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Jan 10, 2023 22:24
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| # ¿ May 14, 2024 01:06 |
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Also, two more judges plz, step right up
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Jan 10, 2023 22:24
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My Kingdom, and a Horse 1400 words It was the day my grandmother exploded. I had never liked her very much so the emotional impact was limited; nonetheless, as my ears rang, and as the semi-solid remnants of grandma pattered to the floor around me, I was instantly angry. This was so typical. Luckily my mouth had been closed when she detonated, so I didn’t need to expel any detritus. Unluckily there was now not only a sloppy mess where gran had been, but also a giant hole in the wall, revealing a dust-scarred vignette of way too many soldiers in all kinds of shiny armour crap on the street outside. I thought I could hear the king yelling something about surrender and hands through a megaphone, but the tinnitus turned it all into a whirring mush. The Kingdom really had gone to the dogs lately, I mused as I scrambled out the kitchen window and flopped onto the compost bin. Some snotty kid had apparently turned up with what he alleged was a magic sword and done a bunch of, frankly performative, tricks at the behest of Former King “Senile” Simon, and hey, Bob’s your uncle, new King. Except Bob wasn’t my uncle, I didn’t have an uncle. I also didn’t have a grandmother anymore because Grannie was not only a witch in the abstract terrible-human-being sense, but also in the actual spell-casting evil crone sense, and she’d just been obliterated by the new King’s fireball wand because, oh, I don’t know, poison apple, dark curse, general ultra-spite aura. She really was pretty dreadful not to mention my light coating of viscera was the closest thing I’d got to a hug in the last 29 years. However one thing I was sure about as I hobbled down the cobbled road, picking the last few gobbets of grandma out of my ear, was that this new King wasn’t any better and that I really needed to talk to Izzy. “Why are you all red,” asked Princess Isabella half an hour later, reasonably enough. “Long story,” I said. “We need to get out of here.” Isabella, immaculate as always in the frilly taffeta confection her maids had strapped her into that morning, spread elegant hands wide. “But Peregrine, I live here. If we go somewhere else then I won’t have a house?” I took a deep breath, tried to get my heartrate back to a manageable 120. “It’s the new boy,” I said after a moment. “I don’t think you should go through with it.” Isabella wasn’t stupid - or rather, she was, but in the kind of way that leaves a lot of room for some surprisingly base cunning - and I could see the wheels turning. “I mean, he’s not particularly nice. But daddy promised my hand in marriage. And now he’s dead, I couldn’t break the promise, he’d be sad." I’d liked the old man, obsession with complicated kingdom giveaway schemes aside, so I frowned sympathetically. Then I said, “He blew up my grandma, and I think he wants to do the same to me, is the thing”. Isabella thought for a long moment, then sighed. “Well, I suppose I could see you to the border, maybe? Safe conduct?” I grinned, feeling a cracking sensation on my face as I did. “That’s awesome. Could I, uh, have a quick bath first?” Two hours later, washed and geared and accompanied by my childhood princess chum, we were on the road, half a mile north of Kingdomton. Iz had dressed in some kind of leather catsuit which I imagine was her best guess at adventure-wear, but long experience told me there was no point in arguing the toss on clothing choices. Or on quoits, for that matter, at which she was a dab hand. It was a pretty day, though, and the birds were singing lustily in the shiny-leafed trees, so I let myself feel a little hopeful. “You’re going through with it, then?” I glanced over at her hoping for some sign of doubt, but her high forehead was unscarred by concern or self-reflection as usual. “Oh, I’m sure it will be fine. Besides I love weddings, and this means I’ll get to have my own! Will you be able to come back, ever? I’d miss you if you didn’t.” I considered the topic. My contacts had indicated the King had it in for me, and the unfortunate fate of Granny Pinkmist added a gruesome level of credibility to that. Still, it was a nice day, and forever was a very long time. “I’d miss you too, Iz. Yeah, give me a few years. You can work on him, maybe?” Her eyes lit up and I hastily amended. “Subtly. Subtle work. Like, when you got us both horses by pretending I was your new stable boy?” She raised an imperious eyebrow at me. “Boy, I need my saddle goo.” I looked back at her, stony-faced. After a moment we both cracked up - it had been extremely funny when she’d demanded some kind of horse product in front of her dad and all I’d had was a mysterious jar I’d filched from Gran’s house. I’d had to scramble to stop her from rubbing it on Shadowflame and turning him from a horse into a scritchbeetle or something. I was going to miss her, drat. Then she held up her hand. “Wait, is that–” I looked back at Kingdomton, which was dappled in afternoon light, and felt my belly curdle at the sight of a squad of glinting-armoured horsebastards. “Ah, crap.” A lot of chasing and riding and sneaking and more chasing ensued, but it turned out Granny had a crystal ball in the attic which she’d never told us about (so typical) and which the King had grabbed and used to track us down so it was all rather in vain. The King, snotty little idiot face agleam with satisfaction, was sitting there astride his enormous horse, fireball wand in hand, and it looked like it was curtains for Peregrine (being me). Isabella seemed extremely dejected by the whole thing and was blubbering great big messy tears which was rather taking away from the vibe of cold remorseless justice I could tell King-boy was aiming at. “So, miscreant, BOO HOO HOO appears you have been NOOO HE IS MY BEST FRIEND red-handed, and SINCE LITERALLY FOREVER face the SOOOO UNFAIR of your actions! Sergeant, shut her up!” Sergeant Twot Bimble, as he was inexplicably named, didn’t seem keen on handling the royal personage, but was moving to grab her and do something policey and probably quite mean. Bugger that, I thought, and dived for him, bringing him down to the muddy ground. The