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/lit/ - Literature / Fanfic / Poetry

M-my hands are w-writing on their own~!
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🎉🎉🎉 Happy Birthday Madotsuki! 🎉🎉🎉

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This is a collection of Rare and BANNED books. (and some other interesting stuff too)
Note: Reading these books could make you extremely smart, OR get you into trouble.
Having said that, the good stuff is at this link.


Enjoy anons


Uh Legit?


there are some very silly titles in that collection… not really what i was thinking when i read and saw the image for "banned" books

not sure if legit or not.


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not sure if the silly names or that they were banned is funniest


Because when I think Maya Angelou, I think subversive.

Bwa ha ha ha!

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You wake up in a sterile, windowless hospital ward. It is brightly lit by a fluorescent light and beside it is a ceiling fan. You look down and see that your entire body is enveloped by bandages; almost like a cocoon, you are covered from head to toe, but your limbs are still free to move. You attempt to move your right arm but it does not respond. With an extreme force of will, you raise your arm an inch above the bed sheet, only to let it crash back down a moment later as a wall of pain breaches your consciousness and momentarily turns the world into colours. Stars streak across your vision while you promise yourself not to do something like that again. For now, you take the time to observe the room you are in (without twisting your neck; that action appears to be impossible in your current state).

There is little to say about it: its walls have been painted entirely in white and the square tiles are a light grey. Your bed sheets are also white. The metal frame of the bed is light blue. Beside your bed is a stand holding up a bag of intravenous drip, attached by a thin, clear tube to your left arm. Opposite of you is the door out of the tiny, barren room. It is of a beige colour.

As you try to grasp your predicament, your mind slowly begins to drift into the sea of the past. Memories begin to play across your vision like an overlay of film. Images of people running about like ants around a destroyed anthill oscillate in and out of existence. A warm, orange glow spreads upon the walls of the room, flickering, as if there is a flame in the room. You close your eyes, hoping to rid yourself of the hallucinations. However, you rapidly descend into unconsciousness…


It is dark - not impenetrably dark, for the full moon is casting its silver light through the closed windows that you stand beside. The room you are in is filled with damp newspapers. The aroma of gasoline permeates the air. A trickle of sweat rolls down your forehead as you tighten your grip on your hostage. You have your arm across his chest, restraining him, and your knife near his face.

"P-please, let me go, I-I'll do anything," whispers the old man.

You scrape your knife across the skin of his neck as you tell him, "Shut it."

You look opposite to you and all you see is the glint of the handgun. That is what you focus on as a third voice calmly commands: "Let go of him, drop the knife, and raise your hands slowly into the air." You stand still, reflecting the cop's cold exterior.

"I don't think so," you reply, as you adjust the grip on your victim. You free up your right hand and reach into your pocket to find a detonator, which you take out deliberately and show to the police officer. You let the moonlight illuminate it. "I think you should reconsider your position." You can faintly see the officer scowl and grit his teeth. He holsters his weapon and shows his hands.

"Now, now," he says. "Let's not make any rash decisions here. You'll blow yourself up too." There is a brief pause, during which you smirk.

"I'm counting on it."

You press the button on the detonator.
Post too long. Click here to view the full text.


The door is shaking so hard that you feel as though it will disintegrate at any moment. Its vibrations wrack the entire room; the stand from which your bag of IV drip hangs is rattling, as is your bed's frame. The entire room trembles in fear, like a child cowering underneath its sheets, hiding from a dark terror behind a closet door. You can make out a distant howling of wind through the sound of the quake; oh, how you wish that it is only as simple as a tornado in the middle of an earthquake. But deep in the dark recesses of your soul, you know that what is outside of the door is far more malevolent than a mere show of violence on nature's behalf. As the unrelenting shaking grows, it slowly invades those recesses of your soul, destroying the barriers between them and your consciousness, bringing the most primal and animalistic nightmares forth; and still, you cannot scream, for help or out of pure trepidation.

With the force of a giant's punch, the door slams open. Silently, you watch in horror as you gaze out of the frame into a black abyss dotted with glistening lights reminiscent of light shining across the backs of a million carapaces. The howling is like the death rattles of a god. Every fibre of your being resonates with the disharmonious music. The storm in is full force now; all of the air feels as though it is being sucked into the fathomless darkness by a whirlwind. Your instinct is to run away, hide in a corner, and screw shut your eyes, but you are fixated upon the fissure of reality. You thrash about in your bed, making muffled croaks, ignoring the spasms of pain that shoot through your limbs and torso, all the while watching that aberrant gap in the wall, as though an abomination would crawl out of it. Your fear is almost palpable.

