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WritingThot
Writer of kinky stories & fetish fuel.
-Genres: Fantasy, Horror, LitRPG, & Slice of Life.
Weekly posts on Patreon & monthly posts on Kindle.

Molly Meadows @WritingThot

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its cold here

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WritingThot's News

Posted by WritingThot - July 28th, 2013


Well, I haven't been too hard at work lately since I completed the June writing contest. I guess you could almost say I have been a short hiatus, although I know it is technically too short to be a hiatus. Just felt like the right thing to do with some of the heat building at my home and the creative rut I was in. But the writing contest helping out a lot with that damned writers block. I will be picking my pen up again soon, I know that doesn't mean a lot since I don't upload that often. I would upload more short stories, but I just don't write them that often.

I have been mainly taking so much time to plan out this novel mess I have gotten myself into that I haven't even been writing as much poetry either. And I know I have a HUGE personal collection of poems, but most I am not ready to upload yet. Hopefully I will be getting into swing of things. I may even upload scenes and notes from my novel, should I ever get them down. Well, I felt like blogging, now I feel like kicking zombie ass of Resident Evil 6.

Stay beautiful people..

TheInnerScience Upload Library: http://theinnerscience.newgrounds.com/news/post/
857803


Posted by WritingThot - July 28th, 2013


My collected works on Newgrounds all in one place. Please, browse at your leisure. 

 


 

All we wanted was coffee...(Short Story): http://theinnerscience.newgrounds.com/news/post/954115

Description: Young friends, Rez, Tyler, and Nile, start off their normal day with a normal trip to go get some hot coffee from their favorite cafe. However, the trio themselves are far from normal and have quite the tendency to attract trouble. They can only sigh at the bloody event that soon unfolds.

 

Sessions [Poem]: http://theinnerscience.newgrounds.com/news/post/932623 

 

Lonely Ramets: Dealings and MisDealings (Short Story): http://theinnerscience.newgrounds.com/news/post/873609
Description: The first story arch in a quirky tale about four friends in search of fame and fortune in the ruthless and surreal city of Paradise.

 

Lonely Ramets (Short Story): http://theinnerscience.newgrounds.com/news/post/866942
Description: A quirky tale about four friends in search of fame and fortune in the ruthless and surreal city of Paradise.

 

Twist of Sensation (MWC entry): http://theinnerscience.newgrounds.com/news/post/
852560

Description: My answer to the call of duty for the writing forum's June writing contest. The topic was to write the story from the perspective of a blind character. Won second place.

 

Parricide [Poem]: http://theinnerscience.newgrounds.com/news/post/
849979

 

Death of a Poet [Poem]: http://theinnerscience.newgrounds.com/news/post/
844241

 

The Library (Short Story): http://theinnerscience.newgrounds.com/news/post/
833090

 

Episode 1 (MWC entry): http://theinnerscience.newgrounds.com/news/post/
829616

 

Devil's Phallus [Poem]: http://theinnerscience.newgrounds.com/news/post/
828103

 

Death's Cousin [Poem]: http://theinnerscience.newgrounds.com/news/post/997249


Posted by WritingThot - July 2nd, 2013


Twist of Sensation 2634 words

Cool sheets of silk pressed gently to my back as I lay upon them, gazing serenely into the personal void that surrounded me. With long strokes I smoothed a crease that had formed, much to my annoyance, on the tight surface of the fitted sheet. Even after the irritating wrinkle had disappeared, I found myself still massaging that one spot lovingly. It was something that could not be helped. The silk felt like water sliding against my warm palm, leaving behind tiny fracture like crinkles instead of moist droplets.

From deep inside my darkness I heard the loud banging of cabinet doors, or at least it sounded loud to me. Instinctively, I raised my head slightly to hear better and indeed I did. I heard the soft and quiet rhythm of bare feet treading lightly across hardwood flooring. Then there was a high pitch clink as glasses were being lifted and shifted.

As I was listening to the stirring of the vivacious vixen that shared my company and my utter darkness, I began to notice a number of scents and odors that had somehow found their way to clinging to my body. The first and most pronounce was, of course, that of my favorite cologne which I had lightly rubbed onto my neck hours before.

There were very few fragrances I could stand to have on me, and of course, the one I enjoyed the most would be a gift from my Ember. It was our first Christmas together when she gave it to me. With most of the cologne I have tried on before, either the power of their musk was too strong or there would be an overpowering flowery scent that would leave my eyes watering. But this, it was the perfect mixture of masculinity and subtleness. And out of preservation for such a precious thing, I wear it only on the finest of occasions.

