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flerp
Feb 25, 2014

I DON'T ALWAYS
HERDY DUR MUR FLERP FLERPITY
FLOOPIN
BUT WHEN I DO
I YER DER FLERPITY
THURN DER DERMIN
BORK! BORK! BORK!







wizard me

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Sitting Here
Dec 31, 2007


BLO OD E M PR E SS

of

THUDNER-DOME







I'm using a RNG to assign these.

flerp posted:

wizard me

You got wizard 47 - You can steal tears, laughter, whoops of joy, cries of anguish, and any other expression of pure emotion, and shape them into magic or charms. Unfortunately (or fortunately), you also take the accompanying emotion from your donors.

Chernobyl Princess
Jul 31, 2009

It has long been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important.

:siren:thunderdome winner:siren:



Omega Round 3
Spin: birthdaytar!

Sledding
198 words


Twelve years old and crunching through half-inch-thick layers of ice at night. Thirteen tomorrow and falling into knee-deep drifts below, dragging or carrying your sled up the dark hill to the run your parents picked out in glowsticks, shining like an arcade.

The hill is steep, you struggle to climb it, every step fills your boots with powder. You laugh and sneak more candy from your pocket to your lips. You finally reach the top of the hill and look down. Everything is limned with ice, turning the town into an expanse of cut crystal.

The new moon is a pit of blackness against a backdrop of stars so bright you can’t pick out a constellation. The ice shines the sky back at you, it's near midnight but you can still see. You dive onto your sled, face first, and let gravity take you.

The wind in your ears and the crackle of ice are the only sounds worth hearing.

At the bottom of the slope you roll onto your back and look at the sky, brighter, deeper, more complex than anything you have imagined. You are colder than you have ever been and near delirious with joy.

Chernobyl Princess
Jul 31, 2009

It has long been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important.

:siren:thunderdome winner:siren:



Wizard please
Also spin me if we're still spinning

Staggy
Mar 20, 2008

Said little bitch, you can't fuck with me if you wanted to
These expensive
These is red bottoms
These is bloody shoes



Omega Prompt #3 - The Wizard
237 / 250 words
Wheel: Nope!

The wizard mutters a spell and conjures warmth, as thick and golden as honey, from the 4-bar heater. The workbench is a secret world above you until giant hands raise you up to the edge of the worn, cold wood. Calloused fingers steal your nose and muss your hair and guide your eyes to the centre of the bench.

Tools, picked with a wizard’s trick from a bottomless toolbox, surround the old TV remote. The wizard nods and pulls back the plastic cover; spills forth the remote’s secrets. They point and you look but you can’t understand, only watch, as the deft touch of a metal pen makes the metal hiss and flow. They breathe life back into the remote.

The wizard makes you hot Ribena on the stove and rubs their cheek against yours, scratching you with salt-and-pepper bristles until you laugh so hard you can barely breathe. As you drink, they whistle a tune that makes your mum blush and scold. You try to whistle it too but the notes come out wrong - the wizard doesn’t mind. Just laughs and hugs you tight. You smell sawdust and burnt plastic.

They carry you back to the house in the crook of their arm and point out the rising moon. You grip tight to their woollen hat and wonder when you’ll be old and wise like them, with all the secrets of the universe in your head.

Staggy
Mar 20, 2008

Said little bitch, you can't fuck with me if you wanted to
These expensive
These is red bottoms
These is bloody shoes



In for #4. Wizard me and spin me.

J.A.B.C.
Jul 2, 2007

There's no need to rush to be an adult.




I think this week was one of my first HMs. So you better bet that I'm gonna Wizard Up for this one!

Also in for another spin.

a friendly penguin
Feb 1, 2007

trolling for fish



Omega prompt #3 – Wonder

Art
248 words


Maple tree seeds helicopter from branches, tracing seamless circles until alighting within concrete cracks. Cicadas whine in harmony with leaf blowers, symphonizing the vicinity. My neighbors slam their windows with a tight shunk as they sequester themselves with silence.

I step into the backyard, in thrall to these perfections.

A crimson cardinal shrieks in the mulberry, each call bursting into the air, luring me and a soft-feathered mate. I sit so as not to interrupt the ritual and become a hill for ants to traverse on their forage. Their legs and antennae circulate with intention, setting down paths in care of them and their future selves. Who am I to disrupt their wavy way? Instead I watch, wide-eyed.

The grass and crabgrass and clover and chickweed stretch up and out in directions of least resistance. Each develop symmetrical flowers, emanating intricate perfumes too subtle for proper appreciation until their stems reach level with my nose. Insects swarm among the stalks, acting out singular dramas and transformations.

I become an anchor point for spider webs that shine in sunlight and glisten in moonlight. The white paint on the cedar fence peels in perpendicularity, curling in a golden ratio of gravity. Rats weave in and out of my feet, twitching their noses and relishing the overgrown bounty of the backyard.

Musical knocks resound. The landlord announces she is here to evict me unless I enact my will upon these wonders. I remain seated, accepting my place as witness not judge.

a friendly penguin
Feb 1, 2007

trolling for fish



In for prompt #4. Wizard please and #spinthewheel!!!!!

