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Gambits at High Temperature 1,494 words (Thranguy, derp) “Uncle Stosh, where’s your board?” “This park has a chess board,” Stosh stated, as a matter of fact. “But how do you know nobody will be using it?” “Cause I can see the future, kid,” he offered with a hint of annoyance. “See?” Sure enough, the giant chessboard and its corresponding giant game pieces in the at Yanaguana Garden in downtown San Antonio were not in use – even on this remarkably busy Saturday morning. “Nobody’s lining up to play chess this morning.” Stosh’s sister knew her older brother loved chess, even if he didn’t particularly like children. But the boy is 12 and it’s a tough time. Surely he could make some time while he’s in town. Stosh stuck his arms straight up in the air and settled into a back bend, sticking his round belly out in indifference to all the world. Straightening out, he pushed his shaggy hair out of his glasses, palmed the pawn in front of the king, and moved it one square forward. “Here’s our opener, kid.” 11:30 am: White pawn, e3 Country boy smooth, This is how we do Got a Chevy jacked up Chrome bumper and them floorboards too “The gently caress is that?” Shelton jumped in his chair at the question. Somehow Dollar Bill had entered his greenroom without making a sound. “HA HA! BOOM! Caught your blindside!” “Tell you what it is, motherfucker, it’s gonna make me rich. Fuckin’ tests really well. OK?” Shelton couldn’t hold a bad mood in Bill’s presence. The guy just radiated charm. “Uh, sir, if you’re going to appropriate something, how about some soul?” Bill affected a lispy, effete academic persona for that line. “You wanna do Seven Spanish Angels?” “Not for free,” Bill answered with his $1,000 smile. Aspiring country music recording artist, Shelton Masters, had first met “Dollar” Bill Hennessy last summer in Clearwater. His boat dealership was a sponsor of a barbecue festival Shelton played and the organizers brought the donors by to say hello. But Bill Hennessy didn’t just say hello. He stuck around and cut up about country music, college football, politics, and partying. Hennessy had represented the Tampa Bay area in the state senate until his caucus told him not to run for re-election. Shelton expected him to turn up on tour, but not in San Antonio. Still, this was the first stop on his tour with Florida Georgia Line and Shelton was in a mood to celebrate. “What are you doing here, man?” “I can’t be partying in my district anymore.” “So you come to party here.” Dollar Bill’s face lit up as he pointed both fingers at Shelton, then put a finger on his nose to indicate the correctness of Shelton’s statement. “I don’t know, man.” Dollar Bill shrugged his shoulders and produced a squared mirror from inside his sport coat. “I do.” 12:45pm: White knight, e5 “So you’re waiting on me to move my pawn, right?” The boy was correct. “At this rate, I’m waiting on the sun to set. But, yes, I know that pawns going to move.” “You know that, huh?” The kid was getting tired of his uncle’s shtick. “I do. I can see it. I also know you’ll feel better if you take this cold towel.” Stosh had made sure to chill some towels in the cooler. San Antonio summers can be brutal even in the shade. 1:15pm: Black bishop, g5 “I guess I needed that,” concluded Shelton, rubbing his face to see if the numbness would shake. “Fuckin’ rock star, man. Act like it, dog.” Dollar drug his nostril across the glass one last time for good measure before putting it back in his coat. Bill Hennessy cut an imposing figure at 6’3”, 240 lbs. The former Florida Gator was a hell of a running back in 2007. The old menace in his demeanor comes back once he’s had enough blow. “OK, Masters, what now?” “Well, dude, I kinda got here early to rehearse.” “Bullshit.” Dollar Bill had found a bottle and was setting glasses on the coffee table of the green room. “The gently caress? I know that band does it all for you and they’re not here.” “But-” “They’re not here.” 1:37pm: White queen, c6. Checkmate. White wins Game 1. “It’s a prank, dude.” “More than a prank, Dollar.” They had run through the coke and were now onto crystal. Bill had seemed more desperate this time around. There was something frantic rising in him. Maybe he just really needed a friend. “The trucks are insured. The drivers are insured. Everything’s insured!” Bill began rocking as he made these justifications out loud. The subject had turned to money and its fakeness but also its realness but also how work is for idiots and they were a different cut of man than others. Dollar Bill had intimated that he had robbed an armored truck once on a dare. He got away with it and walked away with a small fortune. This might have been meth head bullshit, but Shelton was, in his state, convinced there might be something useful for him in this line of inquiry. Maybe he needed something to prove his mettle. Why is he singing country music anyhow? “We wait for them to park. The driver stays in the cab, the partner goes inside to get the bag. When the door is open, I hit him, snag a bag, and we peel out. Simple.” Bill had stopped smiling as he explained this. “You need this, Shelly.” “gently caress, you’re right.” 1:42pm: White pawn, e5. “Alright, kid, let’s not ponder as much. I’d like to do two out of three.” The boy really did love the game. “Well, I guess you already know if we do or not.” 2:58pm: Black rook, f5. “So the truck is going to roll up in two minutes.” The two men sat hunched over and anxious inside the plush interior of Shelton’s Escalade. “You fuckin’ planned this.” This fact had only recently occurred to Shelton. He somehow felt that Dollar Bill had an innate sense for when armored trucks arrive in the parking lots of grocery stores, that he was more predator than thief. He had also began to feel a psycho-sexual camaraderie with the man that he couldn’t yet express and didn’t trust. He didn’t trust anyone, ever. He might have to kill Dollar Bill. “Just our lucky day. OK. There it is.” Sure enough, a Brinks security truck came rolling into the HEB parking lot and parked in front of the entrance. The passenger in the truck got out and went inside to get that day’s pickup from the bank inside. “Drive me up.” Shelton rolled the Escalade to the back of the vehicle. Bill got out as the security guard, a man of medium build, made his way outside the store. Bill reached down as if to tie his shoes. Actually, he was getting himself stanced up. As soon as Bill heard the door of the armored truck open, he bolted at the guard and smashed him instantly unconscious. 3:02pm: White pawn, b6. There was a fatal flaw to Bill’s plan. He was hitting an armored truck on a summer Saturday in downtown San Antonio. The traffic was heavy. Shelton had stupidly volunteered to be the wheelman for a robbery in the busy downtown of a city he’d never spent any appreciable time in. He weaved through lanes and snaked and honked past vehicles, trying to find an outlet. As Shelton bobbed and weaved, Dollar Bill said “gently caress this” and bailed from the vehicle. Shelton was now alone in his massive SUV, with a bag of stolen money. The gravity of the situation was beginning to dawn on him as an airbag punched in him in the jaw. What did he hit? Shelton Masters, real name Shelton Hafemeister, had sung about Billy the Kid, but mostly could only relate to the lyrics about partying and pretty girls. But today he was running for his life holding a bag of stolen cash. 3:16pm “But I thought the idea was to keep the king protected.” “Well, sure, but he’s a very powerful piece when used offensively.” Stosh had somehow enjoyed this outing with his nephew; had a grateful feeling as he walked back to the car with his new buddy. “And sometimes the game board and the moves made on it create conditions where other pieces have to confront the king. Doesn’t turn out well. For example -” Stosh spun on his heel and rammed his elbow into the throat of a man running in a frantic sprint behind him. “Uncle Stosh, you-” “No, kid it was an accident,” he said as he brought a big, meaty fist down on the jaw of a white man, of slight build, wearing a belt buckle that read: OUTLAW. “Kiddo, some police men will be here in a minute. We’ll hang out and have a whale of a story to tell your mom.”
