. I stood up and watched you on my bed, hands behind your back and blindfold. I pulled you back, so you had your ass on the edge of the bed and your legs on the floor. Then I grabbed what I'd prepared for you before you came to me. In my hands I now had a cable. Your typical lamp-cable, nothing special about it… The big plastic parts where cut out and I'd opened the cable around 10cm, so the copper wires inside where pointing out at all directions. I caressed your legs with it. - You know what this is? Answer me. - It feels like metal wires, Miss. - And this? Answer me. I rolled the cable a bit around your leg for you to feel it more clearly. - I don't know... Is it a rope? I giggled a bit. A rope would certainly be painful, but not really as painful. - You tell me, I said. And I lashed your ass in a fast movement. A short scream escaped your throat and almost immediately there was long mark on your porcelain white buttocks. No bleeding, though it was red enough for it to start bleeding any time. You panted like a dog and whimpered. - So, what do you think it is? Answer me. If you answer correctly... I might go easy on you. - Is it... A cable, Miss? - Ha, bingo! I said and lashed out again. Your ass and legs tensed up and your hands became tight fists. I could see you had your teeth pressed together. - Since you answered correctly, you'll get a present. We're only gonna have a short lesson. You know how to spell my name, right? Answer me. - Yes, Miss. - Spell out my name. Do it now. - A. N. T. I. K. A. - Very good, I said as I caressed your ass and your balls lightly. See? That makes me happy, when you show me how smart you are. Now, each time I hit you, you scream the right letter. I'll show you one time first, then you do it - Yes, Miss. And so I raised the cable - A! N! T! I! K! A! After the sex lashings, your ass was reddening considerately. - Alright, Arthur. Your turn, are you ready? Here we go. Afterwards, your ass was a red mess and some of the lines were building minimal drops of blood. I got down on my knees, feeling so proud of you keeping your mouth shut after having spelled out my name not once but twice. I kissed your ass and licked the drops of blood away. It felt hot and you relaxed when my tongue worked its way around the whole surface of your buttocks. I pressed my cheek against your round lovely ass and smiled. - You've been good. I hope you've learned how to spell my name now, and you don't do the same mistake again. I gave you one last slap on your thigh and got up to remove the blindfold and the cuffs. Under the blindfold, your eyes were wet. The belt was still around your throat so I removed it too. I pulled you out of the bed and immediately you sat down on the floor, knees wide apart, arms behind your neck and I noticed you were much harder than I had expected you to be. I looked down on you, my beautiful Arthur, and smiled. - You can relax. You crouched down and your arms fell to his side. You were careful enough not to sit on the floor though. I put my hand near your mouth and you automatically began kissing it. - You can talk and look at me. Tell me how you feel. Your blue eyes searched mine. - I'm thankful, for the Miss has taught me not to make a fool of myself. Thank you, Miss. - You've been good. I think you deserve a prize. I shrugged off my skirt and stood before you in my pantyhose, wearing no underwear. - You're allowed to smell me and lick me on top of these pantyhose and you are allowed to touch yourself until you come. Afterwards, we are going out so I expect you to bathe me 'til I am as clean as I can be, understand? Answer me. - Yes Miss, thank you Miss. I lay back on my bed and watched you crawl towards me. You spread my legs carefully and settled between them with a moan. I smiled, put my right hand in your hair and relaxed. Antika, 05-10-12 >And my dear Arthur is always on my mind.<</blockquote> And the prologue for it all: <blockquote>Between Arthur & I Prologue This is everything in me. This is the things I think I’d love to do to you, the things I’d love to see you do, the things I can’t get out of my head. This I wrote for you, to remind you of some things and to inspire you in others. This is my perversion but also my love letter to you, because I know many will feel that they understand but they won’t feel connected to me in the same way you will. Even though I write about all these different scenarios, I want you to know that for me there’s nothing as beautiful as your tears or your cold face all red in the winter. I love it when you’re mad or sad, when you’re showing so much emotion that you can’t keep it in. And since I know I am the one that can make all that emotion show in you by doing the things I do, I love the things I do to you. You feel towards me. I’ve seen it. Not only the reactions of your body when I treat you the way I do. I’ve seen the anger, the helplessness, the pain, the sorrow. Since those feelings are towards me and because of me, those feelings are mine. Oh, your feelings are so strong… Our feelings are everything we are. A human is and he lives and breathes, but that is all a big possible lie. Yet what we feel is most real, is the actual act of feeling. We are our feelings, they build us up. So you, my dear Arthur… You are mine.</blockquote> I was gonna keep writing on it but I started on a Swedish story instead which is much more appreciated because it's male dominance and the ones reading the stories are clearly mostly submissive women. Sigh. Oh well.