The second belonged to her. It was rather faint, but it still seemed to touch my senses strongly. The scent was sweet strawberries, and my, how it made my mouth salivate. More than likely the perfume found its way onto me as we hugged tightly together in the back of the taxicab that brought us home. Speaking of the taxi, that is where the third odor came from.

Hidden lightly underneath the other two seductive aromas was the repulsive smell of cigar smoke. Even though Ember said he did not actually light one up, the whole vehicle reeked with that god-awful stench. Once the car came to a stop at our destination and the doors opened, fresh air poured in and washed over my senses like a fresh shower of rain. It was cleansing and pure, or least as pure as city air could be.

My head slowly rested back down on a feathery pillow, and my thoughts drifted farther and farther away until I was surely on the brink of sleep. As I teetered on that brink, I was suddenly pulled as those footsteps changed directions and came nearer until they were surely at the foot of the bed. A few more steps and the balance of the bed shifted as she sat carefully at my side, the backside of her dress touching my hand lightly. With the sound of bedsprings groaning in protest, I heard her sit something on the night table which sounded just like a couple of glasses.

The texture of the dress was soft and smooth, almost like the bed sheets. But I think was something close to cotton. Suddenly her gently grasp took hold of my wrist and raised it until I felt her hand slid into mine, each finger interlocking like a thread of lace.

``Have you already winked off, my dear?``

I smiled, and for a moment, I thought I could feel her smile back to me. Long ago, there was a sorrow that would plague my heart whenever I thought about never being able to look upon the smiling face of my beloved. Such a sadness sank into my heart like black tar that corrosively ate me. But it was moments like these when I could feel her love and happiness, not through words or sensations, but a silent bond that bound us together in our journey through life.

``Not at all, I was simply deep in thought.``

I felt her fingers squeeze lightly against mine until I could feel the steady pulse that lay hidden under her pleasant flesh. I am not the only one with keen senses. She knows when something is bothering me. It is amazing how only after three years she knows my mind almost better than I do.

``Something is troubling you.``

``No,`` I tried to sound as reassuring as I possible could. ``I honestly was just thinking.`` She remained silent for moment or so, as if contemplating my response. I felt her skepticism as the gears of her mind turned, but she asked nothing more of it.

``The glasses?`` I asked. Her fingers curled slightly in my hand and began to tickle my palm.

``I thought a nightcap would be a nice way to end the day. Hard to believe it was only three years ago when we first had lunch in the park, do you remember.``

``Yes, we had finished semester finals early that day and the park was full of the buzzing voices of an obnoxious family reunion.``

``Is that all you remember?``

``No, I remember that it was your tender voice and intellectual words that kept me sane. It was a tonic for pained ears. I remember that was the day that I knew I could not go a single day without hearing at least three words from you.``

She was silent again. It weighed my heart down dearly that I could not see what expression was upon her face. Her hand slowly slipped from mine, leaving it hanging frozen in air, and I heard a very light scrape of glass on wood as the glasses were lifted. I placed my hands on either side of my waist to push myself upward. Now sitting, I knew I was eyelevel with Ember because I could feel her warm breath light blowing against me.

My hand lifted up again and it was a cold glass cup that my fingers wrapped around. I could tell that from the strong aroma that it was rum, which she knew had been my alcohol of choice ever since I stole a sip from the bottle my father kept hidden so many years ago. And from the glass she held, I smelt strawberry wine. My Ember had a curious love for strawberries that I found rather delicious.

I held my glass high and she met me halfway in the toast. The ring that permeated from our glasses as they collided hung in the air for almost thirty seconds. It was not till the ringing had died that I raised the rim of the glass to my lips. The strong alcohol was already running down my throat before I could even taste it. A small blaze started mid esophagus and continued down till my entire core was heated with warm intoxicated pleasure.

As Ember slowly sighed, the scent of strawberries told me she had finished her glass too. She took my glass from me and I heard her set both on the night stand once more. I would have done it myself, but I knew I sat out of reach.

We sat motionless and as quiet death itself, but I knew that the cold space between us was begging to be filled with the coming together of two young bodies. I raised a longing hand, hoping to find something of her to feel. But it was her who found me. Her hand, cupping the outside of mine, guided my hand through the darkness till finally it found her warm and tender cheeks. Now knowing, my other hand was capable followed suit without any assistance.

The longer we sat together, the more my hands felt and studied the delicate features of her face. It was something I have done many times but never tire off. My palms pressed against the corners of her lips while careful fingers touched the edges of her eyes.