melee that ensued was lacking in any skill or finesse, but I’d given and received a few satisfying thwacks when I felt him pulled away and heard the high, whiny voice of the child King: “Stand back, men! I will administer fiery justice!” I mean what a dick, right. I rubbed the mud out of my eyes, so I could get at least one more glance at the twilight sky and my best friend, and well, I guess that’s all she was ever going to be now, and was therefore in a perfect position to see Isabella’s nimble hands dive into her saddle bags and come out with a little jar that I recognised. “HORSE GOO!” she yelled as she flung it, which, I mean, it was nobody’s idea of a war cry but top marks for description? I heard the crack, followed by the King’s high girly shriek, and a sort of gross shlulping noise which (as I now know) was what it sounded like when someone turned into a skritchbeetle. There was a degree more shouting and trying to catch the royal beetle as he skittered hither and yon, but then Shadowflame stepped on him and that was it for the brief and not that glorious rein of King … actually I still couldn’t remember his name. King Whatsisname. Isabella was now the monarch in charge, so a few hours later we were all back at the palace having tea. I reached out for the cup and winced. "So what is the plan from here, Iz? Just going to rule for a while and see how you go?" She thought for a while, sipping daintily on the lemongrass decoction. Then she looked at me, pretty eyes a-sparkle, and I felt my heart do a surprisingly intense flip. "Well... I do have a wedding dress all ready to go, and the cooks have been ever so busy. What are you doing next Tuesday?"
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Jan 16, 2023 09:23
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Going to offer 'I hate the security fairies' and 'STOP EATING OLD GRANNIES!' (band name suggestion)
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Jan 25, 2023 04:04
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In, prophet me
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Jan 25, 2023 04:05
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We must imagine Sisyphus happy 825 words Satan, who is the devil, never wanted it to be easy for people to escape his nighted domain. Obviously. So he set a guard, and made it fierce beyond description. Long of fang, black of fur, eyes of pure jellied fire. I sat, cross-legged, a careful forty three fee away from the hound of Hell, and mused upon its savage lineaments. I really could not fault the Lord of Lies’ workmanship. Not only the dog itself which was a pure nightmare creature, but the chain that bound it. The links were bronze, fastened to a bracket in the dead centre of the archway out of Hell. The chain was enough for the dog to cover every inch of the arch. It stared at me, eyes like banked coals, and panted. The sulfurous reek of its breath would have been notable anywhere else, but … Hell. I’d traversed an unthinkable array of horrors and dangers to reach this place, and yet on the edge of freedom I found myself stymied. I’d tried sneaking past it, running, casually walking then at the last minute darting in a different direction. It was fast despite its size and each time those massive horrible jaws closed the merest fraction of an inch away from me. I didn’t think I could die, as such, but I’d heard the tales and didn’t want to spend the next eternity being digested in this ghastly hound’s colon. It had been a week, as I reckoned time by the hourly clangour of Lost Hope, the great cracked bell at the heart of Hell, and I was no closer to getting past it. At last I shrugged and grasped the handle of the obsidian knife I’d stolen from an overseer down in a slave pen in Acheron. The haft was wrapped in braided human hair and the edge was wickedly, poisonously sharp. I hefted it a moment then positioned it at the joint to my left wrist, felt the painful line against my skin. I decided that if I could toss it to the very limit of the chain, over … there … I could maybe make it through the opposite side in the few seconds it was busy gobbling it down. It was a terrible plan, really, and bespoke a degree of insanity, but it had been a long journey and to be stymied at the last was not to be born. But, as I made the first cut the dog spoke. “You didn’t really love her,” it said in a pleasant conversational tone. The blood was hot on my wrist. I could feel it dripping. I considered the words, looked up at the dog. It grinned back at me. “You can talk?” I said, then felt foolish. It didn’t answer at first, just kept grinning, tongue lolling, a faint cloud of black steam coming off it. “There’s nothing for you out there. You can escape all you like, it won’t help.” It was odd to hear my own fears echoed in such a way, so I slid the blood-slick knife back into my breech clout and put my hand over the cut. It hurt a lot, which helped to concentrate my mind. “But I want to,” I said. “I want to be free of this place.” “It won’t help.” The massive creature crossed its paws and rested its gigantic head upon them. I shook my head. This was absurd. I must have come close. Maybe I’d stumbled on a plan to escape Hell that was just crazy enough to work, so now the hound was, I don’t know, changing its tactics. Also I was losing a lot of blood. “I don’t care.” My voice sounded firm and clear, in my ears, I couldn’t tell if the dog believed me. “I’m doing this because I choose to, not because of the, the other stuff.” With that, and without giving myself any time to think about it, I whipped my razor knife back out and sliced my left hand clean off. The pain was extraordinary, like I’d plunged my wrist into molten iron, and I springboarded off that into a howling, stumbling run, hurling the severed appendage off to my left as I sprinted to the right. The hound of the gates of Hell watched the movement of the hand, trailing a crimson streamer of gore, then snapped my up with a single negligent flick of its jaws and bit me in half. I awoke, a nameless period of searing torment later, slumped against a rocky wall. I looked around, blinking away gritty ash. Malebolge, the sixth circle. I had returned to where I started. My hands were intact, though a vivid scar surrounded my left wrist. I thought my way up through the winding, horrid labyrinths of devilish torment that lay between me and the exit. Then I laughed, and clambered to my feet, and started once more.