My Shark Waifuu
Dec 9, 2012





Week 521 Results

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8a-HfNE3EIo

This week was truly the Olympics of Thunderdome, with strong entries all around. The judges were impressed with all of you. We evaluated the stories on their technical and artistic prowess, and some rose above the others.

But not everyone can be a winner. The loss this week belongs to Sonny with Joyce and Sanchez. Still, last place in the Olympics is nothing to sneeze at, we hope to see you again.

And now, our podium!

🥉 It was a photo finish for bronze, but Thranguy with Planet Cornhole edged ahead of the others with humor and heart (and Elvis).

🥈 For technical excellence in capturing the moment, MockingQuantum with Fumikomi-ashi wins silver!

🥇 Our gold medal winner, and Blood Empress for another decade, is Sitting Here with But, so, the cactus. Elegant, great prose, and baseball. Please imagine a flag and national anthem of your choice, and take a victory lap.

MockingQuantum
Jan 20, 2012





Omega Prompt #3
The Brass Key
249 words


The pocketwatch was tarnished from decades of caring hands, its delicate carvings worn by decades of uncaring time. I saw the magic in it and bore it home in a velvet box, nestled like a clockwork egg. On the oak floor we sat, the watch and I, and with a twist of its stem we careened through time, watching the wooden planks dissolve away into history, reconstituting themselves into looming giants that wove themselves into a sheltering canopy. I walked among the dappled shadows cast by their divaricated limbs, tracing the twisting topology of light and dark on the forest floor as the branches above insinuated themselves through the worm-tracks of decades, rewinding growth from sentinel to sapling.

With another twist of the watch stem, the trees shot up, then fell and bent themselves to man-made shape, first my lowly cabin, then an ant-colony sprawl of industry. First humble cottages, then brick brownstones, then concrete skyscrapers spread across the now-open plain as the seasons shifted from green, to brown, to white, and again to green. I turned the watch stem, wielding time like a sickle, to reap down the towering monuments of civilization.

Another turn and time stretched out its wings into epochs beyond the reach of mere humans, and the stars danced on cosmic scale, flaring and dying out, until a sole primordial darkness spread across the sky. I hung there, alone, for minute-ages, waiting.

A lone pin-hole of light grew before me, and exploded in inconceivable beauty.

MockingQuantum
Jan 20, 2012





In for prompt 4. WIZARD ME

SPIN ME

WITNESS ME

PhantomMuzzles
Jun 23, 2022

It's a puzzle.


Week 522 Ladder Prompt #3
Flash Rule: Your story exists during some sort of countdown
Wheel Spin: Birthdatar. I don’t really know what this means. My avatar needs to be Mothman. Can he just wear a birthday hat? Maybe a bloody one to make it Thunderdomey?

Proscenium Lights
244 Words

I run one hand along my upholstered seat, the red velvet fabric worn and faded. My other hand grips my ticket stub, freshly torn by the usher. I can feel the small hole in the corner, evidence it has been displayed prominently on my corkboard for months. I have looked at it every day, dreading news the production would be canceled. But by luck or by magic, the show will go on. I carefully place the ticket stub in my program, my tangible souvenirs of this evening of spectacle.

I am hypnotized by the proscenium lights. How I have missed them. For two long years, this space has been dark and hollow. Now each bulb shines brightly, a chorus line illuminating the stage. They form a glowing picture frame encompassing the heavy draped curtain. They are a liminal barrier that divides our mundane reality from theatrical delights.
.
The house lights dim, and enthusiastic ushers encourage patrons to take their seats. The proscenium continues to shine brightly. My anticipation grows, and I imagine the actors backstage, hurriedly taking their places.

The music swells, and sweeps us along together as we are transported. After years of isolation, we are united here in a singular mood, a sacred expectation. We will commune in these perfect moments together.

The house lights fade to black, and the proscenium lights follow suit.

The audience draws a collective breath and falls into a reverential silence. The curtains open. The show begins.

PhantomMuzzles
Jun 23, 2022

It's a puzzle.


I'm in for Prompt #4! My shopping list:

1 wizard
1 flash rule
1 spin

The Saddest Rhino
Apr 29, 2009

Behold my brain the golden throne of my consciousness. In here I am seated. Shackled. From here I police the land.



Screaming Idiot is on probation, and this is his entry:


Screaming Idiot posted:

So here's my very bad and small-brained Thunderdome contribution from me, a dumb person who is stupid:


A [wraith] agonizes over [food empire]

The Man with the Pantry Keys
1000 words max, 992 words used

Stomach twisting with anxiety, Bernice walked through the drab hallway from the company café, trying to avoid looking out the windows – what little there was to see wasn’t worth looking at.

She knocked at the office door, then came a simple reply: “Come in.”

Bernice opened the door and stepped inside, closing the door behind her with a soft click. No loud noises – no need to draw attention.

The elderly man working at the desk didn’t seem to notice her at first, absorbed in the piles of paperwork before him. A computer sat on the desk, long disused. Older electronic equipment no longer functioned, but it didn’t make sense to Bernice why someone in Mr. Walter’s position didn’t have one of the newer Noise-shielded models.

