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lofi
Apr 2, 2018



Hey all, just a heads up that we now have a general chat thread, come chat generally.

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lofi
Apr 2, 2018



Yeah, count me in. Team doggy style.

lofi
Apr 2, 2018



Fumblemouse posted:

For Buffy, wherever she is.

Reboot in process. 'Yay'.

lofi
Apr 2, 2018



Prince Rupert's Drop is my new wrasslin finisher. And/Or my new sex finisher.

lofi
Apr 2, 2018



The Curse of the Werenewt [593 words]

Tiny huntress hides bright-eyed under a crimson-ochre leaf canopy. She doesn't move, doesn't stretch catlike in appreciation of the night's cool dampness against her smooth skin, doesn't do anything foolish to betray herself - the urge barely flashes across the back of her mind. Patient rain hangs in the air tonight, tickles the dried leaves and lures soft crawling things from their mudbank lairs, and the fat moon makes them easy to follow.

But they are intimately aware of their own deaths, these soft morsels, ever tense with the impulse to run, and so she lies in wait under the leaf. She will wait motionless for as long as it takes. A thing will come, and she will lunge. She is not tense, not excited, she just is.

The moon moves a little in the sky, and her sensitive ears pick apart the layered sounds of forest night like greedy ants, sorting the chitters of food things she cannot reach, the hoot of a distant danger. The tiniest whisper of a leaf stands out from the rain's play, and when it repeats she can follow it's location. A third time, and she snaps into lithe motion.

A young hopping-thing, like her but much smaller, weaker, and with no defence but its speed. It hears her, as she knew it would, and it bolts.

If it reaches the stream it will certainly escape, but if she can catch it before then... The little thoughts tickle at the back of her mind, but she pays them no more attention than the wind in the branches above them. Irrelevant. Ignored. Her focus is absolute.

They crash through the leaves, the froglet launching itself forward in great bounds, her undulating across the ground, lithe tail balancing her powerful legs. It moves faster than her, but in short bursts. Her motion is graceful, fluid, constant. It dives ahead, gains ground which she snatches back, it dives again and she closes a little more. It leaps, tries to, but a twig slides under one of its paddle feet and it sprawls awkwardly and she is on it before it can recover. Tiny jewel teeth tear thigh-meat, back-meat, its legs spasm uselessly and it is hers. She swallows it down, feeling its dying twitches in her belly, and the copper warmth, and she is exalted in her victory. United with the scratchy-thoughts for once.

Gunshot crash from above, and she is all motion again, running from the flying death. But she is heavy from her feast, and the thoughts are shouting and confusing her and her whip-crack speed isn't enough this time. Sword talons each the length of her leg impale her and she has no footing and no possible way she could even begin to fight the monster that smashes its axe-beak into her neck and tears chunks from her and swallows.

And then red darkness.

And nothing, and nothing, and nothing forever and then white-hot pushing through every single one of her too-small veins and gristle wet sounds.

Wind now, burning cold against raw new nerve-endings. Bones knit themselves together from nothing. Legs, arms, reaching for holds that aren't there. Coughing, gasping, hauling in precious air. Consciousness blooming like ink on wet paper.

I open my eyes and I'm me again, human and whole, hauled from death's snatching fingers yet again by the multiplied regeneration of a newt and a werewolf.

And my first coherent thought is loving hell did I just explode out of a bird, and my second one is oh gently caress me it was flying.

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lofi
Apr 2, 2018



Uranium Phoenix posted:


The Curse of the Werenewt
Initial Impressions: Evocative, lots of adjectives. Okay, waiting, hunting. Iím assuming the huntress is the werenewt, so a bit obtuse to hide it. Boy, huntís taking a bit, I expect a curse soon. Well, no curses, only hunt. Deus ex ending.
Story Success: This is a story all about predator-prey and The Hunt. The title threw me off. I was expecting a curse, but you meant that just being a werenewt is a curse. But given the supreme regeneration, doesnít seem all that bad. At the same time, the title mentioning werenewts is a blessing and a (lol) curse. Without it, the end would be a lovely twist. With it, it sort of spoils the end. Without much plot and essentially no characterization, the nice descriptions have to carry the story entirely. Theyíre nice descriptions, and I can certainly visualize this hunt, but I think this story needs more than just a prolonged hunt. I like the swap of third to first person. I feel like the human portion of the dual mind needed a part in this before hand. The ending is something of a deus ex: She is saved through total inaction, merely because of an ability she possesses but does not consciously control. Presumably, the newt is hunting by instinct, so this is the Ultimate Passive Character, and I donít think this is a good ending. Youíve got plenty of words left, and I think you needed to use at least some of them.
Other notes: I would not describe a descending, uh, owl, probably, given that itís night, as a gunshot. Thereís also a bit too much of going inside the newt mind. I donít see any advantage to calling it a Ďyoung hopping-thingí over a frog, especially given how you call it a froglet later.
Did U Read The Prompt: Well, yeah. Itís entirely about the werenewt and nothing else. Not even the person.
Rating: 4.5

Thanks for the crit! Soon as I'm less hellish-busy, I'm well up for trying again.

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