Other Literature The Literature Workshop

Teal

Eater of Worlds

Pixel's Literature Workshop

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Pixel's Literature Workshop is a member-run project for forumgoers both interested in requesting their own customized literature pieces (within the requesting standards), and members interested in donating their literary abilities, inexperienced or not. The Workshop Crew is composed of the applicants who have been accepted and employed in the interest of delivering upon the requests. Many of the crew are/will(be) selected from past experiences, and evidence of their work.

You can request...

- For signatures, and information tabs. Stories that might tell a little about you or development on your OC's background.
- Works regarding a video game project; a description on your next city-terrorizing beast.

- For suggestions that can be honed by giving background on its contents, or even stories of the suggestion itself.
- Stories pertaining to turtles, this is perhaps the most key requests the Crew will be interested in. I guarantee it. 100%.

- Almost anything!

Workshop Crew

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@Pixel , Scribemaster , Workshop Co-Founder:

Pixel is a well-known literature enthusiast and suggestion critic hellbent on masochism and ruining moods. His iconic OC is a marble white stickman-esque figure, of which has been altered in many occasions. These changes include growing a tongue and abnormal eyebrows, or having a beautiful face. Pixel's humour is both dark and relatively unnecessary, but still manages to woo several forum members.

His experience with writing has grown ever since he began the interest at 10 years old, whilst growing up in England and becoming a major book addict. Pixel's most remembered projects are most definitely The Boreal Bookshelf, and The Fallen Bestiary, of which he wrote alongside other writers and authors.

Filter:

Preferred Genre(s): Everything except Cyberpunk and Romance.
Preferred Subject(s): Practically most things, except abstract nouns.
Preferred Scale: Any size except something incredibly large.
Timezone: GMT - Greenwich Mean Time.
Time Management: Relatively fast.​

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@Yaster Goodman , Vampiric Rights Activist, Crew Writer:

Yaster Goodman is an artist, writer, pro games player, and voodoo priestess. He was born June 3rd, 1943 in the White Ghetto. Though he has been an artist for as long as he can remember, it wasn't until 1934 that he began writing. His most notable works include The Tragedy of Harold and Gary's Adventures in Funkytown.

His inspiration comes from the desire to make people laugh. His belief is that if you can't laugh, you're probably dead inside and/or actually dead. Works by Yaster Goodman tend to have a darkly comedic slant to them.

Filter:
Preferred Genre(s): Comedy and anything that isn't overly serious.
Preferred Subjects: N/A.
Preferred Scale: Any except huge and upwards.
Timezone: EST - Eastern Standard Time.
Time Management: Relatively Medium.​

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[B]@DerpoTheMagnificent[/B] , Composer of the Pixelized Canvas, Friend of Founders, Crew Artist:

Derpo is an anthropomorphic Mudkip who has learned to act like a regular human. e.i. walk erect and talk. Other things he has learned include looking awesome, and creating art. He is semi-well-known throughout the forums as simply, "The Mudkip Guy". Towards the start of his career, Derpo was just a regular mudkip with a top hat and monocle. How he created art without oppose able thumbs is shrouded in mystery.

Derpo has been creating pixel art since age 14 (3 years), and is the owner of the most popular (or at least most commented on) sprite thread on the entirety of the forums. He is fairly proficient at creating all styles of pixel art, but he specializes in the style of Terraria (a little indie game you may have heard of). In the past, Derpo has created artwork for many of Pixel and Teal's projects, including The Fallen Star Bestiary, and other minor requests.

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@Vizendel , Additional Pylon Constructor , Crew Writer:

An Australian, born in Australia, Vizendel's been writing since he was about ten. An avid roleplayer, he has been doing that for almost as long, originally terrible but now passable, he writes for fun and enjoyment. He enjoys writing situations that might make others uncomfortable, up to and including horror and grimdark. He has no OC to speak of, even though he makes many characters.

Lover of Waterflame and Studio Killers, along with many others musicians/groups.

Filter:

Preferred Genre(s): Will do anything, but loves Horror, Grimdark, Gory Situations and Medieval.
Preferred Subjects: Character/Monster Descriptions. Won't do first person.
Preferred Scale: Small to Medium (500-1000 words), more if I'm in the mood or have a particularly large amount of free time.
Timezone: GMT +10, Australia/Guam/Japan.
Time Management: "I'll start this later."
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@Sheldon Cooper, New Writer, Crew Member:

Sheldon Cooper is 17 years old and loves Marine Biology. He has done tons of reports making him an expert in writing. He is in the middle of a short book that he plans to have 6 chapters and at least 7 thousand words. He recently entered college and has several new friends that have been helping him write. His OC is Shannon Faron who is very intelligent and loves getting into relationships. She has green eyes and brown hair. She is a theoretical physicist.

Sheldon loves writing and hopes to be a fantastic addition to the team.

Filter:

Preferred Genre(s): No biographies/descriptions. Preferably short stories. I will accept romance as long as it follows the forum rules and is not bordering sexual content.
Preferred Subject(s): N/A.
Preferred Scale: Tiny - Medium.
Timezone: EST - Eastern Standard Time.
Time Management: Relatively Medium.

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@Sodapone, Overanalyzer, Crew Member:

Sodapone is a literature enthusiast who can either, depending on the situation, be extremely fast and fluid in writing, or painfully slow and awkward. Take it from this bio; it was scrapped 4 times before something he deemed decent actually came out. With an adaptive, go-with-the-flow sort of writing style, Sodapone can never be guaranteed to adhere to word limits, time constraints, or writing themes, but when he finishes writing, even a rough draft can come out as polished and clear to read.

His main OC (there are many more), Sodapop, is a confident and energetic yet short-tempered girl who prides in her Coin Gun.

Filter:

Preferred Genre(s): Slice-of-Life, Dystopian, Comedy, Dramedy.
Preferred Subject(s): "What-if" stories.
Preferred Scale: Medium-Small-Large.
Timezone: PST - Pacific Standard Time.
Time Management: Heavily dependent on mood and schedule.

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@XVoltzX, High Rights Celestial,Crew Member:

Voltz is a person who played games since 2005, he enjoys hanging out with his dearest friends, and absolutely hates being standoffish. But at the same time unique; He resembles a star that shines brightly and floats, with an orange back with red stripes, as he grew the stripes began to grow more and more. He writes illustrations with dedicate thought and often seeks to put a little humor in them. He likes attention but being a part of a huge crowd annoys him.'

Ever since I was little, I loved to write, often during the classroom when i'm bored, i'd take out a piece of paper and start writing over and over, my skill in writing improved as I aged, due to practice and most of my homeworks which required writing sotries, or telling things from your point of view, almost every week. Until I participated in an Arabian writing competition and won second place for writing a short english story.

Filter:

Preferred Genre(s): Comedy, sadness, fantasy, action.
Preferred Subject(s): Nothing.
Preferred Scale: Many, except big ones.
Timezone: UTC/GMT +3 hours.
Time Management: High.

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@Brick Creeper, Pen Distributor, Crew Member:

Brick Creeper is a homeschool student, who's main occupation is being an artist and a part-time writer. Brick has a large love for books (devouring many a month). Because of this he likes to write stories he hopes people will enjoy. He strives to be as kind, helpful, and sincere a forum member, internet surfer, and alien humanoid can be.

His OC, Brick, is a sharply dressed warrior who wields a mighty Excalibur and wears a very fashionable red hat that doesn't smell funny, at all, whatsoever.

