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Post by Aquos on Mar 24, 2017 17:12:02 GMT
Welcome to the brand new Official Thrive Writing Contest! This’ll be a monthly thing where, similar to the art compition, everyone can write any story for the contest. Every month, the winner for that round will be decided by a poll. If I particualarly like a story, but it somehow didn’t win, I’ll also give it an honorable mention. Rule’s For The Contest
I Originality does not matter. You are free to use an other users world (provided they give you consent) or an otherwise popular setting (e.g Star Wars). You can also write a realisitic story, set in the real world II Genre doesn’t matter. You’re free to write an epic High Fantasy, a realisitic Hard Sci-fi, or whatever. III Whilst humorous stories are allowed, ‘meme-y’ or otherwise low effort stories will be deleted by me or an other mod. If you think your story was high effort, you are free to PM me and explain your cause. In other words, you are free to write a story about a kind getting losted whilst playing Hide-and-Seek, but you can’t write a story about Doge’s and Sneks fighting an epic war of joke’s. Credit Where Credit is Doe: Main inspirations for this thing were: Skyguy98 ’s ‘A Day In The Life’, tammio ’s ‘Democratic Saga’, and firefish72 ’s ‘Community Art Challenge’. Round 1 A teenager from the countryland just entered the new metropolis where he’s going to live the next few years of his life. How does this city look? What are his first impressions? What does he hope to do there? Why did he go there in the first place? Additional rule’s: none Winner: tammio 'Blowing in the Wind' Honorable Mentions: None Winner: !Tilly! (no name given) The crunchy feeling of dead leaves under their hairless paws felt good and horrific at the same time. Good in that it cushioned their weight, making them feel comfortable; horrific in that the edges of the leaves were pricking their pads. She was the matriarch - the queen of sorts. She made all the decisions, whether she announced it or not. She acted and they followed. It didn't matter if they didn't agree. It was on one of her excursions that she found an odd scent, winding through her forest like it was lost. Her rounded ears twitched. She started to walk, long whiplike tail flicking thoughtfully. Her nostrils flared and she chattered a bit, clacking her back teeth together until it made sound. She then broke into a trot, bouncing along. She began to think. She hadn't scented any unusual odors in... well, a very, very long time. She wasn't old or elderly, being only six years old, but she certainly was adult in age. Perhaps she'd ask one of the ancient females if they had scented anything like it later, when the sun didn't glare quite so broadly. She slowed into a walk as the smell strengthened on the wind, and she came to the edge of a clearing she knew well. This was the place where they often hunted and foraged, being omnivores - and being good at it. Wanting to see above the trees, she sat up on her hind legs and placed her forepaws on the brush. There sat a strange contraption, shiny metal flickering with broken lights. It beeped and whirred with strange voices, sparks flying out and hazardously hitting the grass. She made a flying leap over the bushes and ran over, sniffing inquisitively. There was something inside - something moving! She was at a crossroads. On the one side, she had no idea what this creature was or why it was in there. But on the other side, she was a compassionate being. Finally she started scraping at the surface keeping the stranger trapped until she managed to push it in and break it, reaching to retrieve the strange being inside. She dragged them out slowly, smelling the familiar tang of blood off their flesh. She backed up very slowly, ensuring she didn't catch the strange body on sharp rocks or errant twigs, hiding her strange cargo in the shade of a large tree. Carefully she pawed at the face until it sputtered and awoke, eyes flying open. She jumped back and twitched her whiskers, ears flat and eyes wide. The stranger stood up and looked at her with narrowed green eyes, while she looked back with watery brown-black ones. They shared gazes, and a strange understanding seemed to come between them. The stranger stood up. The matriarch looked back in awe, looking at him - as she identified maleness in its scent - with sudden fascination. She sniffed at his entire body, even jumping to get her nose under his chin. Her heart pummeled her ribcage. She was utterly fascinated. Post consideration, she gripped its strange forepaw in her jaws as gently as she could manage and started pulling him home. *** He had been with her family for a