Abra on "The Writer's Thread"

Abra — Thu, 14 Jun 2012 01:20:26 +0000

<blockquote><cite>aneko said:</cite> You're the writer. Do you think that you are? </blockquote> Not sure, i'm reworking the story atm but I'm still on the first page. Besides grammatical errors I'm interested to know if you found the story interesting, suspenseful, etc. Most importantly does this get you interested in reading the next part (I want this to be the first part of a series)?

คภєк๏ on "The Writer's Thread"

คภєк๏ — Thu, 14 Jun 2012 01:13:33 +0000

You're the writer. Do you think that you are?

Abra on "The Writer's Thread"

Abra — Thu, 14 Jun 2012 01:11:05 +0000

<blockquote><cite>aneko said:</cite> Your tenses need looking at. </blockquote> Do you mean to say that I'm mixing up the past and present tense?

คภєк๏ on "The Writer's Thread"

คภєк๏ — Wed, 13 Jun 2012 06:03:16 +0000

Your tenses need looking at.

Abra on "The Writer's Thread"

Abra — Wed, 13 Jun 2012 05:53:46 +0000

.Truth. (1st draft of part 1 for my upcoming series <Hu/rt3 ) Truth. Everyone is afraid of it, yet for some reason we can’t stand to see the absence of it in others. pointing out the “fakes” and the “liars” allows us to take a stance. It’s like we’re standing out and screaming to the world “You can’t hide your shallow falsities and you’ll never be true enough to know mine!” While the world takes its stand one by one, I just sit back watching. From where I sit, all this blind masturbation for their egos seems as stable as a house of cards. Every joker that decides to gamble with the game of life will sooner or later watch as another person side swipes their house of cards. Whether it’s friends who realise that they never saw each other on equal ground or a boss who finally understands that the respect he gets from co-workers is only as valid as the title he holds. To them the world is black and white. To them I am a freak for living in a shade of gray. The interests and feelings that those standing people have are foreign to me. It’s not all bad though, it’s really quite comfortable where I sit. “Chh, she acts like that desk is a throne.” “Her posture does seem very queen-like now that you mention it.” Of all the seats in class I have the awkwardly sized one. It was made for someone taller than me. It also doesn’t help that my chair is the only the one colored red among the sea of blue chairs. I don’t hate it though. Actually, I find the irony to be a little bit funny. “Look at her, she’s even snickering to herself. If I was crazy like that I’d at least hold a book or something so people could figure that I’m just laughing at the content.” “Haha Yeah. That reminds me, you won’t believe what my brother was watching this morning.” Mornings are when I feel the freshest. Oddly enough the period from around 6:00 am to noon is the time I hate the most. The awkward atmosphere of the hallways and the classrooms everyday is thickest in the morning. It’s a suffocating haze. Everyone shuffles into school trying to see through the haze to find someone they recognize. Someone they feel comfortable with. Maybe that’s why I have glasses. I tried too hard and too long to find someone that never showed their face. The strain became too much and I just stopped looking. “She’s probably snickering about us. Girls like that hate girls like us.” “Gee Marla, I sit with you girls every morning but I didn’t think that made me one.” “Carter, you know I wasn’t referring to you.” Those kids are laughing again. It’s the same every morning. The same kids diverge into their same groups. The topics are always different but the conversation is dry all the same. I’m no different really. I sit here watching them with my thermos of coffee. If someone looks at me I’ll take a sip. It always burns my tongue but it’s better than burning with anxiety every time someone stares at me. I think it is time for a sip of coffee, that girl next to Carter keeps looking back at me. “You think she even knows our names?” “Who knows, I can’t really say that I’ve heard her talk yet.” “Talking with her would be super awkward anyways. I bet she’s into really creepy stuff like ravens and skulls and stuff.” “Only one way to find out.” The girls who were gossiping a few desks away collectively donned puzzled expressions. The center of attention for their group, Carter Painter, rose from his usual seat. He lightly brushed some specks from his dark khaki pants and started moving. Moving towards me. I tried not to make eye contact as he weaved through the desks approaching mine. He was wearing one of those Nike shirts that has an inspirational phrase on it. It’s a must have for douchebags. Especially the athletic ones. He positioned the seat that was in front of my desk backwards and sat down. I hate when people do things like that to try and emphasize how cool they are. “Hi there.” My thermos was halfway to my lips when he spoke. I have two options. I could ignore him and continue drinking or I could say hello. For the first time since the school year began someone actually took the initiative to greet me... Maybe this is a chance to make a friend. I bring the thermos up to my mouth and savor the coffee as it slowly trickles down my throat. He just sits there unphased by how I’m ignoring him. “That must be good coffee; Starbucks or from home?” I lower the thermos slowly and place it silently on my desk. Our eyes make direct contact for the first time ever. I wasn’t prepared for anyone to bother me this morning. My mouth puckers as I fold my arms and cross my legs. Classic defensive body language. His response? A quote from yesterdays history class in a playful tone. "Mr. Coolidge, I've made a bet against a fellow who said it was impossible to get more than two words out of you." His quote was from a dinner party that President