Filter:

Preferred Genre(s): Most anything except romance and mystery.
Preferred Subject(s): Mostly everything.
Preferred Scale: Small to Medium.
Timezone: EST (Epic Spider Time).
Time Management: Normal.


Requesting Standards

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Enclosed in this thread segment are the guidelines in which we expect requests to follow. You may request for a specific crew member to do your piece, or leave it up to nature. Following these guidelines makes it easier for the Crew to do your request, and ultimately saves them time. Any writer may deny a request, and the group may decide to reject a request entirely. But, following the guidelines makes it much more motivating for the crew to complete your request. Also, at the bottom of this thread are several spoilers that will contain links to previous works of said author, and a short 300 word writing prompt to display their style of writing.

WRITING PROMPT: After eating dinner with someone you seemingly can't remember you awaken from a haze. You're in a box, about the size of your average garage. Every corner in the room is seamlessly rounded, and the entire room is smooth shiny white. A gramophone materializes on top of a nightstand feet away from you. A voice, staticky, and raspy, emits from it.

"Welcome to Creation Cube, you've been randomly selected to participate in its trial. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO ESCAPE. This room, the Limitless X12 Model, is subject to your design. You have been bestowed with the ability to make this room into whatever you want, provided you can think it. Not enough room? Will the walls to expand! Perhaps, if you're smart enough you can find the exit. -Creation Cube Corp. Representative" the machine makes audible clicking and then ceases to make further sound. You test the ability by willing the nightstand and gramophone away, and according with your thoughts, they do. How do you proceed?

Request Guidelines

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Even though our Workshop does encourage less restrictive work, there are always limits. First and foremost, our work will not break TCF official rules. That means if you request a work done that is otherwise against the rules if showcased or presented, then we will reject the proposal. This decision need not be further discussed.

To add, you shall not request excessively. A few requests is enough for one individual person. We in the Workshop Crew aren't robots, as much as that would be pretty awesome. You should allow others to get the chance to request a work done in the Workshop over getting a third piece done. If one is to break this rule, they will be banned from the thread, and perhaps even ignored by the TC and/or Workshop members.

When requesting from a specific author, we ask you do so gradually as to allow for everyone to have a crack at your request. Note: If you request for a specific author they may have their own specific request guidelines that differ from the overarching guidelines, please check their info in the bio section to see if they have specified anything before requesting specifically from them.

The group, regardless of if a specific object was requested or not, may choose to reject a request entirely for any reason. Now, unless the request had explicit problems, the reason for its rejection should be outlined. Please, don't request any MLP Dual Fapping competition stories, then you're just asking for it.

Take into account that every individual Workshop member has their own way of working. This means that the length and effort varies from each author. Though we promise quality results, we have no way of truly knowing how long the piece will be. Please respect that we are not writing epics, and will judge your request accordingly.

When a Crew Member takes on your request, they will notify you in the thread, and it will be added to the queue on the secondary post. If you didn't request a specific author, you are not allowed to change that after someone has taken on your request. Any further discussion or questions concerning your requested piece is permitted to take place on the thread, or in a PM; whatever you desire.

Pixel's Work:

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I grow a little concerned of my whereabouts, and how I had managed to end up in such unusual circumstances and location. My hands grow tired and my legs turn to sandbags in weight. My will forces an armchair to materialize from the air, and I seat myself. The chair is incredibly comfortable and is held on four oak legs; just how my dream seating would look like, albeit a little smaller. My confusion brings me to my legs again, and the pain inside rests. I feel replenished and newborn, healthy and well-aged.

My hands flex, creating rivers of water, algae and plants submerged in its current. I clench them, and the rivers become streams of molten lava, smoke arising from the rock edges. I take no notice to the heat that should normally be coming from the lava's presence. I feel accustomed to its incredible temperature. All this is so weird, so strange. And yet, I can't help but...

...feel lonely. I sink back into the cushioned armchair and sleep. I fall into my dreams, where I experience the same events, looping over and over again. I've been both blessed and cursed to a life with no limits, where exiting is a possibility, but a difficult one at that.


Works:

* These were pre-requested, before the existence of the Workshop, but will remain in 'Works'. *

Deranged Dragon Journey:

Pixel joined the DDJ testing team, taking the writer role, a short while after the thread was made public in the Other Games subforum, at the Off-Topic section. Deranged Dragon Journey is essentially a text-based RPG using Batch, with ASCII elements and a bad-tempered shopkeeper. These are his works.

"Your skull appears to be lacking a knife."
"I am detecting a high level of get out of my shop."
"You're still as ugly as you were the last time you visited me."
"If I had a coin for every time I didn't want you to come into my shop, I wouldn't be working here anymore."
"I was optimistic about earning some money, but then I saw you."

HP Potion: This flask contains a swirling red fluid that tastes like seawater. Its scent is similar to that of ash, and is created with the combination of otherwordly liquids and herbs. It has the power to heal you.

MP Potion: This container holds a bubbling gradient turquoise liquid, taste sharing similarities with the HP Potion. It smells of pinewood, and yields the power to replenish your mana.

Red Flower: Corfolium.

Cor
meaning Heart. Folium meaning Leaf.

This specimen of flora sprouts from the ground near lakewater when in good, nutritious, soil. Its red and orange petals are pointed and blossom in wintertime. This plant heals you.

Blue Flower: Viresfolium.

Vires
meaning Strength, or Power. Folium meaning Leaf.

This uncommonly found plant grows in forests. When unearthed, they emit a glorious blue light, if in dark-lit conditions. Its stem holds poisonous thorns, making it a difficult plant to manage with bare hands. Its pollen is used as a dilution in MP Potions.

Yellow Flower: Vigorfolium.

Vigor
meaning Energy or Force. Folium meaning Leaf.

This flower helps maximise the strength in the consumer's system. Though the plant in its natural state will render the recipient a little confused, it can be used in the creation of an EG Potion. The Vigorfolium is a rather ordinary gold plant and can be seen commonly around grasslands, as well as submerged in water--with higher acidic content.

The Abomination:

Beginning:

You stumble across the grasslands, tredging on flora and small critters in your wake. Your path takes you to an unidentified cave, uneven rocks protruding from the surface and walls. The entrance is almost formed like a mouth, similar to that of a huge, ethereal, beast; stalactites and stalagmites creating the image of serrated teeth.

Inside is little to no light except the moonlight reflecting off the subterranean lakewater outside. You can only hear your own soft footsteps and your mind telling you not to venture forward. Your nostrils flare in disgust with the unearthly scent of death and erosion. Something, somewhere in your subconscious, pushes you on.

Your skin grows a pale white and sweat forms on your brow at the sight of a large beast, dormant in a pool of blood, trickling down stairs of stone and gem. Its form is ethereal, eyes flashing a malicious gold. You reflect the outside-sourced light with your equipment to have a better look. It has four legs, a tail, and arms the size of redwood tree trunks. Its head holds ram horns that could penetrate the strongest of glass and brick. Scales are present everywhere except the underbelly, where you can see thick, rough skin.And it just woke up.

*​

Ending:

The monster swirls in confusion and agony, letting out deafening screeches from its falcon-esque beak. Its underbelly begins emitting a polychromatic light, hues of oranges, reds, and greens dancing on the cave floor. The howls of pain stop, and are replaced by an alerting rumble.

Your senses click into action, and you start sprinting for the cave entrance before the walls collapse onto you. Behind you witness a blinding flash of light break out from the beast's skin. It explodes into multiple parts, taking with it the majority of rocks and stone forming its lair. The explosion knocks you far through the stretched pathway and out into the wild grass tufts.