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Jun 26, 2023 07:37
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A Cave Full of Space 858 words Cavewoman Sam stalked her prey, club in hand. It was her favourite club; the handle fit her hand just so, it swung through the air nicely, and could fell a mammoth if she was given a few hours to really go to town on it. Or so she hypothesised. Other hunters favoured axes or spears, but Cavewoman Sam felt that axes and spears were for weak and pathetic babies. Her prey, on this occasion, was a sabretooth tiger. Not as good eating as a mammoth, but thus far she’d had much more success beating tigers to death than she had mammoths, and you could make a wicked sick necklace out of their teeth. The stalking of her prey was interrupted when the mysterious object appeared in the sky, and out fell a shiny man. Startled, the sabretooth tiger scampered off. Cavewoman Sam walked over to where the man was slowly struggling to his feet. “You scared my prey.” “Ah!” said the man. “Greeting, stone age hottie, I am James Spaceman, explorer of the galactic wastes, heartthrob, hero to millions, and accidental time traveller.” “Hi, Jam Space. I’m Sam.” “What was that you said earlier? No need to be scared, or to pray.” “I was hunting a sabretooth tiger. You scared it away.” “Ah,” said James. “Never fear, we can track it with my radar!” Cavewoman Sam looked over at the sabretooth tiger’s tracks, but shrugged and said, “Fine.” The two of them followed James’ radar, and it seemed to be going kind of away from the direction the sabretooth tiger’s tracks had been heading, but Sam wanted to see if this shiny but weak looking man was any good as a hunter. They followed for about three hours, and then James stopped at the edge of a cliff, looked over the edge, and posed triumphantly, feet wide apart, one hand on hip, the other pointing towards his quarry. “Behold!’ he exclaimed. “That is a mammoth,” said Sam. “What’s the difference?” “Mammoths are hard to kill,” she said, gesturing towards her club. “Ah, said James. “Never fear, I have just the thing.” He unholstered his trusty ray gun and pointed it at the mammoth. “What’s that?” “You’ll see,” said James Spaceman, and he gave what was likely intended to be a seductive wink. Then he pulled the trigger on his ray gun, and a bolt of energy darted through the air, striking the mammoth right between the eyes. The mammoth stopped in its tracks, then slowly toppled to the ground. “Voila,” he said, “one mammoth.” Cavewoman Sam had already started to climb down the cliff, so James Spacemen followed her down. “Hmm,” she said once they arrived at the mammoth carcass. “Will have to eat this here, too heavy to move.” “We could cut it up,” he said. “I don’t have an axe.” “Ah,” he said, “well I have just the thing for that, too!” He pulled a power saw off of his utility belt, and got to work cutting up the mammoth. In only a few minutes, he’d cut the mammoth into several more manageable pieces. They picked up a few of the pieces, and he deployed a temporary stasis field over the rest. “Where to now?” he asked. “My cave is not far,” she said. “Ah, back to your cave, ey?” he said, and raised an eyebrow suggestively. “That’s what I just said, yes.” She turned to leave, and he shrugged and followed her. After a few hours, they reached her cave. She went on ahead, and he followed on behind her. He entered her cave, then backed out again, then entered again, then backed out again. She turned. “What are you doing, Spiced Jimmy?” “Trust me,” he said, “when I tell this story later, about entering your cave multiple times, it’s going to be hilarious.” “Is it?” “You’ll just have to take my word for it, it’s a spaceman joke, you wouldn’t get it.” “Oh,” she said. “I thought it might have been a sex joke.” “Um. Well.” “Because you see, a cave is - you know, it’s big and damp and there are things growing in it, so it’s a bit like…” “Yes, all right, that was the joke.” “Ah,” she said. “You think that’s a spaceman joke? You think we don’t have sex in this time?” “Right, no, of course, I just didn’t want to…” “Do you want to have sex in this time?” “I… sorry?” “All this cave talk, I thought maybe you wanted to have sex.” “Well, all right, I mean are you sure?” She shrugged. “You are kind of a weak and pathetic hunter, but that trick with the ray gun was very good.” “Right,” he said. “Great. Yes. Let’s do that.” “But dinner first. No sex on an empty stomach.” “Right.” So, the two of them had dinner, and then he entered her cave again, but the metaphorical cave, where it was a spaceman joke that you wouldn’t understand. And then they fell asleep, and when he woke up, she was nowhere to be found, and neither was his ray gun or his power saw.
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Jun 26, 2023 11:08
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Periapsis 1000 words Parts of the debris field started hitting atmosphere just as the sun crested the planet’s edge, needle-sharp streamers of light plummeting down to the red and ochre surface far below. It was beautiful, thought Jim, then glanced at the timer - three hours twenty three until his own terminal re-entry. He laughed, a short painful bark. Then, breathing light and fast to work past the pain of his broken ribs, he keyed the comm button again. “Commodore James, ESF, mayday. Orbit decaying. Need a hand, anyone with a working thruster. Oxygen low.” He hit repeat, two minute interval. It had been a simple test flight, a milk run, he'd told his wife. Take the Kaimanawa up for a test, cycle the Wilson Tubes, just a quick hop to the nearby double star two light years away, admire the view, home for late lunch. Instead, well. The first inkling he’d had that something wasn’t right as he left warp space was the whooping wail of proximity sirens followed by the shuddering crash of impact and the whoosh of escaping air. Nothing unusual for him, he’d been through worse scrapes and was busily plugging the leak when the grav cut out and he fell five meters down the central shaftway. And now his ribs were smashed, and his ship was spiralling down though a glistening, fire scarred cloud of debris from a battle he’d somehow stumbled into. His moustache twitched at the thought that he didn’t even know what it was about - pirates, he supposed. He’d taken down his share of the buggers, so it seemed only– The prox alarm light flashed as the speaker crackled into life and Jim was instantly alert, wincing as his back muscles tensed. “Ahhhhhhhhhh hello?” said a bleary, static-scarred voice from the little speaker on the console. “Helllooooooooo? Gidday!” Jim’s hand snaked out to hit the reply toggle, sending a paralysing band of agony around his chest. “Oof. Comm’dore. Jm. Hello.” “Ayy, good evening. Cap’n Anders is my name I was wondering if you had any rummm…?” The tinny voice trailed away into a hiccuping tenor giggle. “Rum? I need medical assistance, and help with my orbit, but once I’ve-” “Nooooo,” hissed the voice. There was a glutinous sound to it, as though there was more saliva than the mouth could hold. “It has to be rum.” “This is Commodore–” Jim winced and whispered instead of yelling. “Commodore James of Earth Space Force, and I can promise you all the rum you can drink, just help me out. Just help. Please.” There was a crackling silence on the other end - the rising sun fuzzing up the EM spectrum with its rays. Then: “I’ll be over soon. Verrrry soon. Rum.” It was twenty three minutes and fourteen seconds later that James felt the vibration of contaact and hit the accept on the umbilical connection. They had had another frustrating conversation about pushing the Kaimanawa up to a safer orbit first, but Anders, Captain Anders if that’s what he was, was insistent on docking. Jim had speculated gloomily on the the likely moral character and motivations of drunk spacers spending time near the aftermath of a space battle and secreted a hand blaster down the back of his acceleration chair, on what he hoped was still his good side. Breath was coming harder now, and there was a fatal greyness creeping in on the edge of his vision; he’d popped his last stim and a couple of pain pills, but they’d only taken the edge off. The airlock cycled and the inner door slid open. Jim powered his chair around to greet his new guest, or get a good line of fire on him if needed. He was unprepared for the vast, shambling mass of man that stumbled out the airlock, whooping, a flask in each hand. “Party! PARTY IN SPACE!” He fumbled at a box on his belt and Jim tightened his grip on the little plasma gun, ready to sweep it out in a moment, but then a pulsing, insistent music came rollicking out and the man did a few clumsy steps in time. “It’s rum o’clock! Hoooooooo…ulp,” he said, putting his hand to his mouth. “No, false alarm.” He drained the flask in his right hand and skimmed it across the flight deck where it shattered on a stanchion. “Welcome aboard, uh, Captain. I would like to repair my orbit. My orbit. Captain. I need you to stop my ship crashing.” Captain Anders appeared suddenly puzzled by the absence of his second flask, staring at his large open palm. Then he shook the other flask and chortled, taking a swig. “Ah! Rude. So rude. Rude as a beddl, a beetl. Beeeeetle. Betelgeusian,” he said at last with firm dignity. “They are very rude. Would you like some? Then, with the,” he waved. “Ship.” James hesitated, then released the pistol, and extended his hand. “Of course.” He took the offered bottle and downed a swig, grimacing at the fiery path it burnt down his gullet. “We have a couple of hours before we hit atmosphere. Plenty of time for a little, uh, party.” “Ahahahahhah,” said Captain Anders, “hahaha. Indeed. Plenty of time.” He settled himself down on the co-pilot’s seat. “So what brings you to this part of space?” Jim looked at him, disbeleving, then shook his head. “Well, I’ve been doing flights for a local manufacturer since I retired, shakedown cruises…” The liquor didn’t get any less potent on the second or third swig, but it did make their strange conversation easier. After the fourth Jim remembered about the bottle of Janxian Ultrawhiskey that his wife had stashed in the underfloor locker and Anders retrieved it, cackling. Anders, it appeared, was a retired pirate. After a few yarns they managed to locate skirmishes they’d been on opposite sides of, and toasted each others’ prowess. Space, they agreed, was a cruel mistress. After an hour or so Anders swayed off back to his ship and clamped it onto the Kaimanawa for orbital correction. Jim took another gulp, looking out at the stars. The stars looked back at him, white hot pin-pricks in the infinite sky. “Not today,” whispered Jim.