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Jan 30, 2023 12:52
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gently caress yeah in gimme a weird one
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Mar 14, 2023 10:15
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Step up and judge if you haven't before, you don't need permission.
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Mar 16, 2023 21:08
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Going out with a bang Flash: Sinners orgy 1338 words Ajx hissed an instruction at the window and it opened, flooding the little cabin with hot blue planetlight. The swirls of cloud far below, with their tiny central pockets of clarity, stared back at him, each one a single eye to match Ajx’s own. “File start, add the date, and the headers. This is the firstform of the Watchful Integrated, fulfilling the necessary duty. We approach the end of our time and will depart in…” Ajx’s tendrils twitched for a moment. “Work it out, add that too. I make these observings, to be added to the record of the people.” Ajx paused to assemble its thoughts. “A catalogue of the dominant inhabitants has been completed. There are a little under 8 billion of them and they are all…” “Disgusting,” said Cjx from the hatchway. “They are all disgusting. Why are we wasting any more of our time on them, let’s blow the place and go home.” Ajx clicked away the file note carefully. “This is unhelpful behaviour, thirdform. We have –” “A duty,” agreed Cjx mockingly. “Which is to judge, and begone! Let us vamoose! Home time! I hate them. And it. It’s a stupid planet for pointless revolting creatures.” Below them, Earth rotated. If it experienced chagrin at the intemperate views of the thirdform of the Watchful Integrated it did not show it. “Our Duty,” said Ajx, pointedly emphasising the word, “is to judge with all knowledge and full unbiased unity. We do not have that yet. When we do we will act as is fit.” Cjx’s fronds shivered. “The second is the obstacle then? That is your view, we need merely convince the secondform of the crimes and grotesqueries of the absurd pile of azure sludge down there and we can blast it and fly on?” Ajx paused until the volatile thirdform’s tendrils had stilled, then said, heavily: “We will judge according to the forms. Until then…” Cjx whooped and slid backwards out of the observation bubble. “Gonna get two on side so fast it’ll make your heads flutter” The hatch valve irised shut behind it, and Ajx contemplated the state of its life and the various decisions that had led it here in a weary sort of fashion. On the far side of the globular vessel Bjx was floating in the centre of a flickering galaxy of filth. Sexual acts of every description occupied the thousands of screens and it could see them all, each more lascivious than the last. It was odd, it mused, to be thus bathed in the mating instinct of another species, the fetishistic focus on images and precisely delineated flesh items. Odd and intriguing. It glanced at the corridor camera to confirm the others weren’t nearby then flipped up the screen it had been hiding down near the floor. On it was a set of body images and estimations. Bjx contemplated them, made an adjustment. Around it the soft, combined sounds of 19,308 simultaneous sex acts blended into a single fluttering susurrus of desire. “What’s that?” asked Cjx from behind it. “Aaahh,” responded Bjx, flailing for the close toggle and instead slamming the group volume to maximum. 