Trying to fight back the sense of unconsciousness, you feel both exhausted and content on arriving victorious. The smell of blood and insides permeates the air, and your eyes begin to ache. In fact, your whole body is bruised and battered from the confrontation. It was time you get some rest. Wiping off the algae gathered in the lakewater, you venture off with a catastrophe of a figure.

Vitapidus:

Beginning:

Your journey takes you to the lush, emerald grassfields surrounding your village boundaries. The beams of sunlight glisten on the riverwater, allowing a blistering heat to invade yours senses. Everything is seemingly peaceful, and the serenous multitude of bird chirps and splashes of water is music to your ears. The gorgeous smell of baked bread wafting from the baker's open window being the icing to your figurative cake.

Your footsteps come to a halt, boots glued to some form of adhesive substance, resembling spider venom. Your futile attempts to remove your footing from the substance begin to wear away. That's when you suddenly hear the movement of a large beast.

It was a large arachnid completely made from rock, which was abnormal even for his standards and past experiences. It obviously looked heavily provoked, as if the slightest presence of a human had awoken him from sleep.

It held eight legs boasting large width, strength, and stingers on each end. Under its chest was a large bulbous sac, pulsing as if it was slowly but surely growing into a living entity. Inside it contained a bubbling green liquid that swirled around with the heavy manoeuvres of the large spider, glowing incandescently like the flames and flickers of a wall-mounted torch. Its fangs held a similar green liquid, its mouth salivating on the grassland below. Eyes glew a benevolent red, luring you into its hypnotic trance.

It was very unfortunate for you that you were stuck and couldn't flee from the conflict.

*​

Ending:

The bulbous sac begins weakening, whilst simultaneously cracking at the surface. The green liquid begins to leak out from the crevices made in the sac. The arachnid curls into a ball to shield it, overprotecting its value. Its protection fails, and the beast begins to hesitate.

Finally, the sac breaks free, releasing a dozen or so small spiders into oxygen, all made from the same stone and rock of its mother. The spiders being too young and unexperienced to survive in the humid conditions, they all fall to the ground dead. Their mother begins roaring, which was her way of expressing sadness and tragedy.

Beaten and upset, the beast retires to the underground caverns of the grassland, and seeks refuge through the opening of a neighbouring cave system. She shuffles like a woodmouse, roaring in the same agony as earlier.

You won.

Silorpimus:

Beginning:

You trudge through the moss and dirt that builds up the forest grounds whilst on your way to the Shopkeeper's establishment. The moonlight flickers through the leaves, leaving you with a somewhat blurred pathway on forward. Nonetheless, you continue on further, with only the subtle slither of reluctancy in your mind.

You take a rightside glance to the shrubbery and foliage, and notice the unmistakble beady eyes of a forest larva, its body slithering around in the abundance of leaves and tall grass. Nothing that size could possibly harm you, you think to yourself. It hadn't yet metamorphosed into it adult form, and possessed no weapon nor sign of defence. In fact, even the soft soles of your highboots were enough to completely obliterate the life form.

Except now, behind you, is a completely mutated version of a creature in that same larval state. Though you might've expected it to be a fully grown adult to have grown to such a size. Its body is entirely composed of dry rock and soft flesh, coloured and shaped in a way that it can hide and camouflage with ease. Though the juvenile larva might've been easy competition, the monster behind you did not seem to be the same.

*

Ending:

The incredibly enormous, mutated, larva blinks its eyes rapidly in frustration. Its skin goes to a paled yellow as if it were sick. The cut you made with your weapon seemed to have pierced it deep enough that it couldn't take anymore. Desperately trying to enact revenge, it slowly crawls to your direction. It can't do anything. Instead of advancing any longer, it drops to the forest surface and lets out whimpers of pain.

Virgin: My grandmother can play better than you with her feet, whilst blindfolded, and buttocks planted on molten rock.

Classic: You're getting into the rythm of things, but your moonwalk is just awful.

Madman: Just please don't rage.

Lunatic: I'm not sure if you're an evil genius or a hardcore gamer, but you definitely aren't sane.

Frenzy: You're so hot at this game, I'm going to roast marshmellows on your spine. Whether you like it or not.

Satanic: Don't hurt me.

Virtuous Wanderer requested a description done for his Terraria character, Chuck the Executioner. Pixel provided him with the beginning of a story, introducing the impressive fighter.

The bells struck a twelth hour, which meant it was time for the fighting match. The announcer, voice raucous and overexaggeratingly ((that's apparently not a word, folks, I made it up)) obnoxious, began:

"Our first Knock-Out participant is a newcomer to our grounds. He's clad in Solar Flare, comes from the Dungeon premises, and is said to intimidate even the toughest of foes in a one-to-one confrontation. He's got a soft spot for small kittens sporting a witch hat, and likes long walks on the beach. It's Darius Longboat!

...And our champion fighter, back for more bloodlust and action, and we're also assuming the ladies, too. It's Chuck the Blue Executioner--everybody!"

The crowd roared in cheers and chants, screaming the champion's name. The arena lit up like an incandescent light bulb, disco balls descending from the ceiling and illuminating the surface. The arena itself was exceptionally large, and boasted a seven-odd-thousand capacity. The walls were entirely built from a unique palette of varying bricks and blocks; the majority of the frame constructed in silver. In the spectator's box was the Arena's Manager, as well as his official associates. They all sported black, custom-tailored suits, with hands interlocked behind their backs in professional stances. The rest of the arena was purely a sand floor, allowing good space for the fighters to bite at one another's neck.

Chuck the Blue Executioner stepped out from the confined waiting room, in his trademark suit of Cobalt armour. With the sunlight glistening on its exterior, the breastplate showed signs of scars and marks where the opponent had obviously succeeded in throwing a punch or lunging a weapon. His glorious brown hair fell to shoulder length, slick back, showing a large pale forehead that had yet to see the sunlight. Although his build was fairly muscular, there wasn't much appealing about his face. Chuck's eyes were sunken and sleepy, nose sloped and deformed, and had lips wrinkled and paled from old weather. All in all; he didn't necessarily look like he was doing well--he'd seen better days.

This was the cobalt-clad Executioner though, he had taken a wyvern down with just his bare hands; a near-impossible feat for most heroes. Some newcomer in a Solar Flare set couldn't possibly be optimistic about the arena matchup. Nobody really could. Sure, Chuck had his moments of stubborness or bad-doing, but he was practically the Champion Fighter in the whole town, not just in the fighting arena. Chuck's expansive repertoire of effective combat moves and honed determination was just enough to take the biggest and baddest of antagonists looking for a good knockout.

The Executioner's boots created large footsteps in the soft, gold sand, his path leading to the middle of the arena's boundaries. This was his fight. He was going to win. There was no person on these Terrarian lands that could prevent the inevitable arse-smacking his incredible hand-to-hand combat could result in.

Because requests were elusive in the beginning of the new thread, both Teal and Pixel decided to make their own horror short stories and publicly post them in the thread. This was simply to pass time. Here's Pixel's:

The schoolchildren gathered around in a circle around the incandescent campfire, its light illuminating the campsite, and in turn casting a darker shadow along the surrounding forest. Each and every one of them had a squared, grey, stone to sit themselves on, cushioned by a silk pillow held by straps of fabric. This event was obviously what everyone had been anticipating since they had got up this morning. Finger-nail biting, giddy stomach feelings, it all had been a long wait to tell a campfire story. Sure, they might've been a little cliché by the 21st century, now, but the pupils of Gladeoak Secondary School took every advantage of their school trip.