As details flowed through my hands like Braille on a piece of paper, there was something else I noticed. Makeup smeared and rubbed off onto the skin of my palms. I guess I never could sense it over her perfume and other invading odors.

``You went through all the trouble putting makeup on,`` I started. ``Just for tonight's occasion? Just for me?``

She did not answer, but her silence said everything. Suddenly my palms were moist and the blush she had on was smearing horrible as my palms moved back and forth. It was tears.

My hands quickly released her so that my arms could wrap around her and bring her closer to me. As her body pressed to mine, she returned my embrace with arms like steel traps. Her hair tickled the flesh revealed from an undone button of my shirt as she buried her face into an open shoulder of mine.

She wept lightly as fresh tears soaked through the thin material of my shirt. Each time a sob shook her body, I found myself holding her that much tighter. What else could I do? I knew of nothing comforting that I could say.

After a minute or so, I felt her head rise slowly.

``You do not think my selfish for shedding these tears, do you?`` She asked in a low and hoarse voice.

``Or course not`` I answered almost immediately. She laughed, almost forcedly, and tightened her embrace around me. How could she think I would hold such a thing against her?

``Just know,`` She said laying her head back down against me. ``I have felt nothing but pride and delight when I stand beside you. Because I know that not only do we have each other, but we have love. And we do not need vision for the sort of love we make together.`` The last of her words echoed in the recesses of my mind as I felt the darkness around me grow warm and damp. As I was laid back down, my clothes seemed to liquefy and dissolve into beads of sweat that I felt rolling across my bare skin.

Then as precise fingernails traced circles around the middle of my chest, my fists clenched as I felt goose bumps prickle along the hair of my forearms. After the third cycle, her hand paused for a moment before slowly making its way up to the base of my neck. As the hand of Ember reached the soft flesh of my throat, her hand began to caress and lightly massage that side of my neck.

The gravity of the bed shifted as one leg slid across my waist and the rest of her body followed as she straddled my centerline. I felt her posture shift forward right before her soft lips pressed to mine and her vicious tongue danced vicariously between my teeth. The flavor of strawberries and wine spread across my palate as her intoxicating and heated breath permeated down my airway.

The longer we laid like this, the more the fabric of our beings intertwined as we tossed and turned together in my perfect darkness. The only sensations I felt was that of every inch of her body that was wrapped and contorted around mine. With ecstasy writhing in our veins and spasms of relief shuddering through our muscles, sighs of pleasure became long and drawn out songs of agonizing passion.

As this spiraling ride of love reached the peak of its ascension, it paused only for moment. Then it fell into a thunderous descent of cries and whimpers of almost rapturous pleasure. I felt her nails digging into the nape my neck as we spun and twirled, each gasp of her breathe felt almost as hot as flames against my exposed flesh. We continued in this state, with bodies clenched close, for what felt like forever.

But once the high had passed, our muscles relaxed as our breathing became shallow and calm. It felt as if we were rag dolls, drained of energy and only able to lay tangle together. With her chin resting on my chest and the rest of her body limp upon mine, the rise and fall of her breasts against me became slow and steady. It seems that sleep has slipped upon her like a heavy veil.

I must confess that I was not far off myself from joining her in sweet slumber myself, but once I started to drift something wafted in front of my nose. It was a new smell that could finally be noticed by slowed and tired senses. It was the adrenaline induced stench of sweat and strong body odor. With our old scents long faded, these new ones ate at the very air I breathed and choked my lungs. I had to force back the realization and try to just ignore it. To just go to sleep so that this tender moment would remembered and cherished between us for years to come.

However, I could not just fall asleep. I had lain as long as I could, and finally found myself suffocating. Carefully and gently, I pried myself free from the unconscious grasp of my sweet Ember. Whether or not it had awoken her, I had yet to find out. I sat on the corner of the bed and reached out to find my trusted cane, but stopped as soon as my index finger had touched the cold polished wood. Only six steps straight ahead of me, I can handle that just fine without my old friend.

Handling the doorknob as if it was fine china and entering as silent as the Red Death, I took three more steps and found the sink. A shaking hound turned the knob and twisted slightly. The pipes released the stream and the sound of a crashing waterfall rang in my ears. Damn, I had opened it too far. The noise lessened as the knob turned back in the opposite direction. It seems that the damage was done, however. I had heard a stirring from behind as a sleep stricken Ember spoke in a slurred voice, which at any other time I would have found adorable.