Walter looked up at her with a smile, the wrinkles on his face folding in on themselves to make room for the expression. His face was nearly as gray as his hair, but then again ruddy cheeks were a thing of the past. “Old habits die hard, dear. Never got the hang of these things, and you never know when the Noise will shift and muck everything up again. But pen and paper is reliable. Old things, by and large, are reliable.”

“Mr. Walter…”

“Just call me Walter, dear.” The old man coughed and discreetly wiped the dark spittle from his lips with a tissue. “I’m a worker, same as anyone. I keep things going.”

“Just a worker?” Bernice arched a brow, shaking off the gentle grandfatherly charm the old man radiated. “Mr. Walter, your family’s owned SolVita foods since the 90’s – well before the Noise hit. It operates and maintains the only reliable protein farms around. You control the flow of food for the entire island – don’t waste my time with false modesty.”

Walter sighed heavily and set his pen down and leaned forward. “Forgive me. How would you prefer your time be wasted?”

Though she knew her skin was as pale as anyone’s from the lack of sun, she was certain her color rose. She clutched her notepad to her chest as though to smother the truth. “You gave me the run of your farms. I’ve spoken with your techs, researched your methods, ran the numbers…”

Walter arched a bushy brow of his own.

“...and it doesn’t add up. There’s no way you can grow and process enough food to feed the island with the resources you’ve shown.”

Walter merely gestured for her to continue.

Clearing her throat, Bernice read her notes aloud, emphasizing every discrepancy. Walter looked up at her like an indulgent grandfather until she could take it no longer.

How are you feeding us all? All livestock died in the first Noise wave, and what rose up from their bodies definitely isn’t edible! All arable farmland is dead and rotting, fit only to grow poisonous fungus!” She slapped the notebook on the table, scattering the piles of neatly written forms. “We should all be dead!”

“Dear-”

“My name is Bernice Simmons! I’m not a child for you to fawn over!” She took in a sharp breath and closed her eyes to calm herself. “I’m trying to find the truth. I just wanted a fluff story about the hero whose company keeps the rations flowing without asking for a dime. What I found is a man whose every ‘suggestion’ to the island council is obeyed without question-”

Walter got to his feet and raised a hand. It wasn’t a command; his movements were slow and gentle, but they were firm. You said your piece; now I shall say mine.

“The simple answer is that the man with the keys to the pantry is the man with the most friends,” Walter said quietly. “If only simple answers sufficed. You wish to know where the food comes from?”

“I have my suspicions,” Bernice whispered.

“Dear-” Walter corrected himself. “Ms. Simmons. You fear I’ve made cannibals of you, don’t you? While it’s true my farms and factories don’t have the resources to make food to meet the stated demand of the populace, a simple review of your numbers would show that even if every man, woman, and child who passes on were to be processed into foodstuffs, we would still fall well below the minimum to fit the needs, to say nothing of respect for the dead.” For a moment he looked fit to weep, but he quickly recovered. “No. Since the Noise struck, and the sun vanished from the sky, and the world beyond our little island drowned in a sea of pitch, our capacity to wring life from the soil has diminished substantially. We subsisted on stored goods for a time, but even that ran dry.”

“What are you saying?” Bernice whispered, dread and confusion both plain in her tone.

“The Noise has done something… strange to entropy. Things no longer live or die properly. You work for the paper, don’t you? You’ve heard the rumors?” Walter coughed again, violently this time, and when he wiped his mouth on the tissue it came away black.

“My dear,” Walter said as comfortingly as he could, “we don’t produce enough food to keep us fed because very few of us need to be fed, but the truth has not yet been accepted by the public at large.

“Do you think yourself the first to learn this? It’s as open a secret as can be, my dear.” Walter sat back down and looked up at her plaintively. “In time, the polite fiction that defines us will be irrelevant. We’ve been using poisonous fungus to act as filler in the most recent shipments. Eventually those that yet live will cease to do so; calmly, comfortably, unwittingly. Finally, we can end this agonizing charade.”

Bernice’s heart should have pounded, body should have tensed, chest should have tightened. But she felt cool, physically relaxed. Her heart was still.

“Tell me, my dear,” Walter gently asked, “did you enjoy your lunch?”

QuoProQuid
Jan 12, 2012

Tr*ckin' and F*ckin' all the way to tha
T O P



Omega Prompt #3
Wheel Spin: Circle Game
No flash rule

Repair Job
249 words

You learn a lotta ‘bout people by what they got in the fridge. Some people, you know, got nothing but PBR and stale pizza that overload the insulator. Others got fancy vegetables that you don’t even see in grocery stores that mess up the evaporator.

There’s all sorts. They all got problems but, as a handyman, I’m only supposed to focus on the mechanical ones that take a toolbox to fix.

But every so often, I run into a Margaret Heller.

“Well, there’s your problem,” I say after an hour kneeling on the linoleum in a drab kitchen. “Your compressor’s clogged with unused wonder.”

Margaret, who’s been tryin’ to covertly tidy the place and make it seem respectable, stops.