few days. There had been plenty of curiosity, intrigue and nervousness accompanying his arrival, but she warned them against harming a hair on him. She slept alongside him, keeping him as warm as possible in this new world. He seemed utterly bewildered by the society he was adopted into. Her own daughter approached with plenty of caution one night, right before they all started getting active for more social activities. She reached a small paw up and touched his, slowly pushing up until her paw touched the base of his palm, his fingers spread out as her toes were. It was then that the matriarch found their forepaws were strikingly alike: his digits were quite obviously longer, but if they stretched their toes out they could be used for grabbing, as they did in the trees when they hunted birds' eggs. They had a dewclaw, and it was often used for gripping trees. She watched the two bond, her daughter sniffing away at the spread fingers. The matriarch slowly lifted herself up experimentally, resting back and using her tail to balance better. She sniffed to get his attention, her head now shoulder-level with him. He looked at her with wide eyes, carefully taking his hand away from her daughter's, and offering it to her. The matriarch reached up immediately and pressed it on his palm, nearly losing balance but catching herself at the last moment. She pressed her foot into his hand and spread her toes out, until they were fully stretched out. She pushed her toes into the spaces between his fingers, and looked him in the eyes. We can do it too. |
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Post by tammio on Apr 15, 2017 19:16:45 GMT
A young man's game
"Talk to no one" they had been told. "Stay alert".
Martin had been to the city many times before, he played it cool, let his gaze glide lazily over the surroundings.
For George it was the first trip. He was nervous, fearful, jumped at every shadow. His heart pumped fast, adrenaline filled him with nervous energy and his breath came ragged.
The people on the streets felt his nervousness, were careful not to come too near him, hurried down the street while keeping their distance.
George felt their nervousness, their fear. It terrified him. When the muezzin began his long and mournful call for prayer, he nearly dove for cover. Martin and the others laughed at him. "Keep cool kid, you'll hear this dammed prayer ten thousand times before you get to go back to Virginia".
He laughed nervously, his voice cracking half way through. The old and grizzled Martin gave him an inquisitive look. "How old are you kid?" he asked with the serenity of a thirty year old who had lived a life worth sixty years already.
"Eighteen", George replied hesitantly.
"Damn, kid, you should be home on a date with your college sweetheart, not in this hellhole of a city", Martin spat out in disgust.
George had been so sure when he enlisted, so sure during training, but now he felt his confidence waver.
At that moment, rifle fire exploded from a window two houses away. George stood frozen, but Martin tackled him to the ground, while the others began returning fire. Within seconds the street was empty, but for the squad of soldiers and two civilians, lying on the ground bleeding, crying for help. All George could do was star at them; stare at the red, sticky blood oozing obscenely from the deep wounds the bullets had ripped into them.
Maybe war wouldn't be the game he had imagined it to be.
Sorry it took so long to respond, things were quite hectic round here with midterms and this promt was so open it was difficult to think of something to write. Hyped for the next one tho. Please, please coment, criticise, etc
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Post by Aquos on Apr 15, 2017 19:38:03 GMT
The wait is no problem. I'm happy someone finally posted. The next prompt will be in mai.
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RoboTrannic
Spacefaring
haunting deviantart
Posts: 1,005 
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Post by RoboTrannic on Apr 16, 2017 4:28:34 GMT
The wait is no problem. I'm happy someone finally posted. The next prompt will be in mai. well im not gonna down that rabbit hole |
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Post by tammio on Apr 17, 2017 22:16:36 GMT
So I thought I would write another submission, since nobody else seems to want to do so, so there is at least a semblance if competition (and in no way because I couldn't find a useful WP in Reddit Writingprompts for the story I have in mind today)
So please, please, leave a comment, a critique, anything, even if its just to point out a spelling mistake of to tell me I should give up this writing thing altogether.