Calvin Coolidge attended. This was no extension of friendship. It was amusement. I guess even people like Carter get bored of living through the same type of morning ritual. Today he decided to try something new and talk to the quiet girl. I might as well humor him and give the correct response. “You lose.” A few kids in the classroom chuckled at our little roleplay. Everyone was paying attention. I am apparently interesting to them now. I extended my hand from beneath the desk to reach for my thermos but I stopped myself halfway. “And my name isn’t Mr. Coolidge.” “I know, I know.” He said with a joking grin. “You’re Sojourner Truth, right?” Yes, my name is Sojourner but I am by no means the 1840s black abolitionist that he is referring to. This joke wasn’t funny the first time I heard it so you can imagine how tasteless it became throughout the sixteen years I had to deal with it. “Ellins actually,” I replied, followed by a sigh. “I’m Sojourner Ellins. If you keep calling me Sojourner Truth i’ll report you for bigotry. Now is there anything I can do for you this morning?” My skin is a light brown but it is dark enough for me to play the race card. My skin is probably the reason they keep using that nickname. Nobody would nickname a white girl Sojourner Truth even if she had a similar name. I don’t intend to actually report Carter but if I do not make it clear that I am someone who’s better left alone than this might happen again. I do not want to deal with Carter or the others every morning. I’ll make him aware that this conversation is pointless. I’m sure he just came by in hopes that I’ll say something interesting that he can laugh about with his friends later. I’ll let him realise things will not go that way. Maybe then he’ll leave and let things become comfortably awkward again. “Ok, I’ll stray away from the nicknames from now on. Note taken. Unless of course there’s a nickname you prefer?” I paused. I’ll admit I was caught off guard. He didn’t show anger or annoyance from my threat. Sure it was just a petty one but nonetheless there should have been some reaction besides that! He must be trying to play with me. He thinks he’s so much better than me that he doesn’t even acknowledge my comebacks. “...Why would you need my nickname, it isn’t like we’re going to talk again.” “Well who decided that? It’s only the second week of our Sophomore year. We have plenty of time to get acquainted. I’ve never known a goth before, this’ll be fun.” I could feel something bottled up inside. Some hidden emotion that decided to poke its face out now. I swear I’ll kill the first person who says it’s love. Far from it actually, I feel almost...angry? “Her face is turning red.” One girl pointed out. I paid her no attention. My thoughts are split between dealing with Carter and figuring out what he wants from all this. He has about half the build of an NFL player but there’s more to him than your average muscle head. Am I thinking too much? Maybe I’m giving him too much credit. If this is a legitimate attempt at friendship, should I take it? “I don’t need you as a friend. No, that’s wrong, I don’t want you as a friend. Carters face finally showed that I was getting to him. Seeing him crack like that, seing his facade fall down, it gave me a rush. “I’ve been in all of your god damn classes for five years now! Not once did you say hello. Not once did you ask how my coffee was then and not once did you give a shit what my name was.” I can feel myself getting hotter. My face is burning. This isn’t anxiety. It’s something more. It feels like something is turning within me. No, that’s not right. It is more like something in me is...is... “I’ve watched you clown around with your douchebag friends for years and not once have any of you approached me. Not a single fucking one of you!!!” Igniting. His face was no longer cool and collected. His facial features were locked in sheer surprise along with the rest of the class. I’m burning up inside. I need an outlet. I need something to vent out all of this- this whatever it is. IT NEEDS TO GET OUT. “…” The classroom stared at me, unblinking. My arm was outstretched. My body was awkwardly positioned like that of a baseball pitcher who just released the ball. A shriek of pain came from a girl across the room as her knees buckled to the ground. My thermos was missing from the table. I noticed it lying next to the girl. I also noticed the scalding coffee all over her body. Her white skin was scorched red. A dozen kids ran over to the girl. Rhetorically repeating “Are you hurt? Are you alright?” My body slid back into upright position. I’m shocked just as much as the others are. Everything is spinning. I’m not sure what just happened. My legs feel light and weightless as if someone replaced my muscles with feathers. I made a dash for the door though the desks slowed my progress. It was more of an impatient walk. “The fuck is wrong with you!” A girl hissed at me. She grabbed my arm as she said it. I kept walking forward shaking off her grasp. I didn’t look back. The light feeling had made its way to my arms now. Opening the door felt heavier than before. With one foot placed in the hallway I heard something that made my ears ring. Among all of the pain-filled whimpers, among all of the are you hurt’s and the are you alright’s I heard Carters parting words to me. “You know, you could have been the one to approach us.” I stumbled through the halls until I found my way into the bathroom. I need to calm down. I need to get a hold of myself. The blue and white tiled wall was cold against my back as I gripped the wall. My body won’t stop panting for air. My brain hurts. I don’t know what’s going on anymore. The most puzzling symptom of all is this cold teardrop running down my face. Why...why am I crying?