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Jun 26, 2023 12:01
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Submissions are closed
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Jun 26, 2023 12:47
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INTERPROMPT: What IS that?! (100 words)
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Jun 27, 2023 01:38
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Notes from a Librarian 84 words Fifty Shades of Grey Dark stains pgs. 72-73 and 199-204 11/11 A.M. Julie and Julia Red stains pgs. 284-285 01/09 A.M. Where the Wild Things Are Pgs 1-20 torn 04/89 A.M. Atlas Shrugged Pencil markings thru-out 08/16 A.M. Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy Page 157 replaced with black hole 09/96 A.M. The Call of Cthulhu Entire book covered in ??? Sticky in nature. Appears to attract black flies. Marked for withdrawal. 06/34 A.M.
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Jun 27, 2023 21:28
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curlingiron posted:INTERPROMPT: What IS that?! (100 words) It’s judgment! Week 568 Results Thanks all for your stories this week! The judges have deliberated, and returned with one of the most straightforward decisions I’ve seen in the ’dome… First, Fat Jesus takes the loss for a piece that was generally just unpleasant and confusing, with a lot of basic errors that I can’t overlook in a piece posted so early. Also, linebreaks between paragraphs, please … if you’re going to post a massive wall of text, at least make it stylistically intentional. There are no DMs this week. On a more positive note, sebmojo takes the sole HM for a story that was technically strong and well-written, with the most evocative opening of the week, but didn’t quite follow through on its potential. Still, an enjoyable James Spaceman romp. … which takes us to the winner, an amusing and playful Spam Jameson yarn which gets bonus points for having the sole non-spaceship female character this week. Ascend the blood throne, Chairchucker!
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Jun 28, 2023 00:58
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My critiques are fueled by your approval, so send me a thanks in discord or in the Thunderlounge thread. Also if you want to discuss your critique post in those other threads. The Epic of Anders We begin the scene by describing how Anders is drunk, and he is worried how to explain that to his wife. He is then warped to Talamar's domain, and Talamar talks to Anders. We don't know why, but Anders has to proselytize for Talamar. Ander's goes back, successfully proselytizes for Talamar. ????. Accusations of rape, and Anders is back where he started, or worse off. So, reading the plot summary, I think you know where the story can be improved. I won't go over the whole plot, but rather focus on the the first section. My fat brother who is christ, we only have 1,000 words and you have spent 10% of them already on a start that doesn't hook the reader. The only relevant information we have is "Anders is hungover and doesn't know where he is" and we spend 100 words to convey that information. That information shouldn't take that long to convey, and you don't to repeat it ad naseum. The story kind of starts with Anders saying "Oh gently caress, what is she going to think" giving the reader questions to grasp on to (Who is she, what is anders scared of) and then the story takes 90 degree turn to where Talamar abducts Anders. You can start the story here, but I call this start "setup" and "backstory". Combined with the length of the start, I think it harms your story. We spend too many words revealing too little, and things that the reader already understands. Resist the Urge to Explain. As well, where we begin is a tough place to start stories. Setup/backstory can work, but you have to polish your prose to a shine to make it interesting. The second section is where the story fall aparts for me. Lot of continuity errors in the prose (At one point Talamar doesn't know/care what Anders, then knows what anders is and cares about his position) and a bunch of characters being dumb (Ander's doesn't realize the dude that transformed in front of him is the All father). It was at the second section that my interest dropped because characters aren't believable and everyone is just so dumb. Third section needs the most work, and shows that this idea you have might be too big for 1,000 word. Cloud An old man who is famous (we never found out why) goes on a rant about how a chessboard is dirty, continually focusing on it, and focusing on how it is unacceptable. Then suddenly Anders appears, and his merry bards. The old man plays chess with Anders, and Anders is very bad at chess. Anders says BOOOONG then calls someone. Then the old man says disgusting to noone. I love the reptition in the first half of this piece. It's like either a metrinome or a big drum setting the beat to something. What that something is I don't really know, I think the chess metaphor went over my head. Also, when faced with a huge block of text I usually try to read fast, which gave the old man a frantic voice. I misconstrued that as the old man being crazy and senile. As it is, I like your prose in the first half but the second half I think we are trying to use m'lord for reptition. Tt doesn't hit as hard as "It is ___" or "I thought" or "Unacceptable/Disgusting" which happens in the first half. Maybe because M'lord is just a pronoun. If I had to critique something, and I wasn't able to talk about the format, I would point to the story. This has neither a found family, or a problem either character needs to solve, and I'm not invested in either character. I think I'll remember the form, the rhythm/repetition more than the story, in this piece. The Elsinore Job Bill gets a crew together to rob a mysterious protagonist, who bill has mysterious ties to. They are successful. Man, this was awesome. Van motherfucking Gogh is a great engaging line. And the piece has a quick pace and engaging prose. I enjoyed the Morgan and Bill discussion, because the stakes were setup. Dropping in Ander's alcoholism is also well done. I really liked this line: He's a song and dance man, but he has fingers for guitar and lock picks both, and ears for tunes and tumblers. awesome line Not a lot of issues here. The reader can pick up small hints about the protagonist. The piece is small enough that the fact that there is no real problem with the heist is fine. Good piece overall. Gambits at High Temperature First scene is a Stosh and his nephew going to play chess, then we transition to Bill interrupting Shelton who is doing something in front of a green screen, and they talk about a thing we don't reveal to the reader. I don't know if it is the mirror, or if its cocaine. Then we go back to Stosh, and they continue to play chess. Then we go back to Bill and Shelton, and they are doing drugs, and Bill tries to convince Shelton to do a heist. Then we go back to Stosh, and they continue to play chess. Then we go back to Shelton and Bill, and they are doing the heist. Shelton realizes he has a "psycho-sexual" camaraderie with bill and might have to kill him. The heist hits a flaw, traffic is heavy and Bill leaves Shelton, who is holding a bag of stolen cash. The we go back to Stosh, who randomly punches some dude in the throat and tells his nephew they will have a story to tell. We don't know who this random person is. First few paragraphs aren't too engaging and have to setup the scene. The second scene we are introduced to Shelton, but we have no idea who that is and have to be brought up to speed. I think this piece is assuming I know who the characters are, which is a problem. In fact, I think for this plot heavy story to work I should be invested in the characters. I do like how you swap scenes, though I think at the start its a bit rough. But once we get past that its really neat how you utilized the scene swap with chess motifs. I don't fully understand chess, or the moves being made, but it is a neat addition. As well the kind of... I don't know how to put it, rough/street voice comes out a little in this piece. We got bumbling outlaws doing cocaine and doing ill-prepared heists. You know what's going to happen, but you are down for the ride. In the end, I almost laughed. I don't get who Stosh punched, or why the punchee is given a description about a belt buckle that says OUTLAW. No other place in your prose calls out a belt buckle. So, while the reader could maybe assume Stosh punched Bill or Shelton, the description doesn't match up. So, Stosh just assaults a random person. I think for this to work I would need to be engaged with the characters and get a Cohen Brother's sense/vibe from the piece.