Blowing in the wind
Jonathan slowly sauntered through town. He was tall and slim, dark of hair and blue eyed. His thoughtful gaze and three days worth of fire-red stubble made him look like he was a handful of years older than his actual twenty-one. He wandered through the streets aimlessly, now stopping to look at an old building towering over him, now standing still in the middle of a plaza; his eyes closed, his face raised into the late spring sun, a smile on his delicate lips. When he passed a street musician who butchered a popular Bob Dylan tune with a shoddy sticker-clad guitar Jonathan's face split in a boyish grin and he tossed a small coin in the musicians guitar case. The off-key, rough voiced singing followed him down the street like a familiar friend.
"How many roads must am man walk down?..."
The lost, answer-seeking tune fit his mood like a glove, like a lovers arms, like a snug blanket on a cold winter day.
"How many seas must a white dove sail..."
Jonathan's long and graceful steps carried him past a small Café on the corner of two pedestrians-only roads, removed from the high street bustle of a busy afternoon by its location next to a butcher and a bookstore.
He was still restless, looking for something he couldn't quite describe, some longing he just couldn't put his finger on; nonetheless Jonathan entered the sleepy Café. With relief he realized there had been no doorbell: he hated the incessant ringing whenever somebody entered or left.
The guest room was nearly empty, save for a student working on her laptop in a corner. After a short moment of indecision Jonathan chose a table at a window, where the late afternoon sunlight made dust motes dance lazily above a square, grey wooded table, Japanese in it's simplicity, Scandinavian in it's starkness.
From his leather messenger bag he had put on the unoccupied chair opposite him, Jonathan pulled a small notebook with thick cream coloured pages. In it he noted down what new things he had discovered on his walk.
"Riverton is a small town. Some may call it's stark and simple architecture boring, it's people unappealing, it's weather off-putting. The simple lines of houses made from burnt bricks, utilitarian buildings for people who work in cotton-mills -those are long gone now, moved to far off shores-, the straight roads of a city burnt down in war and rebuilt for factories not humans are not the trappings of a beautiful town. However..."
In this moment he was interrupted in his reverie by a voice asking:
"Wat wil je drinken?"
Jonathan looked up. A waitress, nay an apparition stood at his table, curly-wild hair -red as a wildfire- over one shoulder; eyes like polished emeralds catching the sunlight from the window. Full, lush, lips pursed in a knowing half smile. Jonathans heart skipped a beat before he returned the smile with a smile of his own. Carefully he finished the sentence he was writing: "However there is true beauty too, hidden in full sight, to be uncovered only by those who search for it."
"Eine grote Cappuccino, alsjeblieft", he answered her question. Hastily he tired to remember how to ask for her name in Dutch, then in English, then in his native French, but words had escaped him. So he said nothing, and for a moment -a split second lasting an eternity- they both said nothing, surrounded by an event horizon of their own making. Then the moment was gone and for Jonathan it was as if the half concealed fire in her eyes diminished ever so slightly.
Soon he was alone with his thoughts again, a cup of Cappuccino in front of him, and reread what he had written. He smiled at his dispatched tone, as if he had written an article for a travel magazine and not just jotted down his observations in his personal journal. He had been living in Riverton for a few months, no near half a year now and still enjoyed going on strolls to discover new places, uncover new secrets such as this hidden gem. However after a few minutes the waitress came over again, to tell him the Café was closing early today. Again there was a instant in wich Jonathan wanted, tried to speak but couldn't. So he drank up, paid, left.
He walked passed the small Café thrice in as many minutes, trying to look as if he was indecisive in wich direction he would find another Café to sit and read in; but in reality he hoped for the Café-beauty to leave the shop for he felt he might be able to talk to her now he was on more neutral ground. After he passed the closed shutters the last time tho, when he heard the tell tale sounds of a vacuum cleaner he knew she wouldn't be out for a while yet, so he left again, falling back into his long legged, aimless saunter.
Round a corner he found another tiny Café. The doorbell dingled when he entered, and the heavy smell of Bakery -unbearably full and stickily sweet after the airy and light scent of the other Café- greeted him. None the less he found a place again, at a window overlooking a street he hoped the Café-Beauty might walk down in a few minutes time.