19,308 moans and grunts suddenly pounded at the internal skin of the ship like an eroticized spacequake. “You’re disgusting too,” said Cjx, after cutting the sound with an impatient flick. “Is that. Is that a morph pattern.” “No! it’s not, it’s a, a,” Bjx floundered. “You want to become one of them. That’s so disgusting. They ooze over everything! They eat each other, and anything they can reach! Their biosphere is about to flip, we’re lucky we didn’t get here any later or they would have already cooked themselves!” Bjx curled tighter around the screen, which Cjx was trying to winkle out with an extendril. “Stop that! OK! Yes. Yes, I was. It’s a recognised part of the protocol, take the form, go down, have a look around! Perfectly normal.” Cjx was relentless. “With robots, second. Maybe an observation post. Not getting glooped up in a flesh suit and then, what? “Sex”? Is that what they call it?” “You know very well what they call it, thirdform Cjx. You’ve written as many reports as me. And yes. I do want to go down. I want to take part. Before we, you know. Decide.” “One last hurrah? One for the road?” Cjx always had the best grasp of idiom for observed races. “You know it won’t change the judgment, right?” Bjx’s expression didn’t change, but there was a faint sense of gazing off into the unknown future. “Only time will tell, thirdform Cjx.” Cjx wavered, then blew a streamer of defeated vapour out one spiracle. “Fine. You get two weeks though. One fortnight! I’ll tell the first.” Bjx waited until the room was clear then brought his screen back up. That part could be a little wavier, he thought. Like a prettily undulating krmml frond. Thirteen “days” later, (it had internalised Earthside measurements, though they all seemed rather arbitrary) Bjx was standing on a streetcorner in San Francisco. “Hello,” he said to another passer-by, in un-accented human, “I would like to–” The passing human held up its tendrils (“hands”!). “No thanks,” it said. “- have sex,” said Bjx to its retreating dorsal area. This was proving tricky. Despite multiple efforts and approaches, the human inhabitants of Earth did not appear to want to have sex with it, and time was running out. It cycled through its extensive archives and settled on a fresh approach. To the next human, Bjx stepped forward and said, with as winning an expression as it could manage, “Step brother, I am stuck in this washing machine, and I can’t get out!” Then, though not without some qualms about the degree to which this departed from standard protocol, it shot the human right in the face with a spiracle-full of pheromones. The puff that caught the human was approximately two million, four hundred and forty three thousand times more powerful than the most potent artificial scent technology their race had managed to come up with, and so the effect was immediate. The creature ripped off first its upper garments, then its lower (stumbling a little on the peduncular tendrils) and grabbed hold of Bjx in the most gratifyingly libidinous manner. In a few seconds the pleased secondform was on its back, being undulated all over by the alien. It took a few seconds more before Bjx realised that the pheromones had not been as targeted as it had intended. The cloud of gas widened, expanding, being blown on the wind and curling into office buildings, ventilation systems, drain pipes, entrance halls. Up and down the streets and (it realised) all through the city, humans were falling to their knees, grabbing each other, muttering hackneyed catchphrases and initiating intercourse. “Oh dear,” it murmured, before succumbing to the attentions of its ever more amorous partner. Three weeks later, the three forms were hovering in the central cavity of the Watchful Integrated. “So,” said Ajx heavily. “Did you get a final count on the spread of your pheromone, secondform Bjx.” “Yes, firstform,” said Bjx. “I have processed the numbers thoroughly and I believe they are accurate and correct.” “I hate you so, so much,” said Cjx. “And?” “Three point eight four nine billion humans were ultimately, uh, affected. Firstform. I’m very sorry.” “So much.” Ajx was not of a race or body type that sighed, but nonetheless a sigh appeared to issue from it. “So the judgement, which to be clear, was very nearly finalised, cannot now be issued, because you have interfered most copiously with these humans?” “More than poison.” “Firstform, perhaps when we return they will be…” “Better, second?” Bjx thought for a moment. “Still … here? Perhaps? That would be nice. I think I like them. And I have a lot of phone numbers.”