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Jun 28, 2023 01:24
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TD 569 - Powerful Goblin  I had two prompt ideas that I couldn't choose between so you get both and you can choose to use one or the other or both, but not neither. Prompt number one: Your protagonist has some kind of powers that are unique to them and that other people in that story's universe do not have. These powers will be relevant to the story you write. It could be about them struggling to keep their weird powers under control. It could be about them fighting crime with their powers. It could be about them using their powers to feed their pet buffalo. IDK, it's up to you, just don't write anything where they use their powers to be a creep or a sex pest or whatever. (Seriously don't do this.) Prompt number two: Goblins. Your story has a goblin in it. I will largely leave the interpretation of goblins up to the writer, but what I don't want is for your goblin to be part of a faceless screaming horde. They should be their own goblin with their own goblinesque agenda. You can, as I've mentioned, combine these two prompts, and have a goblin in your story and also a person with powers, and your goblin can be the power wielding protagonist, or you can have someone else have the powers. You may also request a flash rule in one of three ways. If you ask for a 'powers flash', I will tell you something about the power your main character has. If you ask for a 'goblinesque flash' I will give you an adjective that in some way fits your goblin. If you ask for a 'powerful goblin flash' I will give you both flash rules, and you can choose to apply the power to the goblin, or not. No erotica or screeds or Google docs. Fanfic permitted of any IP which is now in the public domain because does that even count as fanfic any more idk. One final thing. I am willing to be a little flexible on the definition of goblin. If you have some other kind of fantasy critter with the general attitude or demeanour of a goblin, I will probs be fine with that. After all, what is a fairy but a winged goblin? Word count maximum: 1500, or 1750 if you take a flash rule. EDIT A few people have offered to draw goblins. If you illustrate a goblin and put that illustration in your entry, or your character displaying their powers, you get an additional 250 words. If you just want to draw a powerful goblin, if I like them you also get 250 words and I'll put the image in this prompt. Sign up deadline: when I go to bed on Saturday, Canberra time. (This is slightly later than the usual deadline so if you aim for the usual deadline you'll be fine, and if you are a bit later than that you might be pushing it.) Submission deadline: when I go to bed on Monday, Canberra time. (As above, this is slightly later than the usual deadline.) Judges: Chairchucker Chernobyl Princess Rad power fan Entrants: Rohan: brain related power and inventive goblin. fat jesus: cowardly goblin (assuming I was correct in interpreting that as a flash request) Sebmojo: duplicitous goblin Thranguy: artistic goblin ActingPower: persistent goblin flerp: fast goblin Chili Nae MockingQuantum: stealthy goblin Weltlich My Shark Waifuu kiminewt: emotion related power Mrenda Kuiperdolin: lonely goblin Tars Tarkas Chairchucker fucked around with this message at 04:56 on Jul 1, 2023 |
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Jun 28, 2023 04:10
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in, powerful goblin flash please
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Jun 28, 2023 04:23
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rohan posted:in, powerful goblin flash please Your power is BRAIN related. Your goblin is inventive.
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Jun 28, 2023 04:26
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in with the goblins
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Jun 28, 2023 06:16
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Yeah goblin me
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Jun 28, 2023 06:23
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Fat Jesus posted:in with the goblins This seems like a flash request, if so your goblin is cowardly. sebmojo posted:Yeah goblin me You have a duplicitous goblin
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Jun 28, 2023 06:25
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In, goblin me.
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Jun 28, 2023 06:26
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Thranguy posted:In, goblin me. artistic goblin
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Jun 28, 2023 06:28
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Crits!!!Fat Jesus posted:The Epic of Anders Anders woke in the ditch not yet noticing he was soaking wet or where he was, holding his head that was pounding from the 6 ales from the night before. Staggering to his feet, he wondered if he'd pissed himself again but saw he'd been sleeping in 2 inches of water. Nothing was certain. He lurched forward unsteadily, still affected by the 7 whiskey chasers from the night before, finally and painfully reaching the road. His head felt as to explode with each wincing step as he held his aching cranium, cursing and hoping for death. The sudden need to vomit overcame his urge not to move his head and he spewed out a raging river of stink, possibly brought on by the 5 brandies from the night before. He stood, breathing unsteadily and wiping his mouth on a sleeve as a village dog came and started on the puddle, and he lurched off again. By the time he'd walked half a mile he had worn off the worst of the effects of the 9 lagers from the night before, and stopped to feel inside his pocket. 3 pfennigs. He started to feel sick again. Ok, this is a bad and rambling opening, but I do think the repetition of "[number] of [drink] from the night before" is funny. For goodness sake put proper paragraph breaks in. Oh poo poo what will I tell her I am so loving dead. He trudged on towards his fate, fingers to his ears as he passed the blacksmiths, when he saw something glinting in the sun. He picked up the gold ring and broke into a smile, not even the queasy feeling that permeated his being due to the 8 meads from the night before stopping the eventual wide grin. He looked around seeing nothing and tried it on. As he admired his new ring he realised something was very amiss. The world had begun to spin, and he was sure it had nothing to do with the night before. Anders found himself falling at great speed through what appeared Delete pointless words like "through what appeared" and your prose will be a lot snappier a swirling tube of colors, screaming as he tumbled through the maze of rainbows, certain a morrigan had entrapped him. What's a morrigan? ***** Talamar the Strong, Overlord of the Universe, God of Death on 217 worlds, God of War on another 117, Creator God to 12, sighed. He looked at the thing he had summoned from.. where? Um, yeah, Elvoria. Built that one myself, He mused proudly. He watched as the thing in rags rolled around trying to hide behind nothing since he was in an empty expanse some trillion light years round. Empty, except for Talamar the Strong and his massive throne of black diamond. Anders stared in amazement at the the large shining man. "Allfather!" he cried, then vomited again spreading a large greenish yellow puddle on the gleaming infinite floor. Ew. Talamar the Strong's initial revulsion and desire to send this thing to the dark realms was overcome by a foreboding, he looked at the stinking drunk peasant, and It sure as gently caress wasn't Gilgamesh. That Yahweh rear end in a top hat was loving with him again, He knew with omniscient certainty. I'll show that hairy old bastard. He turned an eye to the gibbering peasant. Alright so by this point we have two characters and some stuff has definitely happened, but both characters are pretty bland. We've got drunk dude and god dude, but you haven't given them much in the way of personality. This is bad, because it makes your reader less interested in what happens to them. "Behold!" the voice filled everything including Anders, who stood in confusion taking off his hat and rubbing his head. "I am your Allfather, I have brought you forth for your might!" "Um..you best run that past us again Allfather." he said, "Am...am I ..dead?" Talamar the Strong knew a peasant could not comprehend His greatness yet alone His mind, for He had been one once Himself. He changed form in an instant, becoming a noble looking gentleman from Anders' time. "Who are you, where's the Allfather go, I need a drink..." "Call me Talamar, we have plans to discuss, my friend." "Plans? For gettin' home I hope, where's this, are you a wizard?" "The Allfather wishes to send you on a great quest, one with much drink and merriment!" Anders broke into a wide smile. "Anything for the Allfather! Let's get to this tavern, guv!" "First things first. I shall swap ye that there ring for this here sword." He produced a gleaming sword that shone with a blue radiance. "Ahh, dunno, what else ya got?" I'm not really sure what is going on at this point. Why is god dude negotiating with drunk dude for the ring he found? "This sword is priceless, it can bring you wealth beyond measure!" Anders rubbed his chin, unsure. "I shall also give you a magic cup that never runs empty, Sword and cup for the ring?" Anders nodded vigorously as the sword and cup appeared in his hands, now minus the ring. "My friend, I must tell you of the place you are to go and how the evil god there has enslaved man, and you better listen good because this concerns YOU!" Talamar's finger pointed straight at Anders forehead and he watched as the strange man's finger grew towards him. When it touched him Anders saw and knew what was to be done. ***** Under the blazing desert sun The Prophet staggered drunkenly overlooking the masses of equally drunken Israelites, holding aloft his sword and pouring a river of wine from his cup. "Drink up and hail Talamar the Strong! Not that Yahweh shitstain! What's he done for us, what?" The crowd roared their drunken approval. "He's got us walkin' round a bloody desert holdin' our dicks for what? Well gently caress him, Talamar The Strong is the bloke we want now, free piss and gently caress who you like!" The crowd went wild as more people were flooding in, the blue light from the sword guiding them to the word of the One True God. So Talamar teleported our protagonist to a desert somewhere to do... what, exactly? Get the Israelites drunk and convert them to Talamarism, maybe? Is this revenge for Yahweh loving with him, as referenced earlier? I guess that makes sense, but if this story is about one god getting revenge on another god then you should have focussed on them, and not spent so long telling us about the protagonist having a spew. ***** Helga's fists smashed the long haired bearded man Who? she had caught going through the house as Ella clung to his back, clawing at his eyes as they screamed and swore at him. Who the heck are Helga and Ella? "Rape! Thief! Rape!" they cried as the man in the strange dusty bedclothes wailed. Helga's boot swung into the bloodied man's nuts, dropping him to the floor, barely conscious and bleeding. He felt himself dragged through the mud and a rope being put around his neck, sadly realising either his Father had forsaken him, or that Talamar fuckhead had made his dad eat poo poo again. I don't really get this ending. My best guess is the bearded man is alternative reality Jesus, maybe?? What the gently caress happened to the protagonist? So this has a kind of bonkers energy, which is good, but bits of it don't make a whole lot of sense, which is bad. Don't try and make your reader have to discover what the story is about halfway through, this sort of "oh it was [thingy] all along!" nonsense is almost always much more boring than you think. Focus on the characters and give them some personality and clear goals or desires.