One of the first boys to volunteer was an adolescent, at the age of 15, who had his hand raised determinedly. His brown hair was cropped at a level that allowed full view of his massive forehead. That particular shade of brown he had his hair was greasy albeit combed-through, and obviously contained an excessive amount of shampoos and gels. The small boy's uniform was splashed with hues of orange and yellow by the great intensity emitting from the centrepiece fire. "Harry Redwood, take your seat on the Storyteller's Log, and tell us your story."
The "Storyteller's Log" had the image of looking quite important, but it was only a half chopped log slanted at an discomforting angle. Redwood let out a heavy sigh, cleared his paled throat, and began:

"You remember Timmy Bloomfield. The stocky child, buck-teeth, dull brown eyes. His death was tragic, and I'm sure we'll never forget him, especially for some of us," elbows nudged one another, and sideways glances were taken, "but the fact is, I've always been haunted by him. Well, not exactly him, but it. This is the story I've wanted to tell you for a long while, but the time is perfect for such an occasion.

Two years ago, when the funeral had taken place, I was practically in tears. My hands were covering my eyes in embarrassment. I lost my best friend. Timmy had always fought with me, and argued too, but that didn't change the fact that he was an incredibly good mate of mine. His body was found decapitated, guys, someone had murdered him--" "Hoho, that's enough now. We wouldn't want our children to be traumatised would we?" interrupted the headteacher, bald and fixed with a cocky grin. Harry continued.

"After the funeral had finished and we made our speeches, I was heading back home through our town streets. For some peculiar reason, the lamplights were all disabled, and cars weren't present at all--no matter where I looked. I had taken the same route I always take to reach my home, each day of the week when I'm out. When my path took me to the 'Alleyway of Doom', yes, you know the one, I was halted. I didn't stop myself, but some invisible force seemed to.

In front, at the end of the long-stretched pathway, was a man, underneath the only lit lamp in town. He was dressed in a casual business attire: white lined shirt, black suit buttoned, black trousers, novelty red tie. Except...

...

...except that he didn't have a face. It was just skin. The sockets where normally one's eyes would be were concealed by a thin layer of skin, as were the mouth and nose, and ears.

He took light footsteps and began walking to me. I still had no way of moving my body backwards, I too could only keep forward. Now that the light was a little clearer, I noticed the briefcase that he held in his left hand. We both kept walking, and sweat was already beginning to form on my brow. My pace was nervous and pose cautious, but when we both met, we walked straight past each other with ease.

The only difference now was the briefcase had found itself in my shaking, pale hands. After we had both completely crossed paths, I began rushing back to my house, the fastest I have ever done. My house in the moonlight looked haunted; it always had done. I turned the keyhole of the front door, and made sure I didn't wake my mother and father up in their sleep. My direction took me to my cozy and comfortable bedroom. At that moment, I switched on every light and curled up in my blanket. I wasn't afraid to admit that I was scared.

When I began to draw the curtains, I saw the faint silhouette of a person. It wasn't any ordinary person, it was the same man that had passed me and handed me the briefcase. Which of course, was now locked away to never be seen and have any significance. His face was staring up right at my bedroom window. He waved, almost sarcastically, and I ran to the folds of my duvet covers. That's when I started.
I'm just going to post both of them? Or? Do you want to post yours?
I opened my cupboard, it had recently been painted a bright white, and was where I put the majority of my clothes away in. At the top shelf, there was a decently sized vault locked with a specific number code. I used a three-leg tablestool to reach, and pulled out the safe from its shelf. It wasn't too heavy to handle, and I placed it on the surface of my bed. 1-6-6-10-30. The safe door opened up, revealing the grey briefcase in perfect condition. I had set it on fire earlier on, but that hadn't exactly succeeded.

His briefcase was pretty much ordinary to be honest with you. It looked like it must carry around files, or possessions of some sort. When I opened it, my expression had turned to a sickened blue.

The head of Timmy Bloomfield.

His facial features were distorted in unimaginable ways, and eyes taken out from their sockets. I couldn't possibly manage looking any longer, so I grabbed the briefcase and its contents, and threw it out the window. I didn't care for the smashed glass; I never wanted to see it again. Tears began running down my soft skin, when the two cold hands of a stranger reached my shoulders. It was Mum--thank god.

When I turned around, I fainted. It was Mum, that was for sure. She was dressed in her nightgown and had her trademark bunny slippers keeping her feet warm. Except...

...

...except that she didn't have a face."

To pass time in the Workshop, Brick Creeper designed a prompt for any of the writers to write about. Being bored and low on requests, Pixel went ahead and wrote a little something.

I could barely make out the weathered blue brick composing the corridor walls. The light was so dim and enfeebled that my eyes had grown strained and tired. Despite my utmost reluctantcy to continue forward, I needed to find a way out of the dungeon before I became a part of it. Others in my party had fallen victim to the attacks before, and I didn't intend to find out what torture they suffered afterwards. I followed the wall with my hands and took caution to not stepping on any traps, or provoking creatures. I threw the only glowstick I had in stock, over in the distance ahead. It clattered against the brick, shining light all around. Straight ahead I could see the face of a skeleton, head angled to a side and a face grim and macabre. It walked slowly, almost mechanically, towards my direction, clothed in nothing but near-impenetrable armour.

I stumbled backwards in its sight. This was not normal for me; I was a warrior. But something about that skeleton had alerted me and whitened my skin to snow. My feet continued going backwards, in rhythm to the skeleton approaching me. Until suddenly I felt a sword against my back, trying to reach in through my armour. More and more adversaries climbed onto me and walk over, ripping apart my armour and throwing attacks. They carried me in a nightmarish laughter and threw me down a drop. My body smashed against bone and flesh, and I recognize the face of my past-party members. The same skeleton that I had originally been frightened of had jumped down, too. I shone a torch in his way, letting the golden glow mark out its features. I knew it all now.

I hacked at the skeleton's figure and used my wings to reach a platform. I ran and ran, and climbed and climbed, until I found the reassuring light of the outside world. I shake my head in sadness and anger, and wipe my mind from the skeleton. The skeleton that had also used to be my friend.

Yaster's Work:


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Prompt:

***Spoilered for explicit content, level of explicitness: Yaster Goodman Level***

Burton stood in the center of the white room. "Anything I can think, huh?" he asked himself. "Well, I think it'd be best if this only responded to my voice. Can't have every single thing I think of popping into existence, now can we?" A whirring sound emanated from the walls."Voice command is now active. Thought command deactivated."
"Now, then... a bed. I'm gonna have some fun with this." He fell backwards. A bed appeared to break his fall. He removed his clothes and crawled underneath the covers. "Why worry about escape when I can have lots and lots of hookers with huge tits?" As soon as he said this, the room became thick with the stench of cigarettes. He was surrounded by dozens of big-breasted women in tacky, dirty clothing. Some wore nothing at all. All of them, however, held large iron fish hooks. They charged at him, with murder in their eyes. "Oh, :red:!" Suddenly, a torrent of feces heaped itself onto the bed. "No! No! Ew! That's not what I mean! Oh God, clear the room! Clear the room!" According to his command, the room cleared itself of everything Burton had spawned. With the disappearance of the bed, he fell from where he had been sitting onto his naked bottom. He put his clothes back on. He would obviously have to be more careful.