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Mar 20, 2023 08:27
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Yoruichi posted:"It's" is short for "it is." Your an op
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Mar 22, 2023 07:28
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Yoruichi posted:fite me Any day, you barely literate zobe
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Mar 22, 2023 07:33
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sebmojo posted:Any day, you barely literate zobe Who will judge this
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Mar 22, 2023 07:34
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Mar 22, 2023 09:09
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Yoruichibrawl Maxine of the Camellias 1300 words The fake dream air was sharp in my nose – don’t breathe in through your mouth, the guy had said as he was putting me down, slapping the gooey electrodes on to my forehead. It’s really important. He’d said why but I couldn’t remember that bit, just his febrile eyes as he said it, his faint odour of bubblegum vape. I took another sniff, wondering whether I could still smell the sickly scent or whether it was just a memory. Around me, chaos stretched to the horizon. Her brain really was a mess. I don’t mean psychologically, she was always fairly put together in that sense, at least until recently. I mean it was a pigsty. I couldn’t even see my feet, they were covered in half-read books, weird multi-coloured undergarments with too many legs, potplants. So many potplants. I lifted up one foot, tipping over a succulent and spilling dust-dry soil into the bric-a-brac, then put it down again and crouched to inspect the plant, its smooth pale-green involutions. That’s when the seagull hit me. They’re not scary birds most of the time, but as its blood red razor beak jabbed for my eyes and I sprawled backwards, flailing both hands out to break my fall, I understood that animals only choose to live around us, and that consent could be revoked at any time. It was screaming, claws raking at my face, beak wide. I hurled myself on my side in a frenzy, groping for anything to protect myself. The succulent pot was in my hand, then it was breaking on the dirty white feathers of my assailant, smash cut to a tea room. Polite chitchat. Maxine was sitting across from me, reading a magazine. Around us were dozens, hundreds of little pots, with flowers. There was a faint odour of poo poo in the air. “They’ve worked out how to fix lies,” said Maxine. She turned a page, eyes top left. “Oh, it’s a stem cell thing.” “I thought you couldn’t read in a dream,” I said, and took a sip of my tea. It didn’t taste of anything. “I thought I told you to be quiet?” She said it calmly but with an icy edge. “Max, you need to wake up. Please. It’s been months. Please.” “I have three things to say to you, Samantha.” She put down her magazine, which was now smouldering in an autumnal burnt leaves way. I waited for her to continue, then realised the tea room was in an arena, a stadium. Around us banked rows of bleachers rose up to the bright horizon. She was growing too, her neat jacket expanding around her as she swelled up, towering above me. In her hand was a spoon. Its edge gleamed razorlike in a tight spotlight from above. “I don’t want to fight,” I said. “I don’t want to fight.” “I dOn’T waNt to FiGhT” she said back, making her voice absurd in mimicry, then threw her huge spoon right at me. It hit me in the face, sent me sprawling and spinning through the black and white lino squares on the floor, which had inexplicably shattered into hundreds of independently rotating diamonds that whirled around me. One of them clipped my top lip and drew blood, drat thing was razor sharp. I clamped my mouth shut against the trickle and lunged for Maxine, who was rotating in her own cloud of black and white diamonds, a few meters away. She gasped and flailed at me with the magazine, slapping at my face, but I had her arms and I pulled her close in. Her dream body was taut and hot against mine. I kissed her, smearing blood across her thin lips. “You need to wake up. They’ve got you hooked up to tubes and everything but it’s failing, please. Please Max.” Her eyes were so much darker than usual. Her face was a cool Noh mask, the smear of blood like a flower that had grown there. Planted by me. Slowly she lifted the magazine, now a set of perfect glossy naked 8”x10” photographs of me, and, what was her name. I didn’t think it was a good idea to remember that right now. I lifted my hand to push it aside, but she lifted her own hand at the same way, a mirror image. Our palms were pressed flat together, a little sweaty. I was looking into her eyes, looking at the dot of light that was at the centre of each pupil. The dots were growing. I looked at her face, her dream face. It didn’t look like her, but I knew it was really. It reminded me of someone. Who was it? Just then her sweaty, slippery, slimy palm slipped down my hand and onto my wrist, took a grip, and flipped me round and down onto a hot hard surface with shattering force. She was on top of me, pummeling my face with a sharp-knuckled fist. “Filthy, lying, loving, loving, loving,” she said, calmly, as she hit me. I took it as my due. The wood under me was rocking back and forth with each impact and it took me a little longer than four blows to realise it was a boat, I was on a boat, we were on a boat. There were seagulls high above, circling. Oh no. I wriggled out from under her and saw a smooth brown figure, lying naked in the sun, lounging, lolling. I couldn’t look at her. I didn’t look at her, I didn’t even know who she was. Instead I took three steps, grabbed Maxine, Max of the Camellias, my love, my angry bride, and yeeted us both off the side and into the fathomless deep. The water was cold and blue and everywhere, up my nostrils, in my clothes, under my skin. Max was struggling in my arms as we sunk but I held tight. I couldn’t breathe because my mouth was closed so I opened it to explain that I loved her and I’d made a terrible mistake, and that if only she would wake up and be angry at me properly it would be so good and we could look at each other and I could explain, and I felt her thrashing limbs grow ever more uncontrolled as the water sank into each one of my cells and made them heavy with moisture and sleep, and, then, I woke up. There was a beeping and monitors were doing things and outside I could hear footsteps. The ceiling was a flat white and I looked at it wondering what it represented for a moment before I remembered I was awake. I turned my head to the left, on my sweaty pillow, and saw Max there on the hospital bed next to me, camellias in the vase beside her. She was all wired up and a tube ran up her nose, and her eyes were surrounded by hollow sockets of shadowed skin, but as I watched I saw her eyelids twitch, and open, just a fraction.