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Jun 28, 2023 09:10
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Chairchucker posted:A Cave Full of Space 858 words Cavewoman Sam stalked her prey, club in hand. It was her favourite club; the handle fit her hand just so, it swung through the air nicely, and could fell a mammoth if she was given a few hours to really go to town on it. Or so she hypothesised. Other hunters favoured axes or spears, but Cavewoman Sam felt that axes and spears were for weak and pathetic babies. Lol. Her prey, on this occasion, was a sabretooth tiger. Not as good eating as a mammoth, but thus far she’d had much more success beating tigers to death than she had mammoths, and you could make a wicked sick necklace out of their teeth. The stalking of her prey was interrupted when the mysterious object appeared in the sky, and out fell a shiny man. How high did he just fall from?? Startled, the sabretooth tiger scampered off. Cavewoman Sam walked over to where the man was slowly struggling to his feet. “You scared my prey.” “Ah!” said the man. “Greeting, stone age hottie, I am James Spaceman, explorer of the galactic wastes, heartthrob, hero to millions, and accidental time traveller.” “Hi, Jam Space lol. I’m Sam.” “What was that you said earlier? No need to be scared, or to pray.” “I was hunting a sabretooth tiger. You scared it away.” “Ah,” said James. “Never fear, we can track it with my radar!” Cavewoman Sam looked over at the sabretooth tiger’s tracks, but shrugged and said, “Fine.” The two of them followed James’ radar, and it seemed to be going kind of away from the direction the sabretooth tiger’s tracks had been heading, but Sam wanted to see if this shiny but weak looking man was any good as a hunter. They followed for about three hours this is a really long time, did they converse at all on this half day hike?, and then James stopped at the edge of a cliff, looked over the edge, and posed triumphantly, feet wide apart, one hand on hip, the other pointing towards his quarry. “Behold!’ he exclaimed. “That is a mammoth,” said Sam. “What’s the difference?” “Mammoths are hard to kill,” she said, gesturing towards her club. “Ah, said James. “Never fear, I have just the thing.” He unholstered his trusty ray gun and pointed it at the mammoth. “What’s that?” “You’ll see,” said James Spaceman, and he gave what was likely intended to be a seductive wink. Then he pulled the trigger on his ray gun, and a bolt of energy darted through the air, striking the mammoth right between the eyes. The mammoth stopped in its tracks, then slowly toppled to the ground. “Voila,” he said, “one mammoth.” Cavewoman Sam had already started to climb down the cliff, so James Spacemen followed her down. “Hmm,” she said once they arrived at the mammoth carcass. “Will have to eat this here, too heavy to move.” “We could cut it up,” he said. “I don’t have an axe.” “Ah,” he said, “well I have just the thing for that, too!” He pulled a power saw off of his utility belt, and got to work cutting up the mammoth. In only a few minutes, he’d cut the mammoth into several more manageable pieces. They picked up a few of the pieces, and he deployed a temporary stasis field over the rest. “Where to now?” he asked. “My cave is not far,” she said. “Ah, back to your cave, ey?” he said, and raised an eyebrow suggestively. “That’s what I just said, yes.” She turned to leave, and he shrugged and followed her. I am enjoying Sam's deadpan dialogue but poor old SpaceJim is falling a bit flat. After a few hours, they reached her cave. She went on ahead, and he followed on behind her. He entered her cave, then backed out again, then entered again, then backed out again. She turned. “What are you doing, Spiced Jimmy?” “Trust me,” he said, “when I tell this story later, about entering your cave multiple times, it’s going to be hilarious.” “Is it?” “You’ll just have to take my word for it, it’s a spaceman joke, you wouldn’t get it.” “Oh,” she said. “I thought it might have been a sex joke.” “Um. Well.” “Because you see, a cave is - you know, it’s big and damp and there are things growing in it, so it’s a bit like…” A cave is not a nice thing to use as a metaphor for a vagina. “Yes, all right, that was the joke.” Did Sam say this line, or Jim? “Ah,” she said. “You think that’s a spaceman joke? You think we don’t have sex in this time?” “Right, no, of course, I just didn’t want to…” “Do you want to have sex in this time?” “I… sorry?” “All this cave talk, I thought maybe you wanted to have sex.” “Well, all right, I mean are you sure?” She shrugged. “You are kind of a weak and pathetic hunter, but that trick with the ray gun was very good.” “Right,” he said. “Great. Yes. Let’s do that.” “But dinner first. No sex on an empty stomach.” “Right.” So, the two of them had dinner, and then he entered her cave again, but the metaphorical cave, where it was a spaceman joke that you wouldn’t understand. And then they fell asleep, and when he woke up, she was nowhere to be found, and neither was his ray gun or his power saw. Serves him right. This is fine, the deadpan humour is funny. Sam got all the best lines though, I think you could have done a lot more with Spaces James as a character. Also wtf, I write a story where Spaceman James goes to earth and gets funky with a local and I get an L, and you do it and win. Smh.
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Jun 28, 2023 09:34
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This is my first time Thunderdoming, but I can't pass up this prompt. I'm in. Give me a goblin fact. (Please.)
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Jun 28, 2023 12:40
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ActingPower posted:This is my first time Thunderdoming, but I can't pass up this prompt. I'm in. Give me a goblin fact. (Please.) Your goblin is persistent.
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Jun 28, 2023 13:25
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gob me 
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Jun 28, 2023 18:53
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In
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Jun 28, 2023 18:55
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In!
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Jun 28, 2023 18:55
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in, gimme a gobliny attribute
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Jun 28, 2023 19:06
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flerp posted:gob me fast goblin MockingQuantum posted:in, gimme a gobliny attribute stealthy goblin
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Jun 28, 2023 21:46
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I will judge. I will to have crits up 48 hours after judgement.