“What?”

I lift myself. “Yeah, this kinda thing happens a lot in New York. People move with all these plans and then they don’t do nothin’. Clogs the appliances.”

She opens her mouth and then shuts it again as if I don’t see a distinct lack of knick-knacks and memorabilia. There’s no aquarium tickets. No polaroids of Coney Island. There’s not even a goddamn “I ❤️ NY” magnet.

I pick up my toolbox. “My advice? Do something nice for yourself. Watch some fireworks. See a Broadway show. Do something. So long as you’re stuck in here,” I gesture at the apartment, “poo poo’s gonna be clogged in there.”

She says nothing but she don’t need to. As I leave, she’s already looking for her coat. The compressor gives a small hum.

QuoProQuid
Jan 12, 2012

Tr*ckin' and F*ckin' all the way to tha
T O P



In for prompt #4.
Gimme a wizard
Gimme a flash
Gimme a spin

J.A.B.C.
Jul 2, 2007

There's no need to rush to be an adult.




I forgot to ask for a flash rule so please show my wizard the light.

Chili
Jan 23, 2004

college kids ain't shit




Fun Shoe

J.A.B.C. posted:

I forgot to ask for a flash rule so please show my wizard the light.

I'll just pull one from the can real quick.

At least one of your characters is a necromancer. This requirement should not be interpreted as a genre limitation.

Chili
Jan 23, 2004

college kids ain't shit




Fun Shoe

Hey you! Yes, you! The lovely person who has participated so far.

:siren: TOMORROW NIGHT IS A FREE FOR ALL WHEEL SPIN! :siren:

Nothing related to writing, just party time with me and my wheel! Want in? Ask for a spin. The only requirement is that you need to have participated at any point this week, and it's not too late to sign up!

See you all tomorrow night!

Also, here's the spinning for night 4: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PgSN2i8_W54

PhantomMuzzles
Jun 23, 2022

It's a puzzle.


FRIDAY PARTY WHEEL SPIN FOR ME PLEASE

MockingQuantum
Jan 20, 2012





Wheel Extravaganza Night #4 (Thursday) Results

Just a reminder, to collect on any prizes (basically anything that isn't a flash or word bonus/penalty or one of the games where Chili just gives you money) you need to successfully submit a story!

a friendly penguin
-Spin: Balance the stick, 15 seconds--Chili won! If only he'd had more champagne before this one...

Antivehicular
-Spin: Cardshark. Good effort, you were nearly there.
-Flash: Your character or characters have a crippling fear

Applewhite
-Spin: Find the Jack, someone picked #4 in your stead. Sorry, didn't win!

Chernobyl Princess
-Spin: Balance the stick, 20 seconds--You won! Those five seconds made all the difference, apparently.

J.A.B.C.
-Spin: Chili treat! Chili opened a very dangerous bottle of champagne and took way too big of a swig.

MockingQuantum
-Spin: Find the Jack, #8. Still no winner.

PhantomMuzzles
-Spin: Flashcan! Your flash is: Cowboy skeletons
-Flashrule: The five things you bring to a deserted island are...

QuoProQuid
-Spin: Dramatic Reading!
-Flash: A minor inconvenience becomes the catalyst for something major

Staggy
-Spin: Chili treat! Thanks to your sacrifice, Chili got some champagne. Did you, like, kill the wheel's dad or something? Wrong it in a past life?

Thranguy
-Hellcan! Your hellrule is: Your protagonist is named Rutherford and all their joints bend the wrong way

Uranium Phoenix
(Not from the wheel, but including it here for the sake of completeness)
Flashrule: someone gets their words in the wrong order, with cataclysmic consequences!

MockingQuantum fucked around with this message at 02:46 on Aug 5, 2022

Sitting Here
Dec 31, 2007


BLO OD E M PR E SS

of

THUDNER-DOME







RNG wizards

QuoProQuid posted:

In for prompt #4.
Gimme a wizard
Gimme a flash
Gimme a spin

You can draw power from blood. Blood given with the owner's consent is stronger, but blood taken by force is, sadly, more plentiful. Also, you're not a vampire JSYK.


PhantomMuzzles posted:

I'm in for Prompt #4! My shopping list:

1 wizard
1 flash rule
1 spin

You have power over joy itself, yet the world is often reluctant to accept your gift.

MockingQuantum posted:

In for prompt 4. WIZARD ME

SPIN ME

WITNESS ME

You can bend, shape, muffle, and redirect sound. You know how much of the world is hidden from our eyes. Whispers and songs are like clay in your hands.

a friendly penguin posted:

In for prompt #4. Wizard please and #spinthewheel!!!!!

You're the wizard of rhetoric, arguments, and deft turns of phrase. Your magic lets you see and manipulate the ebb and flow of any conversation, though people tend to react poorly when you use your power too drastically or obviously.


J.A.B.C. posted:

I think this week was one of my first HMs. So you better bet that I'm gonna Wizard Up for this one!

Also in for another spin.

You're the wizard of that ol' swamp magic. Fiddles in the bayou, will-o-wisp lights hovering over bogs. You can call dark, beautiful, or terrible things from the mud, loam, and stagnant water

Staggy posted:

In for #4. Wizard me and spin me.