Vespertine Aspergerian Nincompoop on "The Writer's Thread"

Vespertine Aspergerian Nincompoop — Tue, 12 Jun 2012 16:24:41 +0000

This is fairly cool~ <a href="http://www.pixartouchbook.com/blog/2011/5/15/pixar-story-rules-one-version.html" rel="nofollow">http://www.pixartouchbook.com/blog/2011/5/15/pixar-story-rules-one-version.html</a> <blockquote> Pixar story artist Emma Coats has tweeted a series of “story basics” over the past month and a half — guidelines that she learned from her more senior colleagues on how to create appealing stories: #1: You admire a character for trying more than for their successes. #2: You gotta keep in mind what’s interesting to you as an audience, not what’s fun to do as a writer. They can be v. different. #3: Trying for theme is important, but you won’t see what the story is actually about til you’re at the end of it. Now rewrite. #4: Once upon a time there was ___. Every day, ___. One day ___. Because of that, ___. Because of that, ___. Until finally ___. #5: Simplify. Focus. Combine characters. Hop over detours. You’ll feel like you’re losing valuable stuff but it sets you free. #6: What is your character good at, comfortable with? Throw the polar opposite at them. Challenge them. How do they deal? #7: Come up with your ending before you figure out your middle. Seriously. Endings are hard, get yours working up front. #8: Finish your story, let go even if it’s not perfect. In an ideal world you have both, but move on. Do better next time. #9: When you’re stuck, make a list of what WOULDN’T happen next. Lots of times the material to get you unstuck will show up. #10: Pull apart the stories you like. What you like in them is a part of you; you’ve got to recognize it before you can use it. #11: Putting it on paper lets you start fixing it. If it stays in your head, a perfect idea, you’ll never share it with anyone. #12: Discount the 1st thing that comes to mind. And the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th – get the obvious out of the way. Surprise yourself. #13: Give your characters opinions. Passive/malleable might seem likable to you as you write, but it’s poison to the audience. #14: Why must you tell THIS story? What’s the belief burning within you that your story feeds off of? That’s the heart of it. #15: If you were your character, in this situation, how would you feel? Honesty lends credibility to unbelievable situations. #16: What are the stakes? Give us reason to root for the character. What happens if they don’t succeed? Stack the odds against. #17: No work is ever wasted. If it’s not working, let go and move on - it’ll come back around to be useful later. #18: You have to know yourself: the difference between doing your best & fussing. Story is testing, not refining. #19: Coincidences to get characters into trouble are great; coincidences to get them out of it are cheating. #20: Exercise: take the building blocks of a movie you dislike. How d’you rearrange them into what you DO like? #21: You gotta identify with your situation/characters, can’t just write ‘cool’. What would make YOU act that way? #22: What’s the essence of your story? Most economical telling of it? If you know that, you can build out from there. Presumably she’ll have more to come. Also, watch for her personal side project, a science-fiction short called Horizon, to come to a festival near you. </blockquote>

Vespertine Aspergerian Nincompoop on "The Writer's Thread"

Vespertine Aspergerian Nincompoop — Mon, 11 Jun 2012 17:57:45 +0000

<blockquote><cite>nEveR.Fly_ said:</cite> Wow Jaku! This response is one month late, but I really love what you've written. Great job~ </blockquote> Thanks, Nefly! ^W^ (And it's okay, I almost didn't notice your post ether!)