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Jun 29, 2023 00:37
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In with a to redeem myself for my failure a couple weeks ago as well. (USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST)
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Jun 29, 2023 01:28
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Crits for Week #568 Fat Jesus - The Epic of Anders: Please put linebreaks between paragraphs in your story. This story was honestly just unpleasant to read. There are no characters in this story to sympathise with, it’s all vague setup to a single scene in the desert, and then a jump cut to an apparent rape? Why? If I’d had any goodwill left by the end of the story, that thoroughly quashed it. There’s potential in a story about some otherwordly, all-powerful god figure accidentally summoning the town drunk to wage wars and proselytize on his behalf, but this story ultimately goes nowhere and spends its entire time telling us how pathetic Anders is. Flyerant - Breaking Out of Familia Orbit to Be With You Forever: Please put linebreaks between paragraphs in your story. The Peter Pan riff is fairly evident even without the direct reference, but it's charming and generally successful at what it tries to do. I enjoyed this a lot but it's ultimately a bit one-note. I feel like you set up the story well in the first section, introducing the characters and their desires really nicely, but the rest of the story mostly just treads the same ground. I’d have liked to see James, or 54Rah, take some action or affect some change in the story. derp - Cloud: Please put … nah, I’ll let this slide. I admire and appreciate what you’re trying to do stylistically, and it’s probably a bit of a cop-out crit to say it just didn’t work for me, but, well. I do notice in previous stories in a similar style you’ve used italics fairly liberally, and their absence here works against the story a little for me — both because I suspect they’d make the story visually easier to read, and also because this sort of stream-of-consciousness rambling narration could do with some emphasis in parts. The story itself is okay. I’m not sure what was going on with the Booong at the end? Should that mean something? Am I missing something? Am I getting old? Get off my lawn. Thranguy - The Elsinore Job: Bonus points for the sheer cast here. One of the few stories this week to tackle more than just a couple of characters, though I’m not convinced they’re all used to full effect. Anders, for instance, could be anyone. I do appreciate the Shakespeare nod which I think was the sole use of almost there character’s this week, unless I missed something in another story (just a shame he was mostly off-stage). Beyond that, this story zips by with some nice dialogue, a decent robbery scene, and then … a Jade Idol out of nowhere? A shared history we’re not privy to? We didn’t even know who their mark was before then. And what’s up with Morgan’s ride at the end? Is that significant? This is half of a decent story. It’s lacking some conflict or tension, IMO; “the plan goes smooth” feels like a death knell to a bank robbery story. Dicere - Gambits at High Temperature: Oh hey, another bank robbery story. Parallel stories are always a bit of a gamble and I’m not sure it paid off here; the Stosh story isn’t as well developed and doesn’t really feel necessary outside of the moment when their paths quite literally collide. After a while, the structure becomes a liability, and I wonder if you could have achieved the same effect just by bookending the story with those chess scenes. I found it difficult to follow the dialogue a lot of the time; partly this is due to the voices not being particularly distinct, but also I suspect there were some editing snafus. eg: quote:“Well, dude, I kinda got here early to rehearse.” Also, I can’t help but feel the ending would have landed better if you’d introduced the belt buckle earlier. Right now it just feels a bit unnecessary. Either cut this reference, or add an earlier reference so it works as a callback. Chairchucker - A Cave Full of Space: This was a fun story to read. There’s not a whole lot to it, but it has the benefit of being a complete story about characters who want things and ultimately get them. As you noted in the Discord, there is some slight discrepancy in Sam first favouring the club over the spear and then stealing the raygun later on, but I can overlook that. This story was probably the most effective one this week at introducing two very different characters, highlighting some funny cultural differences and sources of possible tension, and ultimately, uh, getting them to bang. As noted, having the sole named female character only helped in your favour here. sebmojo - Periapsis: This was solid, technically strong, and definitely the best opening of the week’s stories; but it unravels a bit once Anders appears, and doesn’t really recover until close to the end. There’s really not much here besides Anders being a drunk and “Commodore” James Spaceman being the straight-man to his tomfoolery; I’d have preferred to see the conversations about their being on different sides of skirmishes, etc, but also I’m not sure that would’ve made for much more of a story overall.
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Jun 29, 2023 09:47
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In!
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Jun 30, 2023 09:32
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In with a powers flash. Haven't written anything since highschool and you gotta (re)start somewhere
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Jun 30, 2023 15:28
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kiminewt posted:In with a powers flash. Haven't written anything since highschool and you gotta (re)start somewhere Emotions are in some way relevant to your power.
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Jun 30, 2023 16:05
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Week 565 Crits 1. Chernobyl Princess—Inftructions On The Baking of No-Knead Breadlings, By An Unkeen Huswif - Your submission’s title prepares the reader well for the humor that follows. - Though not specific to Anglish per se, your use of “f” to signify certain instances of “s” gives your writing an appropriately archaic feel. Mixed with your modern references, the outmoded language becomes rather interesting. - In keeping with the prompt, your prose suggests that you put some thought into favoring the German aspects of English. - Like many list-style stories, yours comes across as a bit gimmicky. Still, your story is humorous. This judge was entertained. 2. Thranguy—Sharp as In a dusty, bike-riding, gun-toting setting, Gretchen seeks revenge on Sigurd, her traitorous skinhead ex-lover. - What excellent Anglish prose! The language is kinetic, alive. - Gretchen's motivation to seek vengeance is clear. - Under the circumstances, it's tough to believe in Gretchen's attraction to Syd. One can make an argument for something akin to Stockholm Syndrome at work, but the attraction happens rather quickly, and it's hard for me to buy that an involuntarily chained woman would get rapidly horny for her captor. - Overall, the story is good. The ending works well. It's nice to see that even after captivity, Gretchen finds ways to live life on her own terms.
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Jun 30, 2023 17:42
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In.
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Jun 30, 2023 19:46
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thunderverse crits Fat Jesus there’s a lot of errors in this story from just a mechanical standpoint. generally speaking, putting small numbers (anything under like a hundred) should be spelt out, but the main thing is keeping it consistent, which to your credit, you do. however, its still a bit jarring. the beginning is way too focused on establishing that anders is hungover. its fine that he is hungover, but think about the economy of words you spend repeating that concept over and over again and what it does for the story. it isnt particularly interesting and doesnt move the story forward and doesnt tell us anything new about anders, so establish the hangover, and then get on with the story. then we get to the allfather or whatever, and this is where the story picks up. its a cool shift of perspective thats fun when contrasted between a sort of drunken, hungover idiot to an omniscient but bored god. but then it gets kind of muddled because its like a light argument and we’re not exactly sure what the stakes are. after much reading, i think i get the gist of what’s happening. anders is a drunkard and finds a ring. he picks it up, and it sends him to Talamor. talamor wanted gilgamesh, but anders came, and yahweh did it as a prank (how the ring is related to yahweh and gligamesh, not sure, dont know why if talamor wanted gilgamesh and why the mechanism would be through a ring, nor how yahweh would have been able to manipulate the ring in a way that talamor didnt expect or control, but let’s not get bogged down in that kind of stuff). talamor then goes, i hate yahweh, and turns anders into a basically an anti-jesus to spite yahweh, and then the real jesus switches spots with anders and he gets accused of rape for appearing in anders house, and gets killed. i think thats pretty much the narrative. the problem here is that, conceptually, this can be a fun story about petty gods using people as pawns to gently caress with each other’s religions, but there’s none of that really in here. im not sure what the point of it is. the intro (which primes your reader for the expectations in your story) is focused solely on anders, but anders is such a whatever character that he just drags the story. the stuff with talamor could be, if you spent a lot of time on it, kind of fun, but its just bogged down with inane dialogue and unclear stakes that it doesnt go anywhere. the last two perspective shifts also dont really work for me. the anders into the prophet bit is okay, but the jesus bit just feels unnecessary and a bit mean-spirited for no real reason. if anything, i think itd be funny if jesus either just became jesus but in pagan germany, or if jesus became drunkard like anders. thats assuming, of course, this is supposed to be a fun story. also, did german pagans say “guv”? im gonna hazard a guess and say, no. Flyerant there’s nothing really wrong with this piece in terms of mechanics or even concept. its one thats a classic bit, a robot who cant quite grasp the complexity of humans and their motivations, and a human who struggles with their emotions. this is a great setup that is tailor made for exploring tons of different concepts and themes