You can bring your drawings and painting to life! However, you can't re-paint or re-draw them once you've done so, no matter how badly you want to.

Chernobyl Princess posted:

Wizard please
Also spin me if we're still spinning

You speak to the trees! And you can shape their wood with the power that flows through your fingers. Keep in mind though, the trees can speak back to you, and they aren't always happy.

Tars Tarkas
Apr 13, 2003


Omega Prompt #3
Wheel result - Birthdaytar

On the Way to Fuzzy Wuzzy World
226 words

The brochure was hidden among the dozens at the rack in the hotel lobby. Flipping through the procured advertisements, the carnival of colors promised hours of entertainment at Fuzzy Wuzzy World. Most of the rest were just dumped in recycling. The Statue was an afterthought, only five minutes out of the way on the Fuzzy route. They hurried ahead of the dark clouds, tumbled out of the car to see this statue. The great hero stood in the empty field, erected long before history by those long vanished, only the monument remained of their deeds. The daughter looked bored, the son tapped away on his phone, the mother frowned and went to wander in the field. The father stared, he could not look away. The statue grew large in his mind, he was lost in its eyes. He saw through the hero’s eyes. Centuries of history, lives of happiness and sadness. Good times and bad, war and peace. A people came together to build, to fight for freedom from tyranny, to create a great nation, and were destroyed by forces outside and in. An entire epoch in the blink of an eye. Lost in the splendor of what was. He didn't notice the rain starting until the mother tugged on his arm. The father was thankful the rain hid the tears. The statue continued to cry.

Tars Tarkas
Apr 13, 2003


In for Omega Prompt #4, give me a wizard! Give me a spin!

Sitting Here
Dec 31, 2007


BLO OD E M PR E SS

of

THUDNER-DOME







RNG wizard (I'm not really checking for dupes, but if you get a duplicate and want something else, I'll respin the rng. Only for folks who get a duplicate wizard, though. If you just don't like your wizard tough titties)

Tars Tarkas posted:

In for Omega Prompt #4, give me a wizard! Give me a spin!

You see the flow of information between people and things like a series of intersecting roads or rivers. You aren't all-knowing; rather, you see information when it's in transit between informer and informee. Sometimes, if you're very careful, you can dam or change the flow.

DigitalRaven
Oct 9, 2012

When I kill you with a motor-car, you should have the common decency to stay dead, you horrid little object




Gimme a FRIDAY PARTY WHEEL SPIN!

Yoruichi
Sep 21, 2017


Horse Facts

True and Interesting Facts about Horse




Flashrule: The first and the last sentence of your story must be almost identical, with exactly one word changed.
Hellrule: No items, fox only, final destination.


Big Day Out
690 words


The music reverberated through Xanthe’s feet, and she raised her arms and screamed. She was collapsed in the stands, she and her girlfriends having decided they were better off escaping the mosh pit before the headline act came on. Sarah grinned at her, pointed down at their seats and then gave her a thumbs up. It’s Metallica, Sarah had argued. The crowd is going to be mental.

Metallica. Xanthe looked down at the distant stage. The opening chords of Enter Sandman made her hair stand on end. The drums kicked in like an electric shock up her spine, and she felt the bass thump in perfect time with her heart.

Xanthe stood up. “I’ve got to go,” she yelled at Sarah.

“What?” Sarah shouted back.

Xanthe was already pulling off her jewellery. Dangly earrings were a liability. She zipped them into her handbag, yanked off her jacket and shoved the whole lot into Sarah’s hands. “Stay here!” Xanthe yelled, and gapped it for the stairs.

She ran down to the stadium floor, where the crowd eddied around the edge of the mosh pit. Xanthe took a deep breath, and plunged into a forest of black jeans and Metallica t-shirts.

She was at least a head shorter than everyone else. Why are bogans all so drat lanky? Xanthe pushed and wriggled, trying to get through the tiny gaps between people, yelling ’scuse me at sweaty armpits, to no avail.

Xanthe was stuck. She looked over her shoulder, but people were pushing on her back, so tight that she couldn’t even turn around.

I don’t even have my phone, she suddenly thought. It was in her handbag, along with her wallet, somewhere in the stands. What if Sarah and the others move before I get back? What if I can’t find them? Oh gently caress oh gently caress oh--

A stray elbow smacked into Xanthe’s cheek bone.

“Ow!” she squealed.

The elbow’s owner looked down, and Xanthe saw his eyes widen, surprised perhaps to see a skinny chick in a Led Zeppelin t-shirt (none of the Metallica ones fit her, okay) getting jostled behind him.

“Here,” he said, and bodily shoved aside the dude next to him to make space for her. With one hand on her upper arm he pulled her forward, then reached over her head and grabbed the shoulder of the guy in front of him, who looked back, saw Xanthe, and as if in response to some unspoken bogan code, stepped aside so she could slip through, getting her another row of people closer to the stage.

Xanthe could breath again. The mosh pit started jumping, and Xanthe was carried with it, her Dr. Martins barely touching the flattened grass.