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Apr 11, 2023 09:33
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In, flash
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Apr 13, 2023 04:46
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In and flash
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Jun 7, 2023 09:48
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Ozymandias 400 words There’s a spot on the concrete where a drop of rain just fell. The water splashed, a minute curtain wall of water rising up around the central point of impact for the briefest moment before subsiding. Around it the concrete is still dry, speckled with black pebbles in the light grey. Next to the spot on the concrete is a tire, black cracked vulcanised rubber compressed by time and the mass of the rusted-out Toyota it is attached to. The Toyota’s driver-side door is open, hinges rusted solid to lock it ajar. There is a figure in the seat, slumped back and pressed down by the weight of the roof, which has caved in. What would have been the head is obscured from view. There are rips in the cotton shirt and dirty yellow bone is visible through them. A bird lands on the roof of the car, clackclack, and hops down to perch on the steering wheel, cocks its head to the left and right, hops on to the gear shift. A creak comes from the car and it startles, fluttering out the smashed window. The car is poised on the edge of a jagged smashed outcrop of road, high above the stained concrete below. It is tilted forward, kept from falling by a couple of lengths of twisted rebar protruding from the broken end of the road that have impaled one of the car’s wheels. The wind gusts for a moment, and the car creaks again. A few more raindrops fall. On the edge of the road is a clump of dandelions. They have deep green leaves that are ruffled by the wind and a handful of bright yellow flowers that bob up and down. One of the dandelion flowers has seeded and the wind catches one of the seeds by its feathery pappus and whisks it off, sending it spiralling high in the air. From up here the ruined city stretches out for a long way. In the distance a couple of vertical strands of dark smoke rise up into the grey sky over cracked and broken buildings. The dandelion seed flies for a few hundred meters then catches on a brick wall, near a thin line of moss that has grown out of the mortar. It might take root there, eventually, or not. Rain is falling more heavily now. Slowly, gently, a night comes down upon the calm and sleeping city.
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Jun 12, 2023 07:44
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Jun 14, 2023 02:58
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I will judge
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Jun 14, 2023 05:40
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 if you want a hellrule (a deliberately unfair flash rule). No obligation, but it can be fun and generally produces decent stories.
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Jun 14, 2023 06:22
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DigitalRaven posted:In and your characters are humans with crab claws instead of arms, and do not find this at all unusual.
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Jun 14, 2023 13:14
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 Thunderdome Tenth Birthday Final Round  I was about to post this, shortly after the final round of the incredible decennial OMEGATHON context, but wizard, portal, beetroot schnapps, long weekend. Say no more. Unfortunately my co judges evaporated into mysterious particles of infinite probability as part of the same incident so I'm obliged to tell you alone that the LOSER of round 4 was yoruichis the resulting eruption, and DMS were assigned to property rights and the wizard watched, by JABC AndTars Tarkas Thranguys Swords and Time and Bad seafoods Magic Scrolls may have HMs, and the WINNER is PhantomMuzzles With Happy Happy Happy.
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Jun 17, 2023 10:38
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55: Property Rights 5 this is going for a kind of cozy indulgent grin sort of reaction, with the big intricate fantasy folks realising that actually they're just chums but it plays its cards too quickly and the winky nudgey rom com ending really doesn't land. Would have been better if it had actually shown us these things happening, rather than having them be recounted at the exact same time as the high-larious misunderstandings that caused them could be resolved. 57: The resulting eruption... 5 oooooh this one is trying very hard to be jaunty and funny and lolsome with its talk of vomits! vomits are hilarious, aren't they? the story asks, turning up the vomit description dial with trembling fingers. in fact they're only a little funny, and chucking (lol) in a little budweiser gag (lolol) is very much a the airplane food, so bad scenario. Also don't really care about vomity victor's pursuit of his potential gf, bc he's gross and covered in vomit. 61: Words of Power 6 this really is extremely dumb and knows it, obv, but I'm more interested in its particular flavour of dumb because it has someone trying to do something about it in a vaguely interesting way. i feel like there was a better and more insane ending than ok i guess i'll be dull after all, but you know what local body politics are a lot more important than most people thingk, ok 62: Art is Subjective and so... 6 this is trying a little hard to be wacky and zany and a little bit whedonesque but not in the bad way and i am not sure it gets there. a dick made of hair is the sort of thing that you come up with while thinking about funny things rather than an actual joke? that said, there's enough inventive byplay that you almost get away with the sotry just kind of stopping almost but not quite 66: Dirk Venerator - Episode.. 