``Jake?`` She called out. ``You alright?``

Shame and guilt tugged and pulled at the strings of my heart, for I could not bare to face her now. This is part of the curse that has plagued my senses and twisted my life into an almost humiliating process of learning and training; not much unlike a very young child being taught how to walk and speak. And what is the cause, you ask? A simple drop of poison to the family gene pool is all. It may be my pride and youth speaking, but I learned early that life can truly be cruel and heartless.

But then again, can I really think such a cold thing about life and not count the blessings it has bestowed upon me? I have a blessing in honest friends that treat me no different because of my condition, I have a blessing in a job that I have been more than prosperous in, and I have a blessing in the form of a loving guardian angel that is slowly rising from bed to see if something is wrong with me.

I guess life is too short to remain angry at every unfairness. So all in all, I have come to the realization that it is best to enjoy what we have while we have it.


Posted by WritingThot - June 27th, 2013


Been working on my book of poetry diligently. I'm have around 200 that I am looking at to put into the book. Main issue right now is getting it formatted into a manuscript and copyrighted. I will upload some of ones that made the final cut.

On top of that, I have been working VERY hard on a novel for the past three or so weeks. I am five chapters in and generating a 1000 words a day. My goal is to have a rough draft finished before summer is out. I may upload the first chapter or so once it is done.

Secondly, I am entering in the current Monthly Writing Forum contest. I have just about finished my entry and will upload once the contest has officially ended.

My other uploads are in my previous news posts, here are the links (newest to oldest, poetry and short stories) to save some time:

Parricide: http://theinnerscience.newgrounds.com/news/post/
849979

Death of a Poet: http://theinnerscience.newgrounds.com/news/post/
844241

The Library: http://theinnerscience.newgrounds.com/news/post/
833090

Episode 1 (MWC entry): http://theinnerscience.newgrounds.com/news/post/
829616

Devil's Phallus: http://theinnerscience.newgrounds.com/news/post/
828103

Stay beautiful people, Science out.

Stuff To Come and More


Posted by WritingThot - June 19th, 2013


Every shadow screaming at me,
Explaining how it should be done exactly.
They promise God is looking the other way,
That there has never been such a finer day.

Hidden in the drawer's folds is father's gun.
Slowly griping the black steel, my descent has begun.
Rapid eye movement beneath the sleeping veils,
Looking down at them in peace makes the demon flail.

I only want to make it end
So no longer will I pretend
That I am happy with how things are.
What was light in me is now black as tar.


Posted by WritingThot - May 21st, 2013


I can feel the poetry leaving each shaking hand,
I am perplexed at how I am even able to stand.
There is no longer a purpose in my words.

My eyes are drifting to a far off place
Where the Cat plays his fiddle in space.
I was only here to just pass by.

Now peering out the front door,
Is there meaning to me anymore?
The ripcord has been cut and I am falling fast.

I still press these cold pages to my lips
And hope that I can capture just a glimpse
Of the poet that I use to be.


Posted by WritingThot - March 19th, 2013


Description: This is a warm story I did about a month back (something I encourage all writers to do with writers block). I just thought of something and went with it. Took my about forty minutes and has 882 words. I cant ensure its quaility, but let me know what you think.


As the door swung inward, I found a massive throbbing abyss waiting on the other side. A black hole of pure decay and ignorance that reached out and threatened to drag in every ounce of logic I hold dear, along with myself. The darkness began to expand as the dogmatic hurricane thrashed even more violently.

Papers from my chamber desk began to fly by and vanish into the void. Not just any papers, but my life work. Stories that I put blood and ink into. Each piece seemed to dissolve into that nothingness. Why was this happening?

A dark voice erupted from within the depths the darkness before me.

"Stories? These pieces of shit arent even worthy to wipe the ass of my dog!"

"You are wrong!" I called back in vain. "You do not understand the quality of litur-" My voice was drowned out as the winds magnified tenfold. I could no longer hold my ground, and found myself hurtling into that endless abyss.

However, I did not fall forever as I thought I would. For the longest time, all I felt was a harsh coldness. But after the passing of an eternity, I felt myself find solid ground.

Once I summed up the courage to open my eyes, I beheld a magnificent dark hallway. The floors and walls seemed to be made of marble, while where the ceiling would have been was an endless sky of swirling thunderclouds. I have never seen the likes of this place before, and may never in my life.

I dared myself to explore, and it was several minutes before I came to a place on the wall that was made of what seemed to be a thin clear film. On the other side I saw a man hunched over a table that was littered with notebook paper and what looked to be quills and a dried up ink bottles. I looked closer to see what he was fiddling with and gasping in shock.