"Okay, let's try that again," he said. "This time, just naked women. Naked women who are really horny." And so it happened. The room was dyed all shades of tan and brown with the arrival of an army of nymphomaniacs. They were more aggressive than he had expected, however. They foamed at the mouth and bared their sharp teeth. Before he could say anything, one of them cupped her hand over his mouth. Now he regretted turning off thought commands. Others restrained him. Soon, they were all on top of him, tearing off his clothes and clawing at his bare flesh. He let out a muffled scream as his nether regions were torn to bloody ribbons by the lustful monsters.
There, in that room, underneath a pile of naked women who were really horny, Burton passed on to wherever it is that all the naughty people go. "Thank you for participating in this trial," a voice said. "Goodbye." Burton's corpse and pile of writhing bodies on top vanished, leaving the room completely empty. Moments later, another person appeared in the center of the room.
"Welcome to Creation Cube. You've been randomly selected to participate in this trial."


Works:

Darthmorf requested a story of sorts which would involve his mad scientist OC to do something either awesome or humorous. Yaster spinned the mad into rad, and here's the result.

The rad scientist breathed deeply, taking in the scent of noxious chemicals and dead bodies he had become accustomed to. "Today is a big day," he said to his robot butler. "We're going to create the world's most bodacious dude." The robot butler nodded, then made its way over to a mannequin holding a boom box. "Okay! Three, two, one, let's jam!" the rad scientist cried. In response, the robot inserted a cassette into the boom box and pressed "play." The dulcet tones of 80s rock filled the room, and were soon accompanied by the maniacal laughter of the mad scientist.
The freshly dead corpse of a young man lay on an operating table before the scientist. His skull had been sawed open to remove his brain, which the scientist had casually thrown in the trash. "I've got a much better brain for him than whatever he came with." He motioned for his robot assistants to crowd around. The operation was to begin. He snatched a scalpel and, with one quick motion, made a deep incision from the corpse's neck down to its belly button. While his robots held open the wound, he went for the internal organs with the scalpel. He sliced and yanked until the chest was empty, allowing for his own devices to be installed. Dubious, nefarious, tubular devices. He then did similar operations on the arms and legs.
Numerous chemicals, countless incisions, and one final countdown later, the body was finished and the brain was ready to be put in. The rad scientist strapped the body down to the table and oriented it vertically, then climbed onto a short ladder to make the final preparations. He put in the cybernetic brain, connected it, then put on the cranial cap and covered it with a mullet wig. "Done!" he screamed in triumph. "We just need one more thing now!" The rad scientist twisted the corpse's neck, revealing a hole into which he inserted the plug of an electric guitar. "Play me a sick rock riff!" One of the robots did so, and the guitar sparked and exploded. Lightning traveled through the wire into the corpse, causing it to jump to life. "It's alive!" the rad scientist exclaimed. He unstrapped his new creation, which smiled and high-fived him.
"You were created to be the most bodacious dude to ever live," the rad scientist explained to his monster. "Here. This is yours, my son." He handed it an electric guitar. It nodded in understanding, then started to play. The rad scientist was ecstatic to hear the most excellent music that would ever exist fill his ears. "Dag spanky!" he said. "This is the most excellent music that will ever exist. I have succeeded!" He celebrated his success by drinking an entire case of Tab.
That night, the rad scientist awoke with a start. The bodacious beast he had created was smashing his collection of mix tapes. "My son!" the scientist yelled in protest. "What the hell are you doing to my jams?" The monster stopped what it was doing, and turned to look at the scientist with its sinister, glowing, hot pink eyes. "I am cleansing," it said in a monotone voice. "I cannot allow such bogus music to exist. Only I can create the :red:in' tunes that will lead humanity to Nirvana."
"No! You're going too far! All I wanted was to create the world's most bodacious dude! Not... this..."
"And now you have me, master. So there is no need for you to listen to inferior artists. Join me, master, and we will have a jam session with the gods!"
"Never! You don't know the true power of music! The power of love! You're just a nerd with a guitar!"
"Impossible. I cannot be a nerd. I am bodacious. This does not compute. E-error."
"Nerd! Nerd! Nerd! Supremacy's for suckers! Go back to studying, you :red:ing square!"
"E-error! I have reached my error climax! Ah! Ahh! Ahhh! Ahhhhhhh!"
The monster started shaking violently. Its skin began to ripple. Its head and bubbles of skin expanded and burst open, spewing black blood all over the walls. The now lifeless body crumpled to the floor. The rad scientist looked sadly at his failed creation for a while, then left the room to make some Hot Pockets.

Moral of the Story: Machines dehumanize.

Sheldon Cooper's Work:

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As I hear the voice, I realize this means I could see my kids again. I imagine them being here, and hug them and kiss them. "W-where are we?!" They stammer, but all I have to make them happy is... This box of their old toys! Yes! For the first time in what seems like forever I could see my now 13 and 17 year-olds, who I missed dearly. I urge a TV with their favorite shows there. I make the ceiling black, and I make the floor grow. I start having so much fun I forget about the message, and the kids say they get bored. I provide a rocket water missile launcher for them, and a pool, but they are bored. I realize I need to take them to the real world, so I make a hole in the wall that leads to the real world, but just get sucked out. I appear to be in a small black box, denying my claustrophobia. I urge myself to get back to the outside world, but the box just gets tighter. Oh no. This can't end well...

This user has been temporarily exempted from previous works, pending his completion of future requests. Past experiences have accounted for this exemption.

Works:

This is currently empty, for the timebeing.

XVoltzX's Work:

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I frantically look around, searching my thoughts for the slightest memory of what happened before the sudden blackout that led me to this mysterious place. I struggle to get up, my swelling eyes adjusting slowly to the shining white walls around me, I stand up, and my mind gets back on track. If I could really 'control' all matter that is inside of this closed area, then escaping shouldn't be hard, or at least for a person who has survival instincts. Of course, the first of the thoughts that rushed into my nervous mind is making the place at least comfortable in any single way, not to mention it smells like mystery meat in here... The first thing that I thought off were the survival necessities, food, water, and so on. Escaping was not gonna be easy, as science has never went easy on people, or as I should say for a better clear phrase, test subjects. The second thought was company, I made the area quickly materialize a small clone of my cat, I would be desperate for the slightest indication of anyone in the surroundings.
This was going to be a long road.

Applicant applied before field was required, user exempted.

Works:

This is currently empty, for the timebeing.

Sodapone's Work:

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I smirked confidently. "Well,” I proclaimed, “if it's a cube where you can imagine anything, then I think of...a way out of here!"
Nothing happened.
"Uh...I was thinking of a way out of here! Heheh..." The uncertainty in my voice was tangible.
Still nothing. I began to break into a panicked sweat.
"This is a box where I can think of anything, why can't I get out?!" I stamped my feet furiously.
A slip of paper materialized in front of me. I bent over and picked it up.
"Sodapop: The exit cannot materalize because you do not know how to get out," it read.
"Dammit, it's right," I thought to myself, crumpling the paper into a ball and tossing it aside out of spite. I walked over and sat against the wall of the room, folding up my legs. I didn’t want to think of anything else but a way out.

Several days passed. The empty Creation Cube became a cramped torture chamber, with me blindfolded and chained to the wall.
“A way out…” I thought to myself. “Why…why can’t I…why can’t I think of a way out?”
“I need to get out…” I whispered to myself, shuddering and beginning to cry.
“I need to get out.” My voice was beginning to pick up.
“I need to get out.” I was beginning to shout.
“I need to get out!” I yelled, rattling my chains.
“I NEED TO GET OUT!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “JUST LET ME OUT OF HERE, I’M GOING COMPLETELY INSANE! WHY CAN’T I GET OUT?! WHY CAN’T I GET OUT?!”
I let out a horrendous scream. And then…then I realized it. I realized how to get out of this nightmare.
I attempted to gather my thoughts and tried to imagine my home. But I was in here for so long, and it had taken such a toll on my mental state that I was only able to hold the image of my home in place for a split second before everything went dark.