Jonathan fell into his reading again, when he took a sip of the green tea he had ordered. The slight bitter taste caressed his tongue in a way coffee never could. Surprised he put the vulgarly thick-glassed mug down. He hadn't drunk Green tea in a while, it had been years he mused, but now he regretted that decision. It was smooth and confident in its presumed simplicity but with a restrained, unfathomable complexity. Not at all like the brash self-consciously demanding coffee he usually drank or the brooding heaviness of autumn-brown black tea he favored somedays.
Another sip greeted him with the slight bitter melancholy of life, then the caressing touch of a summer day, a hidden flower promised to uncurl and a momentary relief from his ever restless self.
"... before she sleeps in the sand?"
Hours later Jonathan wandered deserted nighttime streets homewards. He hummed a familiar melody under his breath, while over him the star freckled night sky blazed gloriously. He did not know how many roads he had walked down today, but he knew it had been a good day.
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Post by Aquos on Apr 18, 2017 15:53:00 GMT
So I thought I would write another submission, since nobody else seems to want to do so, so there is at least a semblance if competition (and in no way because I couldn't find a useful WP in Reddit Writingprompts for the story I have in mind today) So please, please, leave a comment, a critique, anything, even if its just to point out a spelling mistake of to tell me I should give up this writing thing altogether. Blowing in the wind Jonathan slowly sauntered through town. He was tall and slim, dark of hair and blue eyed. His thoughtful gaze and three days worth of fire-red stubble made him look like he was a handful of years older than his actual twenty-one. He wandered through the streets aimlessly, now stopping to look at an old building towering over him, now standing still in the middle of a plaza; his eyes closed, his face raised into the late spring sun, a smile on his delicate lips. When he passed a street musician who butchered a popular Bob Dylan tune with a shoddy sticker-clad guitar Jonathan's face split in a boyish grin and he tossed a small coin in the musicians guitar case. The off-key, rough voiced singing followed him down the street like a familiar friend. "How many roads must am man walk down?..."The lost, answer-seeking tune fit his mood like a glove, like a lovers arms, like a snug blanket on a cold winter day. "How many seas must a white dove sail..." Jonathan's long and graceful steps carried him past a small Café on the corner of two pedestrians-only roads, removed from the high street bustle of a busy afternoon by its location next to a butcher and a bookstore. He was still restless, looking for something he couldn't quite describe, some longing he just couldn't put his finger on; nonetheless Jonathan entered the sleepy Café. With relief he realized there had been no doorbell: he hated the incessant ringing whenever somebody entered or left. The guest room was nearly empty, save for a student working on her laptop in a corner. After a short moment of indecision Jonathan chose a table at a window, where the late afternoon sunlight made dust motes dance lazily above a square, grey wooded table, Japanese in it's simplicity, Scandinavian in it's starkness. From his leather messenger bag he had put on the unoccupied chair opposite him, Jonathan pulled a small notebook with thick cream coloured pages. In it he noted down what new things he had discovered on his walk.
"Riverton is a small town. Some may call it's stark and simple architecture boring, it's people unappealing, it's weather off-putting. The simple lines of houses made from burnt bricks, utilitarian buildings for people who work in cotton-mills -those are long gone now, moved to far off shores-, the straight roads of a city burnt down in war and rebuilt for factories not humans are not the trappings of a beautiful town. However..." In this moment he was interrupted in his reverie by a voice asking: "Wat wil je drinken?" Jonathan looked up. A waitress, nay an apparition stood at his table, curly-wild hair -red as a wildfire- over one shoulder; eyes like polished emeralds catching the sunlight from the window. Full, lush, lips pursed in a knowing half smile. Jonathans heart skipped a beat before he returned the smile with a smile of his own. Carefully he finished the sentence he was writing: "However there is true beauty too, hidden in full sight, to be uncovered only by those who search for it." "Eine grote Cappuccino, alsjeblieft", he answered her question. Hastily he tired to remember how to ask for her name in Dutch, then in English, then in his native French, but words had escaped him. So he said nothing, and for a moment -a split second lasting an eternity- they both said nothing, surrounded by an event horizon of their own making. Then the moment was gone and for Jonathan it was as if the half concealed fire in her eyes diminished ever so slightly. Soon he was alone with his thoughts again, a cup of Cappuccino in front of him, and reread what he had written. He smiled at his dispatched tone, as if he had written an article for a travel magazine and not just jotted down his observations in his personal journal. He had been living in Riverton for a few months, no near half a year now and still enjoyed going on strolls to discover new places, uncover new secrets such as this hidden gem. However after a few minutes the waitress came over again, to tell him the Café was closing early today. Again there was a instant in wich Jonathan wanted, tried to speak but couldn't. So he drank up, paid, left.