“Ayyy!” Xanthe shouted as she popped out from between two people and straight into none other than her flatmate James.

“AYYY!” James returned.

He held out his fist for a bump but Xanthe leapt forward and hugged him. He was blushing when she pulled away, and she remembered that he one hundred percent fancied her. It was quite possible that Xanthe fancied James too, though she wasn’t sure whether that was just because she liked him liking her, or--

“This is my brother,” James shouted into her ear. The guy next to him waved at her.

Pretty hot too, Xanthe thought. She gave James’ brother a hug as well for good measure, and then both boys were making up, up gestures, so Xanthe grinned, hell yes, and let them hoist her onto their shoulders, one buttcheek on each, their hands firmly around her ankles.

A sea of moshers jumped and surged all around Xanthe. The stage was right in front of her. Hetfield wailed into the mic, pyrotechnics lit the sky, and the crowd went mental.

James wobbled underneath Xanthe. Her heart leapt and she grabbed the boys’ shoulders. James looked up, grinned, and gave her a thumbs up. Xanthe grinned back, then reached down and fist-bumped him.

The music reverberated through Xanthe’s soul, and she raised her arms and screamed.

Yoruichi
Sep 21, 2017


Horse Facts

True and Interesting Facts about Horse




In for prompt 3, gimme a wonderous wonderful flashrule, and I want to spin the wheel!

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









Yoruichi posted:

In for prompt 3, gimme a wonderous wonderful flashrule, and I want to spin the wheel!

Flash rule: 12 words in your story are in alphabetical order

The Saddest Rhino
Apr 29, 2009

Behold my brain the golden throne of my consciousness. In here I am seated. Shackled. From here I police the land.



LADDER PROMPT 1

Prompt: A :kimchi: agaonizes over :birdthunk: (1000 - 200 = 800 words max)

Transcript of Stream #25 of Channel “Korean Food Made Blasphemous” (798 words)

[Half-body view of smiling lady of Korean descent in a well-lit home kitchen, right hand holding a wooden spatula, gesturing at camera/viewer.]

Behold, sinners! For too long you have partaken in abject, wanton gluttony; for too long you have allowed the temple of your body stand befouled by filth! You limp and clutch your stomach, and cry, it hurts, ah, it hurts so! Yet you soon forgive yourself, you forget your foolishness, you throw yourself once again into that which hurts you most! You sin, and sin, and sin, you allow the disgraceful trinity of cholesterol and sodium and glucose roll in that hearth you call your belly, crawl and squirm through your intestines, disrepairing your body and rendering you weak! You roll around in bed and cry, oh, oh pain, why won’t you leave! You take antacid pills and declare them holy indulgences and persist once more, and cry once more! Sin! The muck of sin besmirches your flesh and your mind!

Do you weep and repent? Do you swear fealty and piety to good health? Do you wish to wash the sin of yourself and live a life of wellness? Would you subscribe to our patreon and for a price of US$5 per month commit yourself to monthly videos introducing good, wholesome meals that will not break your budget but still help you cook healthy, wholesome meals? Prostrate yourself, and in two simple clicks, enter this link and if you are a first-time user you get 20% discount up-front and 1 sample video you can stream, download and review at your own convenience! Remember to like, comment and subscribe!

Hark my words, and we shall begin with this simple kimchi recipe! This gives you more probiotics than those expensive Yakults, and also more delicious!

[Titlecard: Traditional Napa Cabbage Kimchi (통배추김치)]

[Full body video of smiling lady, with vegetables on kitchen island countertop and an onggi earthenware jar. She is holding a large chopper.]

First, take this white napa cabbage and allow it to understand the pain of being! Have it quartered, for its suffering cannot be less!

[Close-up of chopper smashing into cabbages, cleanly quartering them.]

[Video pans to smiling lady doing violent cabbage-slicing. Although blurry in the background, a green macaw can be seen hopping into view behind the lady on countertop with wash basins.]

Now, we spread pain in between the wounds!

[Close-up of salt being laid in between cabbage leaves.]

[Green macaw hops over to island countertop.]

[Donation notification.]

Thank you for your indulgences! We now let the cabbage sit in salty water, like the sea that drowns… Wandukong! Mummy is doing a cooking stream! You do not belong here.

[Green macaw chirps happily at woman, with little regard to her waving her large chopper.]

My apologies! My girl’s bird – Wandukong means sweet pea –

[New subscriber notification.]

Thank you – Wandukong, do not sit on mummy’s jar!

[Bird hops on onggi jar and chirps. It tilts its head and says, “wandukong”.]

[Several notifications of new subscribers.]

Wandukong, you are a being of pure innocence, but your naughtiness is bringing much frustration to mummy and mummy’s revenue stream! That is for demonstration later to mummy’s audience!

[Woman points chopper at camera/viewers. Bird looks at camera/viewers and says, “wandukong” again at a higher pitch.]

[More notifications of donations.]

Do not open the jar!

[Bird thunks beak at jar lid several times and chirps before saying “wandukong” again.]