I later woke up in my own bed. I looked around. I was in my bedroom. Everything was still there as it was before. I did it. I beat the Creation Cube.


Works:

This is currently empty, for the timebeing.

Sheldon Cooper's Work:

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As I hear the voice, I realize this means I could see my kids again. I imagine them being here, and hug them and kiss them. "W-where are we?!" They stammer, but all I have to make them happy is... This box of their old toys! Yes! For the first time in what seems like forever I could see my now 13 and 17 year-olds, who I missed dearly. I urge a TV with their favorite shows there. I make the ceiling black, and I make the floor grow. I start having so much fun I forget about the message, and the kids say they get bored. I provide a rocket water missile launcher for them, and a pool, but they are bored. I realize I need to take them to the real world, so I make a hole in the wall that leads to the real world, but just get sucked out. I appear to be in a small black box, denying my claustrophobia. I urge myself to get back to the outside world, but the box just gets tighter. Oh no. This can't end well...

This user has been temporarily exempted from previous works, pending his completion of future requests. Past experiences have accounted for this exemption.

Works:

This is currently empty, for the timebeing.

Brick Creeper's Work:

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I startled as the nightstand and gramophone flashed back into existence. I blinked, then rubbed my eyes, just to make sure I wasn't dreaming. Deciding that I wasn't, I tried it again. I imagined both objects weren't in the room... and they vanished. For a split second I felt like I was in one of those science fiction moves Daddy was so wild about. Then It hit me. I was in a room, with the no exits, and no possible ways of escape. My chest constricted as my claustrophobia started flaring up. I immediately did what I was taught, I took deep breaths and imagined that the room was bigger then it was. It started to work, but then the walls charged at me. I collapsed onto the floor and finally let the tears out. This was not how today was supposed to happen.

Today I was supposed to meet my bestist friend in the world, we were going to play dolls, and Daddy was going to make tea for our party... The thought of Daddy brought on a whole new wave of tears. I tried thinking of something else, but everything else just made me feel really sad and lonely. Then I thought if Mommy. I didn't think about Mommy very much, since she died. What would she do if she were here, with me? She would hold me, singing my favorite song, and tell me everything was going to be all right. That gave me a idea, though they were usually never good. I rose onto my shaking feet, and wipped tears away with my bright pink shirt. If this room could turn into whatever I wanted, maybe I could turn it into Mommy? I imagined her golden locks, her bright eyes, her soft hands that she would braid my hair with. I looked over my shoulder, and smiled.


Works:

When the Workshop was low on activity, Brick Creeper challenged all Workshop writers, whether some did or some didn't, including himself. Here is what he wrote.

I raised my glowstick. It's sickly green pushing back the darkness in the endless hallways of my prison. I had run out of torches long ago, and was using what light sources I had sparingly. Spying an empty room I ran in, shut the door, and rushed into the corner, accidentally spearing my toe on a spike. I set my pack down with shaking fingers and rubbed my sore toe. I tried to drink another healing tonic but I was so nausihs came back up. I wiped the red liquid off my chin, hoping it wasn't blood. I heard a loud creaking above me. A glanced up, my shivering so bad my limbs were moving on my own. A grabbed my pack and dashed out of the room, glowstick in front of me. I looked behind me and saw the flutter of white robes. I ran harder. I used my wings to climb through the damp air up to a ledge sticking out of a wall. I pulled out the tonic and was finally able to down it without spitting it up. I turned around to see death behind me. Before I could even scream the unearthly beast raised its hands sending waves of scorching fire into my already burned body. I crawled forward, flames exploding around me. The unholy fire crawled up my clothes and hair but I didn't real them. At last my will broke and I lay down, smoke obscuring my vision. Through the haze I saw two feet, clad in gleaming golden armor. Hope rekindled in me. Was it like in Cody's stories? was a hero going to save the helpless maiden? I glanced up, then all the life drained from my face. It was not a knight in shining armor here to save me, but a demon to rid me of my life. My uncontrollable shivering caused my sobs to stab at my chest as death's hammer flew.

I awoke in the same dark hallway. But for some strange reason, I could see. A hot, tingling sensation sensation had started at my chest and was spreading. I glanced down at my body, but was only slightly horrified. Through my ripped and burnt garments I could see my flesh, or lack thereof. The skin and muscle of my body had melted away reveling long, pale bones underneath. I vaguely remember how I got how I got here and how I received the burns, but those memories, along with the memories of my past life, were slipping away. I groaned. What was life? If something like it was real, why should anyone get to have it if I couldn't? The fog in my mind started to leave, replaced by something else. Anger, for one. Insurmountable anger at... nothing really. Maybe at the the despicable creatures I was once one of, who would let this happen to me. And power. strength and energy that no mortal would understand. The power seamed to manifest in the form of... fire. The last thing know I felt before the anger and power consumed me was my hurt toe.

Vizendel's Work:

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John Doe stood in the centre of the room before he slowly collapsed to his knees, overcome with a myriad of emotions he couldn't quite understand, never having felt them before synchronously. Rage, fear, confusion, grief and an almost unnoticeable twinge of greed boiled together in his mind, a potent mix under any circumstances to be sure. 'How dare they simply pluck me from my life' he thought, he was sure that he had never signed up for something like this and the gramophone had done nought but affirm this belief of his. His rage at the sheer, unforgivable abasement of his abduction began to bubble and froth in his mind, taking the shape of a bull as proud and indignant as its own creator, simply coming into existence in-front of him without so much as a pop to forewarn him.

John was shocked at the sudden appearance of the manifestation of his rage, and with a frightened stumble, willed it from existence. However, after moments of consideration and a slightly malignant grin, he decided to bring it back, far bigger than before. The beast was absolutely titanic, clearly well over twelve feet from head to the base of its long, spindly tail, and if he had to guess John reckoned it was well over four thousand pounds in weight from the huge, coiled muscles so clearly bunched up beneath its truly stygian coat, a true monstrosity, a freak of a bull. He grinned at the huge beast and with a needlessly exuberant flourish of his hand once more willed it from existence. An amalgamation of greedy, lusty thoughts flooded his mind in the same moment a broad, cocky grin forced its way onto his mouth as he realised the true, achievable potentials of this room. He rubbed his hands together and this time, heralded with a sudden burst of smoke and a pop munificent amounts of gold coins, bars and unrefined clumps began to spew from thin air, the scent of ozone accompanying the appearance of the valued metal. John willed the flowing fortune to stop and it did, following the orders of his grey matter unfailingly. He decided that such monumental wealth was worthless if he had no one to give it to, or to flaunt it over even, and soon remembered some strangers he had spoken to the past few days ago, none whose names he bothered to remember yet their faces were as clear as day. He willed them too into existence and like the bull and gold, they appeared.