Mistress Antika on "The Writer's Thread"

Mistress Antika — Sun, 10 Jun 2012 02:24:56 +0000

Wrote this today. Dunno how correct it all is, but most of the poems I write are in Swedish so I had to give English a try. I appreciate it of you guys wanna give me some feedback. Here goes: The Game Why do we contemplate death? Or rather; why would you not? We live, we learn and compare But death is a mistery on it's own The choice was never ours to begin with Without our consent, we found us on earth It is only expected of us to keep living But do we not wonder about our fate? Some might fear the end The unpredictable closure Yet there are those expecting its embrace As if it were a known pleasure What are those moments of torment? The moments when I feel I could leave it all Without doubting for a moment That I would't miss what I had Those moments drown me Those moments cause me pain Everything feels massive All of it weights down on my chest You'd think that death was the dare But that is a lie Since life in itself is the game It doesn't even have a reason why. The moment we are born Is when life dares us to play Then we have won If we manage to grow old and grey Antika Inspired by Samuel Taylor Colerigde's "The Suicide Argument": <blockquote>Ere the birth of my life, if I wished it or no No question was asked me--it could not be so ! If the life was the question, a thing sent to try And to live on be YES; what can NO be ? to die. NATURE'S ANSWER Is't returned, as 'twas sent ? Is't no worse for the wear ? Think first, what you ARE ! Call to mind what you WERE ! I gave you innocence, I gave you hope, Gave health, and genius, and an ample scope, Return you me guilt, lethargy, despair ? Make out the invent'ry ; inspect, compare ! Then die--if die you dare !</blockquote>

Nefly on "The Writer's Thread"

Nefly — Tue, 05 Jun 2012 11:13:52 +0000

<blockquote><cite>Jakuryusei said:</cite> Hoodlum'ry </blockquote> Wow Jaku! This response is one month late, but I really love what you've written. Great job~

Mistress Antika on "The Writer's Thread"

Mistress Antika — Tue, 05 Jun 2012 09:20:43 +0000

Hey writers. Here's a chorus part for a song: <a href="http://soundcloud.com/antika/chorus-for-something" rel="nofollow">http://soundcloud.com/antika/chorus-for-something</a> If any of you are up to writing some actual lyrics, doo eet and send them to me so I can make it a real song.

sgt.Mango Garcia on "The Writer's Thread"

sgt.Mango Garcia — Thu, 19 Apr 2012 04:33:42 +0000

<blockquote><cite>Ninsheart said:</cite> I want you to do this and post the video here. </blockquote> Ultimately, I would endeavour to see all of humankind as having no true fault inherent to its design, but this is a little ways off. There are too many paths that human lives can led along, and try as I might I’m still the odd little “separate species” that can’t make eye contact without getting a headache... I guess for now I’ll just tinker with sci-fi cartooning until my computations are finished. It kinda seems odd here, maybe play around with the words a bit? It feels like you struggled to close the piece, causing the end to be a bit clumsy. Not claiming to be an English professor or anything; that's just how I sees it.

Nin on "The Writer's Thread"

Nin — Thu, 19 Apr 2012 04:04:11 +0000

<blockquote><cite>sgtmango said:</cite> Guess I should post this song I wrote here. When I got back to the internet; I saw POMF POMF POMF =3 on Nyanners' jewtube channel. Well I had to write a song for her. Gonna rip the instrumentals to "altogether ooky" by the bloodhound gang, and record over them. </blockquote> I want you to do this and post the video here.