Finally, as if to collect your terror in a pail, it comes. It first appears as a dark speck moving across the pinpricks of light in the background of the unholy vista. Then, you see it flying toward you; the gallows. The obsidian structure smashes into the floor, shattering into innumerable fragments, which collect by themselves and coalesces once more into that unbearable sight - the gallows. Reflecting upon its hard surface is a conflagration devouring an apartment. Out of thin air, a rope appears above the gallows and ties itself to the hanging arm. The other end stretches towards you and wraps around your neck, wrestling you from beneath your sheets, pulling you to the gallows. You fight to Post too long. Click here to view the full text.


You cannot tell whether the howling is from the outside or your own voice as you struggle and choke, swinging from the gallows. You claw at the rope around your neck, ignoring the pain that wracks your body. But there is no escape.

There is no escape, not for a criminal like you. There is no escape, not for a failure like you. There is no escape, not for filth like you. There is no escape, not from the despair that strangles you. There is no escape, not from the punishment you sought to cheat with a painless death. There is no escape, not from the suffering eternal. There is no escape.

When the nurses come in to check your status, they open the door and scream. They find you hanging from the ceiling fan, strung up by your IV drip's cord.

You are dead.


I approve thoroughly and whole heartedly

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is this a farce


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mfw the person who wrote this also liked and followed me on jottify

Also, I liked the wordplay in your work. It was interesting and although I'm not very fond of erotica, it was amusing and kept me engaged lol

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owow, cool story bro!


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Psst, post this in /lit/ and you'll probably get responses if it's a legit story. I'll read it and let you know what I think of it later. It's pretty long and I'm busy at the moment, soooo yeah.


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I agree


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that is… not an appropriate response to /lit/ posts and i think you need to re-evaluate why you came here in the first place. :p

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Looking for advice.

I'm going to write a first person story taking place in a mental ward; the tone is meant to be distopian, but not flat out depressing. I've got the basic outline of the story, but the problem is I don't know how to start. I'm thinking of opening with a dream to introduce the patient's view of himself/build character, or should I begin sometime in the afternoon to show introduce how a typical afternoon would go? Just give me some ideas, please?
2 posts omitted. Click reply to view.


if that is an honest suggestion, they wouldn't let him in.
When I went to a mental hospital they had everything on lock down. Only visitors for patients could enter.



>>38 that was half serious and half insult. It's a habit.


>>26 Well first you need to realize what your story is focused on. Are you focusing on the mental ward itself or this specific patient? If the patient consider this, are you writing it from the patients warped perspective? Or are you writing it as if we were looking through their eyes. How long are you going to make it? If its a short story then focus on the characters interactions with the world around him. If its a bit longer build the character a bit. Don't even neglect building the character completely though, because then its difficult to sympathize with them.

Most importantly though, if you are just writing this for fun, then just write whatever you want to write. Just have fun and let your thoughts flow on to the page, screen, papyrus, stone tablet, ect.


delicious mediums.
medium makes the message.

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Opening the Book
I first came to Uboachan shortly after completing the game and experiencing almost everything that the game had to offer. I wandered the boards, enjoying the posts and posting myself. But eventually, I felt like contributing to the board with my own brand of content. I write, so I wanted to breathe a new kind of life into Yume Nikki with the narrative that never was, but potentially could have been. Thus, Opening the Book was born and I first shared it here with the folks of Uboachan.

Then one day, the opened book closed and I moved on to other works on my writing site. Since then, Uboachan's gained a new board and I'm nearing the completion of my first full-length novel. So here I am, recreating the old thread that used to house Opening the Book. Why? Because I plan to reopen this closed book. The story has yet to see a proper conclusion I've realized. The other effects and events of Yume Nikki have yet to be explained or written. Once I finish my novel in a few chapters, I'm going to revisit this story, proofreading and updating with new content. I hope you all look forward to it!

Synopsis and Table of Contents:

As of posting this, the story has 13 chapters, complete with a good and bad end for you to choose from.

I will post again in the future when I have begun work on Opening the Book - Extra Effects. Just felt like sharing that I plan to build upon this work with you pleasant folks. See you guys then. ;D


You! I'm the one who read your pensive nonsense LIKE A BOSS from way back whenever.

Re: the good ending: I like moments like Mado laughing at a joking comment even as she's sobbing (we've all been there) & a certain character's disd in for TV dramas. I also like what happened with aunt Kaede, and I wonder if her real-life ordeals have a story or journal of their own.


You know, that's an interesting concept, if Aunt Kaede kept a journal of her own. It would shine a little bit of light on why she was so understanding of Madotsuki's dream diary.

Also, glad you enjoyed. :D I need to retcon a little bit of the Good End so I can fit in why the extra effect tie into the actual story. It'll be fun.


Good stuff.


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>Poniko chapter

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I figured I'd post this since I got it from the old /lit/ board.


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I'm glad someone actually liked it enough to repost it.

Thank you, anon. <3


I loved that story. Are there anymore Uboachan-related creepypastas?



None, that I know of. It's a shame. There is a lot of potential for really creepy stories.


M-maybe I'll try sometime…


Go for it! That would be awesome.

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