Mummy will take you back to your cage, okay? Now we must behave like the saints, Wandukong, and allow Mummy to hold you –

[Woman puts down knife to reach out to bird, which snaps at woman’s outstretched fingers. It hops off the jar, back towards camera.]

Good, very –

[Bird spreads wings open and shouts, “wandukong!” before using it beak to push jar lid off. Jar lid falls off the countertop and a crash can be heard, indicating the lid can no longer be used.]

Wandukong! You agonized mummy’s kimchi! Bad bird!

[Bird hops onto now open jar of kimchi and starts grabbing cabbage off.]

[Donation and new subscriber notifications begins flowing in.]

Ok, you can have one slice but that’s it! Mummy’s feeling very uncharitable right now and may come upon you like a wrathful deity! Your knowledge of suffering of life may come hastily now! Wandukong, prepare yourself –

[Bird, with cabbage in beak, flicks its head to side away from woman, then quickly flicks head towards her, releasing cabbage. It lands right on her face over her eyes with a wet splat.]

Ahh! It's spicy! Wandukong! Ahhh!

[Notifications continue.]

[Bird looks at camera and says, “Wandukong!”]

[Stream cuts off to man in undersized tophat spinning a wheel, saying “You are the recipient of a 200 words deduction!”]


- - - - - - - - - - - - -


LADDER PROMPT 2

Prompt: Autobiography (1300 words max)

This Title Originally Referred to a Parody Song Making Fun of a Problematic Musician but Then I Found Out the Parody Was Performed by an Also Problematic Comedian, so I Won’t Name It I Guess, However if You Figured Out What This Song Was Before Reading This, Good for You. (Approx 1200 words)

“I have a surprise for you!” my housemate Roy said when he opened the door.

“I love surprises!” I said hatefully. I was very exhausted and just finished a grueling 10 hour of work at my first job, when I was still extremely junior and had to follow every instruction given by my then boss, even though they would later turn out to be bad and then he would throw me under the bus several months later. My finances were a mess and I had no choice but to have a housemate I was only vaguely friendly with at the time in order to make ends meet. We still talk but I never let him live this whole episode, which is being regaled, down.

He opened the door to my room. There were the pit-pattering of little feet, and then suddenly a tiny mongrel dog did an extremely high jump and pounced on me. I just managed to steady myself before cradling it against my chest.

“Isn’t it cute?” Roy praised, beaming with pride.

“Why the hell do I have a dog!” I enquired. I observed the dog was in my room, and not his. “Why is it in my room and why is there pee on my floor!”

“Because it would mess up mine, as evident in yours now,” he suggested with a sense of calm only achievable by monks self-immolating themselves to combat Chinese neo-imperialism. “Also, you do know we have a dog now! I sent you pictures of it on Whatsapp.”

The dog was licking my face. It was undeniably cute but also smelled of the streets. “You showed me photos of it in the streets.”

“Ah, and therein lies your folly! For I also sent you a photo of it in a large IKEA bag.”

“That was an IKEA bag?!” I thought it was just a blurry photo because Roy’s blackberry took impressively awful ones. “Is it not my IKEA bag?”

“I have named it Bumblebee, as it kinda looks like a bee, I think.”

“It does not look anything like a bee.”

“It has the colour of a bee.”

“Bees are not brown.”

“Regardless, it is so named.”

Bumblebee had now acquainted its teeth with all of my fingers, and its claws had sunk into the flesh of my shoulders. Weeks later, my shirt would tear at the parts where Bumblebee lay its paws on. Bumblebee’s stomach growled.

“You did not get dog food.” I stated without having to guess.

“I fed it white bread!” Roy said, feeling very good about his accomplishments.

“I honestly do not think dogs can live on carbs alone.”

“That’s why I spread peanut butter and Nutella on the bread!”

Therefore, Bumblebee puked on me.

It soon came to pass that the apartment building frowned on dogs larger than a chihuahua, which Bumblebee outsized. Parting with Bumblebee became imminent and unavoidable. Roy posted at pet adoption pages offering it as a “chihuahua hybrid”, which it clearly wasn’t.

I went to a monthly story-reading event which I was attending at the time. I asked the organizer to allow me to make a small announcement.

“Hello, I’m nervous,” I said to make myself more personable and allow people to be more susceptible to adopt this drat dog. “I am asking if anyone would like my dog. It is very cute, but my apartment building does not agree. Its name is Bumblebee.”

I showed a photo and everyone agreed that Bumblebee was indeed very cute.

“Please give us more details - your description would likely enchant us as you write well,” says an audience member.

My description went, “Bumblebee is, frankly, what I would describe as a poop machine.”

Interest in Bumblebee immediately plummeted, and it went unadopted that day.

“I don’t think it’s fair to call it a poop machine,” Roy proposed. “It’s more like a poop galaxy.”

“That makes no sense,” I said.

“It is full of poop and sometimes smears itself in it. My hypothesis is correct and unobjectionable.”

“Your hypothesis is noted and hopefully, forgotten forever,” I said with misplaced faith.