7 SPEAKING OF WACKY HOOO BOY DOES THIS STORY HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY and that's almost certainly me too me too me toooo, just coming at you right out of the gate with the amusingly onomatopeic names and absurd situations! this is actually all fine, but you do still need to tell a story, which it almost contemptuously fails to do, instead dangling a bunch of absurd situations and not-quite boob jokes in front of the reader like a kitten with a piece of paper on a string. but hey, some of them were funny and I'm nothing if not driven by whimsy so this is ok, if light as a feather. 71: Happy Happy Happy 8 Aww, while this is a transparent riff on that cornfield thing from twilight zone with a dash of oglaf's wish dolly, it's actually not bad. i like the well executed shift in mood, that throws the Wacky Absurdity into sharp relief. I'm not sure I really get all the corpses on bliss island and I'm not sure you needed that; the final decision is easily enough. i also like how you don't justify the deranged wish fairy, it just, you know, how it be. 72: Siren Song 6.5 this is a potentially robust idea, with solidly competent execution, that founders on the shoals of just being rather dull. I think it's a combination of no interesting characters, and also there being no real change or development. it's like, I'm a football player, master of football. sometimes they hire me to kick a ball (kicks ball) yeah that's what it's like (bares teeth into cold winds of inevitability) 73: Smaller than 420 Microns 6 I'm a little unclear why the robot guy got blown up to be brutally honest, but my main issue here is that it ends with a promise of EXCITING ADVENTURES TO COME which is always a little enervating. words are okay if maybe a little clunky but as a slab of action it's basically competent. 75: Pushing the Limits 6 this is also a lightly dreary recitation of this particular wizards working conditions that does not ever manage to break the surface tension of the gently lapping water of Whogivesashit Bay. neither the protag nor the plants have any notable character and the victory is unearned and weightless. 81: Do No harm 7.5 this has a little bit of nasty juice to it, and I like the genuine tension between all the characters, impressive given how lightly sketched they are. I'm thinking the end is a bit of a cop out, but on balance this does a nice job of both setting out commercial magic and still keeping it a little scary and nasty. 89: Swords and Time 8 I like the deep time feeling of this and it's well supported by stylish prose, though I would have liked more of a sense of connection between these two wizard weirdos, but still this is nice and grisly. not sure the ending exactly hits, for that reason, but one of the better pieces this week 93: Please Watch Dad Do... 7 competent harry pottering. I think you missed a trick by not having the daughter see the resolution, as that would have answered the question that the first half of the story implicitly posed. 94: The Wizard Watched...5.5 this is a bland rendition of a not particularly interesting idea, but the words are put together in a way that isn't incompetent enough to annoy me. this could be improved by keeping it a bit more grounded and maybe having the end come out as a consequence of the forgoing action 95: Magic Scrolls 8 shares the quality of intense dumbness that many of this tranche of stories have chosen to exhibit, but nails the correct tone by splicing in some intense po faced fantasy nonsense and a schadenfreude cloutmancer concept. actually legitimately fun, and sits at the right size for its slight but well articulated ideas. 98: Something Like Necrom.. 7 nicely written as usual, and an interesting concept but I don't think repeating the same encounter three times produces much in the way of additional perspective on the fairly interesting concept
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Jun 17, 2023 10:44
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Fat Jesus A Brother's Love 3 L some nice energy, but lacking control with its use of splatterpunk DigitalRaven The Resurrectionarians 4 dm intensely dull, also disappointed not to get more crabclaw hijinx! how does he light his pipe, digital raven?! Copernic Baby’s rear end 7 deranged premise that executes well silmarillionaire Pep Talk 8 hm normally i hate this kind of last line stinger since it's generally a vehicle for a twist ending the requires taking out important story flesh, but in this case you are really just paying off the story as a whole LurchinTard Whispers of the Sun 5 competent words but jesus god this is pointlessly grim and does not even slightly meet the prompt MockingQuantum Self-Maintenance 6 decent meat and potatoes story words, 'solution' is a little implausible given you're hitting a nuclear reactor so someone can get health care, but hey, in the current political environment, am i right? Slightly Lions Southbound 6.5 well written, i like these guys! which makes me want them to have actual adventures togehter rather than have that happen after the story ends Chernobyl Princess Falling 8.5 w this is strong on multiple levels, from the girls adventure pulp notes of the beginning to the effective character interactions of the second half. it' s a good example of not leaving the meat of the story out, because although these guys could well have new adventures and I'd love to read them, this is a natural and satisfying arc curlingiron A Light in the Dark 7.5 small and tidy. i like these too, and it's one of the stories that really gets the prompt - finding a small bit of hope in a place you might not expect to. Fuschia tude Ergo Sum 6 i mean, sure, ok, yes making a big gesture but also completely pointless! i don't think making your big gestures competely pointless is a good idea. Thranguy Third (Ten Years After Christmas) 5 neat concept, muddled execution Chairchucker Revolutionary Prices 5.5 this is the first few paras of a cool story rohan New Growth 7.5 hm aww that is sweet, and contains a lot of nice world and character in a fairly compact space.
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Jun 21, 2023 05:33
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Fat Jesus posted:LOSS gently caress YEAH 
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Jun 21, 2023 06:14
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 James Spaceman, rockribbed explorer of the Galactic Wastes.