Vespertine Aspergerian Nincompoop on "The Writer's Thread"

Vespertine Aspergerian Nincompoop — Thu, 19 Apr 2012 03:55:54 +0000

YAY! I only have 1 hour left to fiddle with this particular one so it's a little late for that, but next time it'll be in time to help maybe? (Btw, are you supposed to feel helplessly underqualified wile you're writing for school? I'm new to this.) *slump* ------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------------------------- Hoodlum'ry Perhaps all adventures are exercises in curiosity, and maybe by extension all mysteries act as channels that carry us down new paths in life. In hindsight, the girl that I will refer to as “mini-gamine” wasn’t a troublemaker for the sake of any malicious intent. In some respects she may have been at the forefront of maturity, but her knack for tapping into the curiosity of the other kids was borderline paranormal. Thinking back, I’m not entirely certain where she really lived. I never met her parents, but I knew her grandmother. She lived in one of those bizarrely tiny old people homes. I remember it painted uniformly white from top to bottom, embellished with elaborate lacy patterns carved into every available wooden surface, and in its front yard there grew a garden filled with innumerable flowers wrestling eternally with wild looking climbing plants. Part of my imagination could easily see the pygmy home containing more dimensions of space and time than is perceivable to my mortal vision, and it is from these realms that I naturally assumed mini-gamine had hailed from. She would just appear sometimes; Skipping across the street to our block when she caught us playing outside. My little brother, the neighbor boy, and I would often wander up and down the old sidewalks and back into the woodsy suburban yards behind the houses. We admittedly would pass through lots we weren’t allowed in sometimes, but it’s not like we meant to! We normally wouldn’t sneak into fenced off yards or anything! Perish the thought. Usually we were pretty good kids all things considered, however the boredom of restless children is a dreadfully hard thing to sate. At this time mini-gamine was probably around six, whereas my little brother and the neighbor boy were both four or five and I was mayhaps as old as eight. They were likely too young to understand that they were being led on, but thankfully as a world-wise older brother I could somehow sense the odd power that had supplanted our sense of morality. With a decisive resolve I “leapt” into action before mini-gamine’s moral conflictions could catch up; Clambering up the boughs of a tree and securing myself fastly in the knotts of its branches. Sanctuary! Nothing could get at me, and I wouldn’t have anything to do with the break-in that was underway on the other side of the vacant yard. Of course, it wasn’t like I expected them to actually get inside. For the longest time Mini-gamine and crew were just tossing pebbles at the glass. They were set on an easy point of entry, sure, but they were still just brats! How was I to know that they could lift a brick between them and hurl it through one of the windowpanes? My head was buried as they crawled inside over a windowsill of broken glass. It happened before I could think of a way to stop them. I had never encountered anything like it before in my life. Sure, nobody seemed to live in that old house, but there had to be some repercussion to vandalising it so brutally! Would our parents care about the house? They would most likely scold us for our behavior even if they didn’t care about it, but how badly would they punish this though? A slap on the wrist? A week without Calvin and Hobbes bedtime readings? Doubled homeschooling hours for a month? Hopefully it wasn’t too late to apologise! I couldn’t apologise for all of them though. No matter what I did they would still be guilty, and maybe by extension I would be guilty too? What if it didn’t matter that I wasn’t taking part, what if by allowing it to happen I was as guilty as everyone else involved? I’m embarrassed to think of how slow witted I was, but I really didn’t have an aptitude for understanding others. I barely spoke, and I couldn’t make eye contact with another human being if my life depended on it. The human animal was essentially alien to me, even my own little brother was incomprehensible. A creature that my facsimile worlds could never sway, just like the adults, or mini-gamine, or the neighbor boy. Retreating deeper into myself, I confronted the cold logic of my inner mind. Try as I might I found no clear verdict on how I might conduct myself in this situation, yet the computations had repeatedly come back to two main goals required by my fundamental morals. Firstly, it was my duty to individuals to make amends for anything unfortunate that may transpire, and secondly it was my duty to mankind to see to it that others commit no wrong doings in my presence. I really did wish that I had a plan though... all I could do was climb down from the tree and follow them inside. I did a fine job of demonstrating my infinitesimal charisma when I tried to tell them to leave. By some scrap of luck the house they were “exploring” was featureless on the inside, having been already stripped of all its furnishings, so I was able to resign myself to a patient waiting game as their low attention spans took effect. No further damage could be done. I had just started to relax when I heard a click from the front of the house. Apparently the home was still owned --barely-- and today was the day when prospective buyers of the property were showing up. There was no room to escape so I just calmly shuffled into the open with mini-gamine, my little brother, and the neighbor boy all coming up behind me to see what new adventure had befallen us. I am amazed to say that only two people were punished after the repairs were all paid for, and even then my little brother and the neighbor boy were only given solitary confinement for a few days. Somehow my parents believed in my honest intentions despite my inability to control the situation, on the other hand... mini-gamine somehow escaped as well; her grandmother spiriting her away into the other realm where she was to receive no scoldings for her runaway sense of wonder. Today I would like to believe my perspective is wider. Where once I saw mini-gamine as an eldrich monster, I have begun to see that humans are creatures of emotions outside of their conscious administration. I myself am subject no less, as my resentment toward her was guided by a need to protect myself and others from a supposed evil. Ultimately, I would endeavour to see all of humankind as having no true fault inherent to its design, but this is a little ways off. There are too many paths that human lives can led along, and try as I might I’m still the odd little “separate species” that can’t make eye contact without getting a headache... I guess for now I’ll just tinker with sci-fi cartooning until my computations are finished.