He walked passed the small Café thrice in as many minutes, trying to look as if he was indecisive in wich direction he would find another Café to sit and read in; but in reality he hoped for the Café-beauty to leave the shop for he felt he might be able to talk to her now he was on more neutral ground. After he passed the closed shutters the last time tho, when he heard the tell tale sounds of a vacuum cleaner he knew she wouldn't be out for a while yet, so he left again, falling back into his long legged, aimless saunter.
Round a corner he found another tiny Café. The doorbell dingled when he entered, and the heavy smell of Bakery -unbearably full and stickily sweet after the airy and light scent of the other Café- greeted him. None the less he found a place again, at a window overlooking a street he hoped the Café-Beauty might walk down in a few minutes time.
Jonathan fell into his reading again, when he took a sip of the green tea he had ordered. The slight bitter taste caressed his tongue in a way coffee never could. Surprised he put the vulgarly thick-glassed mug down. He hadn't drunk Green tea in a while, it had been years he mused, but now he regretted that decision. It was smooth and confident in its presumed simplicity but with a restrained, unfathomable complexity. Not at all like the brash self-consciously demanding coffee he usually drank or the brooding heaviness of autumn-brown black tea he favored somedays.
Another sip greeted him with the slight bitter melancholy of life, then the caressing touch of a summer day, a hidden flower promised to uncurl and a momentary relief from his ever restless self.
"... before she sleeps in the sand?"
Hours later Jonathan wandered deserted nighttime streets homewards. He hummed a familiar melody under his breath, while over him the star freckled night sky blazed gloriously. He did not know how many roads he had walked down today, but he knew it had been a good day. Although I like this story, I don't really see what ithas to do with the prompt. I'll leave it up, because I think it does have something to do with it. Also, please chooce one story to enter. Just for fairnes sake. |
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Post by tammio on Apr 18, 2017 20:04:03 GMT
then I choose the second one. Well the main protagonist walks around a more or less new city and talks about what he feels. its much more prompty than my first story I think
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Post by Aquos on May 1, 2017 15:44:37 GMT
New prompt is up. This time I decided to go with a more general theme than the last one, one almost everyone here should be able to relate to: first contact! As per usual, you have untill the end of this month to write your story. Good luck!
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Post by Aquos on Jun 4, 2017 10:45:39 GMT
Welp, because nobody responded to the prompt, I'm going to leave it up for an other month. I hope someone wil respond.
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!Tilly!