Bewildered and frightened, they screamed sheer bloody murder at appearing from wherever they may have been, precisely as they should have reacted. John however was greatly amused at their appearance, spreading his arms wide as if to hug the lot of them, or to present something fantastical. "Welcome, my friends!" He roared joyously above their now ceasing screams and cries of fear. Yet something was not right, their reactions were too perfect, too automated, they were not genuine John believed, not genuine in the slightest. Disgusted at the sudden revelation of the pointlessness of the Creation Cube if it were unable to create real life, merely a replication, he willed a door to appear at one of the far walls, an exit to get him out of the clearly pointless place. He began his sad, laborious trudge towards the doorway, only to stop suddenly at a sharp, piercing pain in his lower back. He looked over his shoulder with a pained twitch of his left eye, only to see one of the strangers, a woman, holding the hilt of a knife whose blade was so clearly perforated through his right kidney, he stared down at her as his mouth began to gape in abject horror, her own opening emotionlessly to speak that raspy, staticky voice of the voice from the gramophone, clearly not what the woman's voice should have been. "You were told to not attempt escape, you are to be terminated immediately." Her voice similarly cut off with a click as pain rushed his body, overtaking his motor skills and causing him to stumble for the next few steps, ripping the knife from his abdomen with yet another agonising jolt of pain.

John refused to let them win. 'Those bastards think they can :red:ing well bully me into submission, try to kill me!?" He composed himself for a second before taking another step, this time into something so excruciatingly painful that his head was forced to look down at it, his hoard of gold had so clearly melted into a bubbling, viscous pool of molten gold. His foot was gone within an instant, flesh sloughed off mercifully swiftly, the bone taking several agonising moments longer before he simply became unbalanced, toppling face-first into the pool and for tens of harrowing seconds his face was slowly melted away, he blacked out after the first three as his brain simply overloaded, completely and utterly incapable of handling the extreme pain being shot through its system. The fetid, rank stench of burnt, scorched flesh lingered in the room for several long seconds before it was reverted to the clean room that John was originally in, again containing the man that was so clearly John Doe. The malefactors of the Creation Cube Corp snickered unheard as John listened to the automated voice once more regale him. "Welcome to Creation Cube, you've been randomly selected to participate in its trial. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO ESCAPE. This room, the Limitless X12 Model, is subject to your design. You have been bestowed with the ability to make this room into whatever you want, provided you can think it. Not enough room? Will the walls to expand! Perhaps, if you're smart enough you can find the exit. -Creation Cube Corp. Representative".

Exempted.

Works

This is currently empty, for the timebeing.

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The Community:

Us in the Literature Workshop would love to know what you think of our work. Don't hesitate on criticizing or offering a little feedback. Our motivation is driven on that fuel. Suggestions, thoughts, comments; they're all part of what inspires to continue. This is why we're asking for you to be more open to us about what your mind is rattling on about.

If you're a little nervous about the things you might want to mention, go ahead and start a new conversation with one of the workshop members--most especially the Co-Founders.

Keep in mind, the authors that have signed on the crew are in no way paid. They do this out of interest and dedication. When critiquing focus on what could've improved the quality of the content, as opposed to blindly knocking the works down. We also ask that any work is posted is carefully considered for a like, and some sharing. I personally believe that you can drop a like on something for so much as it held your interest. So, it is only polite that if you found the content to your standards you do in fact leave positive comments and even drop a like or two.

We're open for hugs, too.

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We've Got an Eye on You!:

Many of the Workshop Crew will be invited from people the Co-Founders, and other members have had past experiences with, or enjoyed their work. But, that doesn't mean we don't want applicants. Everyone is required to do the prompt, regardless of if they were invited or not.

If you are applying this is what needs to be enclosed:

Your writing prompt rendition, (the prompt is located up top in the thread, in the 'Requesting Standards' segment), examples of your previous work, and you must be regularly active. Teal, Co-Founder of the project, will be exclusively breaking his no-post-rule so he can help out with the thread. Just as a warning. If you see turtles floating about the thread... You know what happened. This exclusivity is just for you guys!

Not only do we want other literature enthusiasts to join our crew, but we are also open to receiving art for visual aid and to better format the thread. And if you actually want to join our team as a dedicated artist, then we would be more than happy to talk terms and conditions and have you signed up. Spriters and digital artists alike are welcome form an application. As is a custom, those who we've worked with before will also receive special tags notifying them of this thread, and hopefully getting them to enlist and help.
 
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Queue: (Taken Up | Unpicked | Finished)
  • Taken Up - @darthmorf -OC Story [Teal]
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How the queue works:
Taken Up
: An author has chosen to do your request, they now have 48 hours to complete it before someone else completes it.
Unpicked: An author hasn't yet chosen your request, if it met the standards and hasn't been rejected by the group it will still be put in the queue. Pending being chosen by the group.
Finished: Requests that have been taken up, and are now completed. For the sake of records they will be kept under the queue.

  • NOTE #1:
    • After a workshop crew member "Takes up" your request they have 48 hours to complete it before the request is handed off to someone else.
  • NOTE #2
    • This thread functions similarly to the 'Art Request Megathread.' However, in this thread, there will be a team of dedicated authors to do requests.
  • NOTE #3
    • We'll open up to eight request slots at once, when those are filled no more requests will be accepted: we expect YOU to check if a slot is available before requesting!

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Frequently Asked Questions:

Question No. 1:
"Are you accepting new writers/artists?"

Of course we are. Though we don't want an exhausting amount of Crew members, we'll always be on the lookout for newcomers to the group. If anyone in the Workshop participates inactively, then we'll remove them from the group for the time being. This system allows new enthusiasts to have a shot and entering the team.

Question No. 2: "Can I help in any way?"

Even if you are not keen on joining Pixel's Literature Workshop as a dedicated writer or artist, you're still free to contribute to the thread either way, if you so desire. We're always open to generous donations for our thread, and likewise with advertising the thread's well meaning so we can get more requesters.

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News:
08/08/15: Pixel's Literature Workshop has opened after hours of work and thread formatting. Both Co-Founders Pixel and Teal are happy to present you their next large project, alongside the Terrarians in Real Life thread, that has kicked off this same day.

The thread has undergone its first thread update, involving rearrangement of particular segments and headers, as well as big changes in the thread format. Nothing too major, but otherwise crucial to lisibility.

The second thread update has taken place, revolving around creating the new 'FAQ' and 'News' segments in the main post, as well as changing up the format centering, and developing the secondary post a little more.

Novelty filter system introduced to the Worshop crewmember biographies. This system helps better specify what each member prefers, if one should look for a specific writer to complete their request. Also a minor format modification regarding headers.

The filter system has been slightly improved, along with the thread in general. Emphasised words and phrases, as well as important notices, are all highlighted in bold font. To add, we've also splashed a small drop of colour onto the thread.

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Code of Ethics:
1. Use of our work, after having it requested, without any credit given, is against our code. Our writers work hard on each entry and piece, so it is only normal, and expected, that you credit their work should you showcase it.

2. Connected to our first rule in the code, plagiarism is intolerable. If you claim to have wrote the requested piece, there will be actions against you, not just with us, but concerning violations against forum policy, and by extension, the TCF Staff.

3. Any form of nagging or begging for a request is against our rules. We are writing these requests out of interest, not for any profit. This means that the Workshop crewmembers aren't necessarily obligated to be here, but want to write. If you take them for granted and endlessly plead for a request completed, we will ignore you. But, extensionally, it is always good policy to give updates on progress when requested. That means it also must be requested in a manner as to not beg, or nag.

4. By requesting anything in this thread, you are agreeing to honor the terms imposed by the overarching thread rules, and a specific Crew Member's rules. You must also account for their timezones, and note that their may be differences and variables that complicate the rate, and quality, of the final outcome.

5. Building on the previous rule, we ask you to critique using class. Highlight both the negatives, and the positives and ensure that any critiques are made in a non-offensive and constructive manner. It is also asked that you reward the works done with due likes, sharing, and positive comments, subject to you, of course.