and you have the room here to create a good story of it. the problem here is that story bit. this story feels like its only scratching the surface of its concept, afraid to commit to anything really. its mostly just characters talking and thinking about things that had happened or will happen eventually. theres no real struggle or conflict between anyone, no real moment where characters have to commit to anything. you have a conflict here superficially, does James stay with his spaceship who is caring and loving but doesnt challenge him emotionally, or does he commit to his old family and friends who do love him, but are flawed? the problem is that you dont really find an answer to this, instead you’re just swirling around it. force your character to choose. force your character to find a path. does he try to compromise? does he pick one whole heartedly? and what are the consequences of those choices? this has potential, not in the way that you go through a few edits and polishing rounds to get all the kinks out, but in that this needs a total rewrite that centers forcing these characters into a difficult situation so they have to find what their answer to the questions you pose in this piece are to me. (id also like a bit more agency from Rah) derp im not sure what the big block of text here gives you as a stylistic tool here since its just kind of annoying and as my other critter said, it does lead to nothing really being emphasized which is maybe intentional, but man, 1000 words of just the same poo poo over and over again is uhhhhh just maybe a tad bit boring. this overall isnt really terrible, but it ends up being mostly tedious to read without really any payoff. i like the ending, the time shifting and oddity is cool, and the 200 or so words land harder because the first 800 were pretty drat boring, but im not sure if thats quite the right boring:cool ratio. its also, really, not very dense of a text when you dig into it. i like that the narrator has a distinct voice, but it really lacks any amount of complexity or examination of this character. hes just a crotchety old guy mad about the current generation and the way things are, then he gets sent through time, and he’s the same crotchety old guy, and i dont feel like i really gained anything through reading all this except, yep, old dude is pretty annoying, even when youre nice to them. thrangles sorry but do we actually have to do this whole song and dance of me giving you a crit when we both know the truth. you had a way bigger concept in mind with this, you tried your best to make it work in the word count, and you couldnt fit everything together in this amount of words. we both know its because you had way too many characters and wanted to do a grand heist story. i like that you tried, and i like that you keep trying, but i worry that i cant give much value to critiquing a story like this because my issues it are issues that i think are certainly clear to you: this story needed more words, and you didnt have those words. i think my only real critique that doesnt stem from that core issue (such as, the heist being glossed over and some characters being barely more than a single trait) is that the idol being a major part of the narrative should have, at least, come up a lil bit earlier, but maybe in the full story, this is just the intro and thats your setup for the jade idol, and wow would you look at that, the “you needed more words” issue comes up again, no matter what. Dicere its pretty ambitious to go for a dual narrative, and i dont think it really works here. its kind of cute to have the two pieces collide at the end, but i dont think the individual stories themselves have enough care put into them to really make the collision land in an interesting way. the heist narrative i dont really care for, since both of the characters arent very likeable or interesting and the heist isnt creative or interesting enough that i dont find it compelling. it all falls down to character to me, since neither of them really feel compelling in voice or attitude or personality. they just feel like fairly bland criminals. the stuff about the uncle and the kid could have something there, as i think the relationship feels nuanced enough with some space for growth, but its heavily underbaked compared to the heist. so i dont really like the parts you spent the most time into, and the parts that i think could be interesting are the least developed. so uhhh yeah didnt like this one, mostly just boring. chucker this isnt an amazing story. its on the higher echelon of chucker stories, but it wasnt a very contentious week. there’s some good gags but a generally good forward energy that a lot of the other stories missed, where it really does make me want to keep reading. that was the big part, where the story builds on itself, where each action leads to the next. i think this might be good for other people to see, even in this simple story, why its important for the events in a story to flow from each other. james spaceman interrupts sam’s hunt, sam complains and so james offers to locate the animal, he finds a mammoth instead and shoots it because sam said she wouldnt be able to kill it, they chop up the mammoth and go back to sam’s cave, james makes a sex joke about caves and then they have sex, then sam steals the laser beam and power saw james used earlier. each step of the story comes from the last and each step leads into the next. there’s solid setup and payoff here too. the laser beam and power saw appearance lead to them being stolen. there’s even subversions like james making sex innuendos, but sam is the one that directly says “let’s have sex.” this isnt amazing literature, but it highlights how good storytelling can make a simple story compelling and fun. theres some good gags i like. i like that spaceman is being suggestive and then the sex comes because the cavewoman just outright says it and gets the spaceman flustered. i think your decision to keep the cavewoman articulate was good to keep the momentum of the story going, because i can see a miscommunication gag being fine, but that could bog down the narrative, whereas i think the advantage here in this piece is that it comes in, finishes quickly, and then leaves (this is also a sex joke). sebmojo while this is technically better than chucker’s, i think my statement of energy is what makes this piece stand below chucker’s. it starts out with good, even better, tension than chucker’s, but its tone is light enough to still feel pulpy. then we get anders and his drunken antics and we go, okay, here we go, oh man, cant wait to see what happens next, but then it starts to fizzle at the end. part of it is that i feel like you actually let a plot point hang. anders wants rum, specifically rum, and we know spaceman doesnt have that, and so we have some tension here that doesnt get resolved. it sort of just kinda keeps going with anders being drunk and spaceman being the (space)straightman, without really any shift or change in the feeling of the story. all the tension sort of just deflates and we have a decent conversation but then not really anything else, so the story just kind of ends.
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Jun 30, 2023 21:16
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in with goblin
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Jul 1, 2023 04:18
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Kuiperdolin posted:in with goblin lonely goblin
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Jul 1, 2023 04:25
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In
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Jul 1, 2023 04:54
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Entries closed, write good words.
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Jul 1, 2023 17:22
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The Day He Arrived 1,500 words Days start the worst, usually by going to bed the night before. There’s no end. There must have been a beginning? Somewhere? Mustn’t there? I went to bed one night, years ago, in childhood, or just last night... Ready to bounce out of bed and start my day with jubilation and my day started off balls. Or else the day started with what we refer to in this business as, ‘magic,’ and then became balls. Balls to the point where I was looking forward to going to bed and starting anew; refreshed and re-ready. I don’t know where it is. The point where the day turns to shitestain. The problem is it’s not every day. You don’t remember every day being vomit but when a day has become a ball-oval office-fanny-tit-poo poo-boob-ache it doesn’t leave. Until you forget. Maybe the best thing is to forget. Existence through memory, right? But there’s enough minutes in an hour, enough hours in a day, days in a month, well... It’ll all turn to gently caress. And there’s no escaping the trickster living your head. Today I was well. I was well enough to venture outside. What brings me outside you may ask? I’m well enough to manage it. If you’re not well enough to go outside you’ll stay inside until you’re no longer welcome inside; you’re forced exterior. Then you’ll be outside where it all happens. The twits. Toe-rags. Wee hairy bastards. Tall sinewy fuckers. Lads and ladies with big ears, warts growing out of them, and filthy fingernails, and they smell, the whole place smells, and my feet are high, or ache, and the atmosphere is very in-my-way but I don’t notice until I have time to reflect. But that’s not just outside. That’s everywhere. “Agent Smith,” Matrix vibes. My life is internal. I sit inside and do my thing. Until sitting inside becomes too much. Or, as is sometimes the case, sitting inside happens to coincide with the near-perfect time to go outside. I went outside today. Sometimes getting dressed is a hassle but I bought a new pair of jeans that fit me better than my old pair (despite that pair not being worn out), and I could cover my smell with deodorant. Pressing the button and waiting for the lift outside my apartment wasn’t too much hassle. There was no-one nearby, my flatmate was far away—for the day—and I didn’t have to take to the glances of anyone using the stairs to go down. Walking down the street I don’t remember waking up or trying to sleep, or discarding any thoughts to forget. I don’t remember being alerted to something incendiary. No demons were passing by and there was nothing telling me of violence. Or scalding. Evil, from my past, brought up again. Terrifying in the moment, or potentially chaotic in the future. I simply walked down the street, on the way to beer, and crisps, and maybe soup? My shopping list was filling out as I walked. What wonders would the supermarket hold? And more! If I was ready... I don’t know why—and maybe this is my downfall—but I was feeling