Aware
i love scifi stuff but im too stupid to take part lel
Posts: 145
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Post by !Tilly! on Jul 28, 2017 4:03:16 GMT
Since nobody responded and I'm feeling write-y, I thought I'd go ahead and reply to this just to stretch my legs and see if this gets anyone else to reply. Hope that's alright!!! If this thread is too old ill just copy/paste it into its own thread just let me know :>
The crunchy feeling of dead leaves under their hairless paws felt good and horrific at the same time. Good in that it cushioned their weight, making them feel comfortable; horrific in that the edges of the leaves were pricking their pads. She was the matriarch - the queen of sorts. She made all the decisions, whether she announced it or not. She acted and they followed. It didn't matter if they didn't agree. It was on one of her excursions that she found an odd scent, winding through her forest like it was lost. Her rounded ears twitched. She started to walk, long whiplike tail flicking thoughtfully. Her nostrils flared and she chattered a bit, clacking her back teeth together until it made sound. She then broke into a trot, bouncing along. She began to think. She hadn't scented any unusual odors in... well, a very, very long time. She wasn't old or elderly, being only six years old, but she certainly was adult in age. Perhaps she'd ask one of the ancient females if they had scented anything like it later, when the sun didn't glare quite so broadly. She slowed into a walk as the smell strengthened on the wind, and she came to the edge of a clearing she knew well. This was the place where they often hunted and foraged, being omnivores - and being good at it. Wanting to see above the trees, she sat up on her hind legs and placed her forepaws on the brush. There sat a strange contraption, shiny metal flickering with broken lights. It beeped and whirred with strange voices, sparks flying out and hazardously hitting the grass. She made a flying leap over the bushes and ran over, sniffing inquisitively. There was something inside - something moving! She was at a crossroads. On the one side, she had no idea what this creature was or why it was in there. But on the other side, she was a compassionate being. Finally she started scraping at the surface keeping the stranger trapped until she managed to push it in and break it, reaching to retrieve the strange being inside. She dragged them out slowly, smelling the familiar tang of blood off their flesh. She backed up very slowly, ensuring she didn't catch the strange body on sharp rocks or errant twigs, hiding her strange cargo in the shade of a large tree. Carefully she pawed at the face until it sputtered and awoke, eyes flying open. She jumped back and twitched her whiskers, ears flat and eyes wide. The stranger stood up and looked at her with narrowed green eyes, while she looked back with watery brown-black ones. They shared gazes, and a strange understanding seemed to come between them. The stranger stood up. The matriarch looked back in awe, looking at him - as she identified maleness in its scent - with sudden fascination. She sniffed at his entire body, even jumping to get her nose under his chin. Her heart pummeled her ribcage. She was utterly fascinated. Post consideration, she gripped its strange forepaw in her jaws as gently as she could manage and started pulling him home. *** He had been with her family for a few days. There had been plenty of curiosity, intrigue and nervousness accompanying his arrival, but she warned them against harming a hair on him. She slept alongside him, keeping him as warm as possible in this new world. He seemed utterly bewildered by the society he was adopted into. Her own daughter approached with plenty of caution one night, right before they all started getting active for more social activities. She reached a small paw up and touched his, slowly pushing up until her paw touched the base of his palm, his fingers spread out as her toes were. It was then that the matriarch found their forepaws were strikingly alike: his digits were quite obviously longer, but if they stretched their toes out they could be used for grabbing, as they did in the trees when they hunted birds' eggs. They had a dewclaw, and it was often used for gripping trees. She watched the two bond, her daughter sniffing away at the spread fingers. The matriarch slowly lifted herself up experimentally, resting back and using her tail to balance better. She sniffed to get his attention, her head now shoulder-level with him. He looked at her with wide eyes, carefully taking his hand away from her daughter's, and offering it to her. The matriarch reached up immediately and pressed it on his palm, nearly losing balance but catching herself at the last moment. She pressed her foot into his hand and spread her toes out, until they were fully stretched out. She pushed her toes into the spaces between his fingers, and looked him in the eyes. We can do it too.
okay that came out.. longer than i expected... whoops
But just for context these guys are based off of these guys:
Basically predatory rats. They're basically like.. in this crazy transition stage where their brains are already there but their bodies are catching up? I hope that makes sense.
But basically this is their matriarch discovering their front feet can be used for other things than walking woah
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Post by Aquos on Jul 28, 2017 9:39:48 GMT
Even though it doesn't have ùuch to do with the prompt, I'll accept it. You win this round.
I'm going to try and bring this back. I'm going to change the rules a bit. Instead of me giving a prompt, anyone will be free to write any story they like (more similar to the official art challenge). From now on, the winner will also be decided by a vote instead of just by me. The rule on meme-y stories stays though. I hope that can bring some life back into this. I'll open the new rbranded round today. Good luck!
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Post by tammio on Aug 15, 2017 15:59:18 GMT
oh I saw this anouncement just now. Well once summer is over and classes begin again in September I might find the time to write something, but right now theres just too much exitement to be found in roadtrips!
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