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Thread Growth:

Pixel's Literature Workshop is always growing and growing, despite how many Views or Replies it might house. To help ensure that this project grows, along with the skills and strengths of our Crew Members, we ask that you play an active role in its flourishing. There are several ways you can accomplish this, and all of them are appreciated:

For example, if you so much as find a request satisfactory, or support the whole thread in general, we ask for you to sport the upcoming banner, this plays a huge role in the motivation and dedication the authors put forth. We also thank @Flor3nce2456, not only for having such a confusing username, but for dedicating some of his talent to our thread. In the form of a banner, and logo.


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Whispers: Just copy the below code into your signature
Code:
[center][img]http://forums.terraria.org/index.php?attachments/pixel1a-png.70540/[/img][/center]
 
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I'm a bit confused on what you want me to do. From what I read, you need artists to make art for stories people may request, illustrators if you will. And I could be one of those 'illustrators'. Am I correct?
 
The concept seems interesting. Unfortunately I will not be able to provide much help, with school starting back up soon I am going to become much busier. Good luck though.
 
@DerpoTheMagnificent

There are different options you could take, if you were accept our invitation. You could either contribute some art to the thread, as in, a simple support banner. You could perhaps sprite up a logo if you really want. Or, if you're really keen on helping out, you could actually join the Workshop Crew as an artist. A little like in The Fallen Star Bestiary, where you made sprites and the sort.

@Yaster Goodman

Of course. What thread would be mine without blood?
[DOUBLEPOST=1439163968,1439163791][/DOUBLEPOST]@Matsu

Ah, that's a shame. I understand your response, and I guess I'll thank you for leaving an acknowledgment anyway. See you around, and thanks for meaning well.

Thread Update No. 1:

I've fixed spacing errors that spawned upon transferring the writing from Google Documents on TCF. Everything should be spaced accordingly and how they were originally meant to be.

I've also gone and added a little more BBcode to areas where I deem suitable. These additions are simply made to make the thread look nicer. After all, Teal and I are the Kings of Format. To add, I've rearranged the 'Prompt' segment on both mine and Teal's segments. This allows the prompt to be a little more public for those wanting a specific writing style achieved for their request.
 
The concept seems interesting. Unfortunately I will not be able to provide much help, with school starting back up soon I am going to become much busier. Good luck though.
Matsu, that's totally fine. We even appreciate you just responding to our summons. The tags are solely to notify people we have special interest and experience with, working in the past and such. With school starting, and the other necessities of life, we don't mind at all.
 
I'd surely like to help, but I'll be pretty busy all next week with both being a junior counselor and having soccer, not to mention a summer reading project I slacked off on. Plus I haven't had the inspiration to write much other than love poems for the waifu poems, and that could simply be requested at my thread. I'll keep it in mind, but I don't know just yet.
 
I'm a writer now and a spriter now. I'll do whatever. Now I've got some other questions, though... How do I start? What are the terms and conditions? Is it all collaboration, or will I also be doing stand-alone stuff?

EDIT: Looking over it again, it's worded in a way that suggests I'd be taking requests from people and doing them on behalf of the workshop. Is this accurate?
 
I'm a writer now and a spriter now. I'll do whatever. Now I've got some other questions, though... How do I start? What are the terms and conditions? Is it all collaboration, or will I also be doing stand-alone stuff?
As it says in the OP, when people request you can choose to take that request up. I assume collabs and help along the way will come along as needed. Ping me on steam with any further questions.
 
@Yaster Goodman

We'll need you to form a little biography and such if you are to be fully settled into the Workshop Crew. I think I'll prioritise that for later, considering I'm heading to sleep in a little while.

And if you could bless us with some of your spriting skills alongside your literature, I'd add some extra blood to the project--just for you.
 
Considering we don't actually have any literature requests at this moment in time, I think a good thing to get started on would either be a logo and/or a support banner. We need this Workshop growing quickly, and a little bit of sugarcoated signature advertising will help out a good lot.
 
Well that's funny. I was going to write my own Literature Workshop for people's suggestions and the like, but then I saw this! Because I see no point in making my own, feeble (compared to this) workshop... I want in! Sadly, school has started for me, so I don't have time to write the prompt now, but will edit it into this post when I have the time. As for previous works, I only have one on the forums (see 'Storys' in my signature), but a couple others elsewhere. With that aside, thanks for writing this @Pixel and @Teal! If you except me as a writer, I not only get away with not writing a huge op, but I get to work with two awesome members! :)

~Prompt~
I startled as the nightstand and gramophone flashed back into existence. I blinked, then rubbed my eyes, just to make sure I wasn't dreaming. Deciding that I wasn't, I tried it again. I imagined both objects weren't in the room... and they vanished. For a split second I felt like I was in one of those science fiction moves Daddy was so wild about. Then It hit me. I was in a room, with the no exits, and no possible ways of escape. My chest constricted as my claustrophobia started flaring up. I immediately did what I was taught, I took deep breaths and imagined that the room was bigger then it was. It started to work, but then the walls charged at me. I collapsed onto the floor and finally let the tears out. This was not how today was supposed to happen. Today I was supposed to meet my bestist friend in the world, we were going to play dolls, and Daddy was going to make tea for our party... The thought of Daddy brought on a whole new wave of tears. I tried thinking of something else, but everything else just made me feel really sad and lonely. Then I thought if Mommy. I didn't think about Mommy very much, since she died. What would she do if she were here, with me? She would hold me, singing my favorite song, and tell me everything was going to be all right. That gave me a idea, though they were usually never good. I rose onto my shaking feet, and wipped tears away with my bright pink shirt. If this room could turn into whatever I wanted, maybe I could turn it into Mommy? I imagined her golden locks, her bright eyes, her soft hands that she would braid my hair with. I looked over my shoulder, and smiled.

~Image~
37c7a8f3bd.png


~Description~
Brick Creeper is a homeschool student, who's main occupation is being an artist and a part-time writer. Brick has a large love for books (devouring many a month). Because of this he likes to write stories he hopes people will enjoy. He strives to be as kind, helpful, and sincere a forum member, internet surfer, and alien humanoid can be.

His OC, Brick, is a sharply dressed warrior who wields a mighty Excalibur and wears a very fashionable red hat that doesn't smell funny, at all, whatsoever.

~Filter~
Preferred Genre(s): Most anything except romance and mystery
Preferred Subjects(s): Most Everything
Preferred Scale: Small to medium
Timezone: EST (Epic Spider Time)
Time management: Normal


~Title~
Pen Distributor
 
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So... During Yaster Goodman's application process, there has been somewhat of an unforeseen blunder. He mistakenly took my rendition of the writing prompt as the actual prompt. Now, admittedly, his 500 word story heavily monkey oriented, was pretty funny to read. But, it should be known that this is the writing prompt:
WRITING PROMPT: After eating dinner with someone you seemingly can't remember you awaken from a haze. You're in a box, about the size of your average garage. Every corner in the room is seamlessly rounded, and the entire room is smooth shiny white. A gramophone materializes on top of a nightstand feet away from you. A voice, staticky, and raspy, emits from it.
"Welcome to Creation Cube, you've been randomly selected to participate in its trial. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO ESCAPE. This room, the Limitless X12 Model, is subject to your design. You have been bestowed with the ability to make this room into whatever you want, provided you can think it. Not enough room? Will the walls to expand! Perhaps, if you're smart enough you can find the exit. -Creation Cube Corp. Representative" the machine makes audible clicking and then ceases to make further sound. You test the ability by willing the nightstand and gramophone away, and according with your thoughts, they do. How do you proceed?
 
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