With his right hand, he held his index finger to the paper and was tracing some kind of letters. The other hand held a knife that was slicing deep into his right wrist. The blood flowed from the laceration like a small crimson stream and ran down to the point of the finger that was pressed to the paper.

He mumbled lightly to himself but never looked up. I could not make out what he was saying. I finally managed to pry myself from where I stood and continued down the hall.

I found many of these "cells", each with an occupant that was severally distressed. Each one worse than the last. What frightened me was when I started to recognize the faces of the prisoners.

I was shocked to find a favorite bizzaro writer of mine. Shane Cartledge sat in the corner of his cell curled into a ball and crying hysterically, "The shades are down! The shades are down!"

Horrified does not come close to describing the images that flashed before me. One after another, it only got worse. I think I have found the root of madness for all writers. Maybe a new circle of hell?

What saddens me, is that I have yet to reach the climax of my journey..

As I approach a wide wooden table in the middle of the hall, a new sense of dread is installed into me. On the table was piles and piles of manuscripts that have began to yellow with age, and on top of those was an open laptop. The light from the screen revealed the most gruesome creation I have ever witnessed.

It had the body of a man, but the skin was a pasty gray and seemed as if it could peel by only scraping your finger nails against it. Where its head would be, was three. All of them were bald and serpent-like. Where its eyes should be were only empty sockets, and its mouths were caked in dried saliva while fresh spittle dripped from the corners to the keyboard below. The smell that radiated from this beast hinted that it has been wallowing in its own filth for some time.

It is not the root of madness I have found, but of ignorance. This is the creature that has spread to the hearts of the closed minded and jealous. It damns art, or anything, that it cannot understand and berates the artist until they reach a point of breaking and fall into this pit of absence.

It all makes sense now. I have let myself tumble into the hatefulness of those who will not understand what it is that I try to create by lowering my self respect to accommodate what they think is good. Maybe it is best not to seek gratification from the masses, but from the fact that we are proud of our own works.

As long as we alone are proud of what we create, we will rise above the tide of ignorance that has swelled in the last years of modern media.

Once we can rise from this pit, it will only by a matter of time until we are able to see the morning once more; and then we can chase the horizons that once inspired us so greatly.


Posted by WritingThot - March 19th, 2013


Here is something I put together for the fight to get a Lit Portal. I dont know if it is a legit movement, but I am creating stuff for it either way. I love being a rebel, just pray it doesnt get me in trouble lol.
I have been working hard, in my own way, and will start posting some script ideas and poems soon. Im writing a debat paper that is kicking my ass. Peace, love, war and all that.

Edit: cant upload pic, so here is link: http://www.newgrounds.com/art/view/theinnerscien ce/writing-portal-movement
Please recommend for art portal! I am really hoping this movement can get some momentum.


Posted by WritingThot - March 15th, 2013


Since there is no Lit Portal, I might try and make my profile my own portal with all my post with poems of stories being a submition. Then I will post a link to the forum with a description. Give me some feed if there is anyone reading.

I want to post something tonight, but I dont think that is happening. As well as last friday when my car was totaled, some mother fucker decided to break into my house today. They stole my tablet, my moms jewlery, and our fucking dogs. Plus I think I broke my foot. *sigh*. Never kick a wall in rage. Anyway, stay safe and peace out.


Posted by WritingThot - March 12th, 2013


Dont know if anyone reads my post, but gonna update blog anyway. Like a boss.

I was in my first wreck last week, which was pretty fucked up. Both cars were totalled and it turned out you cant have four other passengers with you if your under 18. And dammit, I only had four more months. So no DnD for me for a while.
Keep a look out for the MWC results on the forum, and wish us luck. Especially yours truly.

Every know and then I take a break from my novel projects and return to my poetic roots. So heres a poem I made yesterday. LikeIt/HateIt/LoveIt/ReviewIt or all of the above.

Tempting Fates:

From the secrete illuminati and the ignorant youth,
To the worlds horrible parenting, which I use as proof,
That creates an all mighty illiterate flood
Which turns the children into a raging brood.

From the gods playing martyr to junkie subjects
Who are once again getting ready to inject
Themselves with another dose of daily life.
How it dulls the passion and lessens the strife.

If decay is measured by every lie told,
And if damnation is determined by every virtue sold,
Then self-sacrifice will bring us that closer to hell
As pretenders pollute the air with every promise they tell.