sgt.Mango Garcia on "The Writer's Thread"

sgt.Mango Garcia — Thu, 19 Apr 2012 03:52:10 +0000

Guess I should post this song I wrote here. When I got back to the internet; I saw POMF POMF POMF =3 on Nyanners' jewtube channel. Well I had to write a song for her. Gonna rip the instrumentals to "altogether ooky" by the bloodhound gang, and record over them. the music parts: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NQcwWZLzq1A" rel="nofollow">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NQcwWZLzq1A</a> the words: I Like you like an incestuos father (added a noticeable amount of syllables here, but that's not too much of an issue) why the fuck is that hope you're not bothered creepy is how I act your voice makes me finger myself in the ass I'm gonna come to your house on the back of a horse with a bunch of normalfags posting on tumblr Most of whom dislike weaboos like you girl the way your normal voice is gives me a boner like a loli's pubis Why would I wanna be friends? I'd scare you away with pics of my dick I'm gonna come to your house on the back of a horse with a bunch of normalfags posting on tumblr Most of whom dislike weaboos like you girl I'm gonna come to your house on the back of a horse with a bunch of normalfags posting on tumblr Most of whom dislike weaboos like you girl HNGGGG~*repeats* I click a link, another vid So I can go, jack off again *repeats*

giascle on "The Writer's Thread"

giascle — Thu, 19 Apr 2012 03:31:12 +0000

Sure why not

Vespertine Aspergerian Nincompoop on "The Writer's Thread"

Vespertine Aspergerian Nincompoop — Thu, 19 Apr 2012 03:29:09 +0000

Should I post my writing homework here for feedback maybe?

Envoy Loves You on "The Writer's Thread"

Envoy Loves You — Wed, 07 Mar 2012 16:05:12 +0000

No time for writing anymore. Too busy with RL stuff/work.

お茶 on "The Writer's Thread"

お茶 — Tue, 14 Feb 2012 23:48:39 +0000

envoy.. when are you coming back..?

Vespertine Aspergerian Nincompoop on "The Writer's Thread"

Vespertine Aspergerian Nincompoop — Thu, 09 Feb 2012 19:44:18 +0000

Speaking of doodling. This started as a fun little free writing exercise, but then I accidental made something halfway interesting. ------------------- Under blue, green, red, and yellow accented with vapid white; roots abound and blocking sight. Warmth creeps in on the air but the body is still cold. It lays, nestled amongst old coals with its seven marked siblings. The father is up early, singed, and awoken by the mother. To left the brother of dabbled briar patterns sleeps, his head tucked under his coals as if dreading the inevitable waking hours. To the right, the sister of black reed scorings dreams up reasons flick her tail; much to the displeasure of her sleeping partners. A shift among the knots of coils dislodges a pile of coals that go rolling out of the burrow with a clamour. Through the ground is felt a low grumble as the throat of a now-awake snakelet undulates. Its jaw is stretched and closed with a light wet smack. ------------------- My storytelling skills are budding at best, but I almost like what I've made... I just just have to squint at the right angle.