By some miracle, Roy’s online listing managed to attract a Celine, who is gullible enough to want a chihuahua mix which clearly was not a chihuahua mix. We were ecstatic, because we were already ridden with enough guilt the whole week calling up animal shelters only to discover none of them were no-kill. There was one which even said we could contribute money for the dogs’ coffins, and if we wanted, we could even donate more for other animals’ coffins! We politely declined.

There’s a story to Celine, which screws up the pacing of this autobiographical tale, so here’s a messy, easily-removable chunk in the swampy middle: Celine said she would take the dog subject to a few conditions, one of which was meeting her friend Jong who would introduce us to a “business opportunity”. Of course it was one of those MLM scams but because she was taking it at no cost to us, we thought we might as well entertain Jong, which turned out to be a terrible idea. Jong told us that we had to pay 50 bucks to attend a lunch with some supposedly important businessman, so we said fine. We drove to a hotel which would be derelict in 2 years’ time, entered the parking lot and reversed park. My rear window glass hit a hanging chain and shattered. But we still had to attend the lunch… which turned out to be packed food and the businessman wasn’t even there. We told Jong what happened, left and I spent 150 bucks fixing the glass. Jong bugged us for weeks for those 50 bucks until we paid him and blocked his phone number. Celine did get the dog though.

Returning to the then present, we called Celine. Celine asked some questions about Bumblebee and came to a crucial query that somehow escaped both our curiosities:

“Is the dog a boy or girl? I would prefer a boy.”

Roy and I looked at each other. “We’ll check and get back to you.”

Bumblebee was in the balcony eating what was left of my lucky bamboo, after having gotten sick of bread and canned tuna (the plant did not survive). Roy grabbed it by its front legs and I got hold of it by its hind legs. I sat down and Roy held the dog up vertically, so I could observe its abdomen and belly.

“Well?” he asked, unhelpfully.

“I don’t think I see nipples, but this is a puppy anyway,” I said, because I had no idea how puppy anatomy worked. I pushed my fingers all over its lower body trying to figure out whether puppy nipples are covered by dog fur.

“Does it have a cock? I bet it’s huge.”

“Puppies do not have huge cocks,” I said with very little conviction.

“Maybe you could ask its huge cock.”

I touched and held what I would later learn was Bumblebee’s sheathe. “…Maybe?” I rubbed it, my face inching closer.

Therefore, Bumblebee peed on me.

QuoProQuid
Jan 12, 2012

Tr*ckin' and F*ckin' all the way to tha
T O P



won't be there due to some scheduling conflicts but you can give me a special spin of the wheel tonight if you'd like

Yoruichi
Sep 21, 2017


Horse Facts

True and Interesting Facts about Horse




sebmojo posted:

Flash rule: 12 words in your story are in alphabetical order

Oh no I don't like this rule can I have a hellrule too please I'm sure that will make everything better

MockingQuantum
Jan 20, 2012





I would also like a special commemorative 10th birthday NASCAR-themed china plate wheel spin please

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









Yoruichi posted:

Oh no I don't like this rule can I have a hellrule too please I'm sure that will make everything better

Exactly one thing happens in your story

Staggy
Mar 20, 2008

Said little bitch, you can't fuck with me if you wanted to
These expensive
These is red bottoms
These is bloody shoes



Give me a Friday Night Party Spin, please and thank you.

Chili
Jan 23, 2004

college kids ain't shit




Fun Shoe

Tonight's wheel spin is being postponed to Sunday at the same time. See you all then!

Thranguy
Apr 21, 2010

Yes, the good words are gone.

Why are the good words gone?!




Omega 3
Hellrule:Your protagonist is named Rutherford and all their joints bend the wrong way

The Dancing Colonel's Wonder Show

249 words

Colonel Rutherford dances under the crystal dome. The strings are nigh-invisible now, in evening twilight, but you saw them at midday, when the sunlight caught them just so and the motes of dust that lit on the strings sparkled like simplistic constellations. You like it better before. You like to think of the Colonel dancing on his own. But the strings remain.

He steps, he dances, in place, but wrong. His knees bend backward. His head dangles from his neck. So wrong. There are a dozen other people in the audience, watching. Why don't they see it? Why don't they know? They're staring, silent, at the Colonel's cadaverous march. He tries to salute the portrait of General Washington but his arm just flails out, windmilling over his head and around, dangling mostly behind his back at the end.

There's a box, out behind the glass globe. You assume the strings go there, through a chimney full of pulleys and channels. It's where the puppeteer must be. When the show ends you go there, walking first, then running.

The door is ajar. The sign says 'no entry'. You barely touch the knob but it swings open.

The room is empty, full of knobs and pulleys and a mirror that reflects through complicated periscoping the stage. The Colonel dangles, still. Everything smells, strong and unfamiliar. Unpleasant. Chemical.

You touch one of the knobs, feeling the action in it. Your other hand hovers near one of the levels.

Colonel Rutherford salutes you.

Thranguy
Apr 21, 2010

Yes, the good words are gone.

Why are the good words gone?!




In for wizards, flash me too.

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The Saddest Rhino
Apr 29, 2009

Behold my brain the golden throne of my consciousness. In here I am seated. Shackled. From here I police the land.



Flash me re ladder 3 and 4

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