super-confident walking through that supermarket. I’d already bought my cigarettes in the petrol station after waiting for the man working there to finish his smoke outside and serve me my tobacco. I’d waited with no worries. Then I bought enough fags to last a week. I hope. When I walked outside the petrol station, to my recall, the air was clammy but not in my way. Not between me and my goal, and certainly not making me sweat beneath my hoody as I entered an air-conditioned supermarket I knew at an instinctive but not conscious level would be a shock to me. It wasn’t a shock. It was cooler than clammy, it was calmer, but not frigid, and there was no chill. It was stiller than I expected. I was stiller than I expected, at least in recollection. I skipped past the soup fridge, knowing this shop didn’t have the soup I liked. I wouldn’t buy soup today. I was being very decisive. I walked. Looking back this was all going so well. That’s where I went wrong. I wasn’t guarded. I was fallen to a sense of security. Although it’s possible I had threatening thoughts while I browsed the bookshop where I didn’t buy anything—no fantasy leaped from page to mind. No past gremlin attacked when I smelled the food court food smells that reminded me of the spicy, curdled feet, crotches and stinky-hair-beauty-pits like the smells I’ve smelt of feet, crotches and hairy-pits of the past when I was most hungry. Or thirsty—as the kids would say. I was hungry. It was all going really well. Until... I saw him. Or her... No judgment. She had a moustache, and male name-tag. He had drooping, faux-diamond earrings and long, greasy hair. He had painted nails and she had stupid tattoos. It was the painted nails that did it for me. Colour! This one person, both he and her, she and him, all in one package. And I didn’t know. I didn’t care. Except he looked kind of tired. Not tired from working. Not tired from existence. Tired as an existence. Not of this world. Not of this world of normal people doing their shopping, smelling of balls and feet and oval office-dicks and pits and deodorant bad breath bad opinions bad thoughts. So many bad thoughts. My own. My own thoughts haunt me. An invasion. He was not of this world, of people thinking of life, of when the pain started, and when it would end, and, “Why is this the way it is?” He looked other worldly, and beneath me. She looked magnificent. They looked like a fool, slack jawed and moronic as they just shovelled groceries. He/She/They was beyond time. I didn’t care what they looked like. I feared for the reaction. There’s always a reaction Maybe it’s the point when you bounce out of bed but you’re bouncing in a sewer. Or when you start the day with simple peace and then turn in at night with seeping fear over whether you’ll ever escape what the day had become or what tomorrow would be. There’s always a point when it happens. Collection. Invasion. Them... My point hadn’t arrived and I didn’t expect it. She hated him. The goblin in front of me in the queue hated him/her/they/SHE?/IT?/WHOCARES? She was polite, in a way. She didn’t say a word, but she hated. Sickness on her face. He/She/They/Her/It was pushing her groceries past the till haphazardly. Even I could see that. He/She/They/Her/It/Them/they/the-trans-person was impatient, probably meeting quotas, definitely rushed. The woman left with her shopping, gnarled, raw face, lips curled, shoulders thrown back. Hating. Illness. Anger? Anger is hatred. She hated. Or maybe I hate. Maybe it’s me and I’m imagining the woman who was shopping. Her virus. Perhaps mine? The checkout He/Him/She/Her/They/us I encountered was lovely. Maybe they recognised something in me and acknowledged me? I felt relaxed by them. They pushed my groceries a bit too quickly for my liking but everyone does. Someone pushed past me at the checkout. Pushed me like there was an alarm, or a theft from the store. He didn’t wear a uniform. He looked, ‘common.’ A store detective trying to blend in? Looking in my bag. He ran, after pushing me. PUSHING ME!! I think. I arrived home, with my beer, and no smells in my nose. I was OK, I think. I saw a phishing email in my email account with my old name on it. I am/was OK, but not... Then they infested me. I saw them all around. My day is a pit, and the beer isn’t working fast enough. NOT FAST ENOUGH! I don’t know who the goblin-trickster is. Is it me? Is it my mental state? Is it seeing someone gender-wrecking and expecting the worst? Is it seeing someone gender nonconforming and being fine with it but seeing someone else hating? Is it having a store detective run by me like they were trying to catch someone? Was the detective trying to look in my bag I had open in my trolley? To see what I had stolen? Is it just that I was addressed by my old name in a phishing email? That I’m, “out there..?” Name aside.. That I’m being targeted? Or I’m targeting myself? Am I just tired? Do I need sleep? I want to know where it went wrong? At what point the day turned? Which day was it it turned? Or? Maybe? It was always this way? This is what’s wrong with me. I want to know... I want to know the cause and origin of where it all screwed up. And if it really was just the goblin bitch old hag oval office gently caress looking at the trans ugly-beautiful checkout worker with hate? Or would I have found my evil, somewhere, somehow, no matter what?
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Jul 2, 2023 05:56
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| # ? May 30, 2024 21:51 |
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The Night-Shift Goblin 942 words flash: stealthy goblin Once upon a couple of weeks ago, I awoke from the depths of sleep in the middle of the night. For a moment, I was uncertain what stirred me from my slumber, until I heard a light clanging sound coming from the kitchen. I ventured forth to investigate, and discovered a small green man tinkering about in my dishwasher. “What are you doing, you rapscallion?!” I demanded of the fellow. “Why me, sir?” he responded, backing carefully out of the appliance. As he came into view I saw he was endowed with a long, well formed nose and a pair of sweeping, majestic ears, all of which ended in very clean and defined points. I was taken immediately by the composition of his form. “Yes you, green thing! What are you doing there in my dishwasher? Are you the reason it’s been acting up for the last week?” “Why not at all! I’m fixing it, sir,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, which in retrospect, it should have been. “It is what goblins like myself do, we wait until you fall asleep and go about righting the little wrongs of everyday life. Haven’t you ever wondered why sometimes, when you can’t get a tool to work, or something just won’t come out right, but works right after a good night’s sleep? Goblins are why, my dear sir.” I was shocked by this revelation. “I thought such things were the province of elves and gnomes, limited to the work of cobblers and cookie production,” I said haughtily, as if I knew anything about the matter. “No, no, not at all, sir!” said the green fellow, most patiently and politely. “Why you’d be hard-pressed to find an elf that was housebroken, much less one that could bake. And gnomes hardly bear speaking of—they spend most of the day drunken and idle, entirely allergic to anything that could be called work. “Well regardless of what mythical creatures do such nocturnal fixings, I would think I shouldn’t stumble across you doing these things. Isn’t that how it works? You slave away for my benefit, and I slumber soundly, completely oblivious to your many contributions?” I asked, quite rudely. The goblin let out a long-suffering yet dignified sigh and carefully placed a socket wrench in an immaculately organized toolbox. “That, I fear, is indeed my fault. You see, I normally have the gift of stealth, and may move about undetected in the realm of man. But I have been so taxed by the many beneficent acts I have performed for people all over the world, that my latent abilities have become worn thin. It seems I could no longer conceal the sound of my work from you. And once I knew I was caught, it seemed futile to hide, not that there’s anywhere I could hide in this pigsty of a kitchen.” I was suitably chided by the goblin’s complaints, though his tale of woe and overwork somehow failed to pierce the iron globe I had in the place of a heart. “So this is what you do? Wander around fixing things in the dead of night, for no recompense or recognition? It seems a patently silly existence.” The goblin looked wounded, but had too much essential dignity to acknowledge the cutting devaluation of his livelihood that I had laid out. “It is indeed what I do, sir. What all goblins do, in fact. We were once cursed, generations ago, to serve humankind in this way. But do not let the word ‘curse’ mislead you, for I at least find great joy and satisfaction in the fixing of broken things. In that way, the work is its own reward, and I have no great need of recognition.” “But surely there is some punishment that will be meted out by a higher authority, given I have found you and ripped the veil from the great subterfuge of goblinkind,” I said, since apparently I must know that others will suffer in order to sleep soundly at night. “Oh please, sir,” the goblin asked, raising his empty hands in gentle supplication. “The only way the Great Goblin Council will know is if you spread word of my existence. But do so, and I will be torn away from your employ! Think of all the work I could do for you now that you know I exist. I am no longer limited to what can be done in darkness, and fixing that which might feasibly have simply fixed itself. I can clean, and cook, and do all manner of tasks that plague your day-to-day!” I thought on this but for a moment. “Yes, indeed, this seems a highly beneficial arrangement for us both. I gain the help of a competent and uncomplaining goblin-of-all-work, and you gain a reprieve from punishment. I agree,” I said, and held out my hand. The goblin placed his small green hand in my own, and we shook. Little did he know I would come to abuse this relationship to the fullest extent. Now, I go about my day, entirely reliant on the service of my goblin housemate. I often wonder what I would do without him, but have yet to motivate myself to offer any sort of recompense or succor to the goblin, despite the ample work he does for me. Maybe one day, I will come to truly appreciate his contribution to my well-being, and stop leaving so much work undone, knowing that in the end he will swoop in and complete these tasks at the last minute possible—tasks like, for example, writing my Thunderdome entries.
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Jul 2, 2023 21:36
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