Uncommon0taku on "The Writer's Thread"

Uncommon0taku — Tue, 07 Feb 2012 17:05:48 +0000

Instead of trying too hard and attempting to write a short novel. . . which can kill your confidence if it occurs to you that all you've got is a wall of babling text. You can try again at simple things, like making short stories. But with story boards. Its the same method used when developing movies. While most movie story boards are basically rough sketches with notes written in & never fine finished to be actual strips of a comic. As a budding writer, you can make short strips with stick people or animals, like a comic. Ad in your dialog bubbles. sit back and then ad dialog. Then ad in notes about the environment they are in, surroundings, weather, props - car, bicycle, cat, railing, suitcase, wut ever. It would be like making a rough sketch for a short story of say 10 to 20 panels. When you're done tinkering with it, dialog and odd notes, you can use it for a refference when composing your story. Because you will have worked out the rough & tough parts. All you need to do is the fine tuning. Once you get the hang of assembling the structure and flow of your story you can stop using the story board concept. Unless you hit a wall again, just do another story board to work out the little things that is giving you a hard time. Its more of an aid to the creative process, and its nice to have for notes to back up your creativity. ^_^ Unless you start doodling, then maybe it would not hurt to just do a number of short panel strips 5-8. You might end up making a graphic novel. What ever works for you, as long as you are enjoying yourself. It isn't a chore, as it is a pleasure.

Vegio on "The Writer's Thread"

Vegio — Fri, 03 Feb 2012 21:15:27 +0000

smiles can, too~

Vespertine Aspergerian Nincompoop on "The Writer's Thread"

Vespertine Aspergerian Nincompoop — Fri, 03 Feb 2012 21:13:15 +0000

<blockquote><cite>StefanKinoshita said:</cite> I've haven't written anything properly in years. Anyone got any tips on how to get into writing again and how to get inspiration? </blockquote> Research can spark some inspiration sometimes. *shrug*

Mistress Antika on "The Writer's Thread"

Mistress Antika — Fri, 03 Feb 2012 06:25:16 +0000

Hopefully somebody PMs me soon 'cuz I need to write 2 songs 'til next week TvT

Nin on "The Writer's Thread"

Nin — Fri, 03 Feb 2012 06:04:55 +0000

Right when I thought this thread was going to be a disaster, Antika comes with a pretty cool idea.

Mistress Antika on "The Writer's Thread"

Mistress Antika — Fri, 03 Feb 2012 06:02:55 +0000

If anybody is interested in watching their poems become songs, then send me a PM. I suck at writing lyrics and I'm in serious needs of those at the moment! If I find the poem interesting I'll make a song of it. Don't be shy~

AFK Neko on "The Writer's Thread"

AFK Neko — Fri, 03 Feb 2012 03:00:51 +0000

<blockquote><cite>mere said:</cite> I think I will post something soon. M-maybe. </blockquote> Do it do it do it do it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Mere on "The Writer's Thread"

Mere — Fri, 03 Feb 2012 02:35:37 +0000

I think I will post something soon. M-maybe.

AFK Neko on "The Writer's Thread"

AFK Neko — Thu, 02 Feb 2012 13:35:12 +0000

<blockquote><cite>Neko_musume said:</cite> Huh. Didn't see this thread in the time I haven't been wasting on Sankaku Complex. Teehee. Anyway! I am a writer. Hear me roar. Ask me a question, or aim for the door. I have several college-level writing awards, and back in high school I was the leader of our unofficial poetry club. (The regulated one was controlled by a Crimson Tide-worshiping Nazi.) I have two completed novels, and hundreds of short stories and poems. The first novel, titled "Those Who Lurk in the Light", is a fictional tale of one man's gross under appreciation of life and its constructs. It is part satire of our current societal welfare, and part inundation of humanities values' in relation to the continuation of worldly adherence. Come at me bro~! </blockquote> Double-post = Bragging.

桂言葉死 on "The Writer's Thread"

桂言葉死 — Thu, 02 Feb 2012 13:23:49 +0000

<blockquote><cite>jollyafrican said:</cite> a </blockquote> ====== <blockquote><cite>triniking1234 said:</cite> Who The Fuck Spelt His Last Name Wrong? </blockquote> ====== <blockquote><cite>mere said:</cite> The guy who spelt in and peace wrong. </blockquote> ====== <blockquote><cite>Neko_musume said:</cite> Who the fuck thought Bob Marley was Jimi Hendrix? </blockquote> ====== <blockquote><cite>hikikomori1969 said:</cite> Who the fuck thought Bob Marley died in 1999? </blockquote> ====== <blockquote><cite>Neko_musume said:</cite> Who the fuck cares? </blockquote> ===== As you all can see... it was a - complete fucking failure - in all respects!

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