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Jun 21, 2023 09:13
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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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Yeah goblin me
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Jun 28, 2023 06:23
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Vocational Independence 786 words Tony was the sneakiest goblin ever, just absolutely nightmare sneaky. His mates would sometimes take him up on it, like one morning at the goblin cafe, Snivelling Sal said over eggs: "Tony you're ok, but like, you take it too far? There are limits even for us goblins." Tony just smirked with his long yellow teeth showing because while that was true he'd just stolen Sal's wallet and now he would be unable to pay for his eggs. Anyway a few years later there was a bit of a crisis in Goblinland (the technical name was Goblania and the national anthem was called Advance Goblania Green, but only nerds actually called it that). The scepter of the Goblin King, who was a goblin called Murph, had been stolen! Naturally suspicion fell heavily on Tony. "Oy," said Tony's mum when he came down to lunch at midnight (goblins have lunch at midnight and breakfast in the afternoon, it's just tradition). "What's that in your bag?" Tony's goblin sack that he carried over his shoulder was full of something long and pointy. Tony looked innocent. "It's a weasel." His mum wasn't convinced and explained that no son of hers was going to steal a royal artifact, while wrestling the sack off her son and looking inside. To her shock, horror and dismay it was in fact a weasel, that had somehow been frozen stiff with its little legs outstretched like it was doing a high dive. "Why is it frozen," she asked, suspiciously. "It got cold," Tony said. "I think it's really unfair that everyone suspects me of crimes, it happens at work, at home, down the pub, when I'm on the bus. It's really hurtful, mum." His squinty little goblin eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Tony," said his mum, whose name was Ethel Rose Marie. "It's just because you're so sneaky. Any mum should be proud as punch to have a sneaky son, but somehow you just always go that extra step and it makes people mad and then they come round with their smash hammers and mess the place up." Tony nodded sadly. It was true. They had had their house smashed up by an enraged mob more times than he could count. "Still, mum, I swear I didn't do it. Must have been some one else or one of those gross humans, you know what they're like." The mother and son shared a moment of nodded agreement that they did know what humans were like. "Anyway I'd better get off to work at the foundry, see you later!" A minute later he was trotting down the road to the bus, but instead of catching the number 33 to the goblin foundry (where they found things, mainly stuff other people didn't realise they'd lost) he turned into a dark alley way. There at the end of the alley, lurking in the shadow of the wall, was a tall human man, the head ambassador from the humans. "Yar," he said, through his big bushy black fake beard. "Do you have it for me?" Tony looked around then pulled the frozen weasel out from his sack. "I sure do. You got my payment?" The human, whose name was Oliver Spank for some reason, frowned. "That's a weasel, not the scepter of the current King of Goblania." Tony rolled his eyes. "Literally no-one calls it that, nerd. Anyway look:" and with that he pulled the weasel off and there was the scepter, all gleaming and only a little bit goopy. "Wow! That's a sneaky trick alright. Here's your payment:" and with that he pulled out a pistol and pointed it right in Tony's face. Tony blinked. "This is just proving what everyone says about humans, you know." Oliver laughed, in a sinister human sort of way. "What's that?" "That they think they're sneaky, but they're actually just dumb." And he blew a loud shrieking goblin whistle and wow what do you know, the goblin cops came sweeping in and arrested the ambassador for stealing and Tony got a medal because that was the plan all along, how sneaky was that. Murph, the King of Goblinland chuckled as he pinned the medal on. "Well done Tony, they never would have approached you if you weren't known to all and sundry as the sneakiest goblin around, so I guess your defining negative character trait turned out to be a positive thing after all! Funny the way that happens, sometimes. I'm presuming you're going to turn over a new leaf now and be a bit less sneaky?" "Yes," said Tony, who had just stolen the King's crown and shoved it under his coat.
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Jul 3, 2023 10:15
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Thunderdome Week 570 - An Uncanny Instinct for the Regrettable hello thunderdome. a simple one this week: someone tries to do something right, but it goes wrong. it can end up ok, but there's gotta be a clear point of oh gently caress sinking stomach what are we gonna do nowwww 1000 words, and take another 500 if you ask for a flashrule which I will provide and will be a random object with a random adjective, stuck to it as though by sellotape, which you'll have to incorporate into your story somehow.. sign up deadline: midnight friday pdt, submission deadline: midnight sunday pdt Judges: mojo ... ... Entrants: Ouzo Making Green wing Derp Copernic
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Jul 4, 2023 16:09
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derp posted:In, flash me Your story must contain EARSPLITTING HOMEWORK
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Jul 5, 2023 00:29
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rohan posted:in, flash please your words are MANIACAL DISASTER
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Jul 5, 2023 04:56
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My Shark Waifuu posted:In, flash please! Your words are PECULIAR RAGE
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Jul 5, 2023 22:34
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FlippinPageman posted:In with a flash, please! Your words are PARSIMONIOUS ORCHESTRA
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Jul 6, 2023 23:21
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entries are closed, write good words
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Jul 8, 2023 13:27
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Entries are closed, clasp your hearts and prepare for them to be weighed against a feather as is custom
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Jul 10, 2023 13:24
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Week 570 Judgment Post this was actually a fairly good week, and we had a lot of options at the top end. as it happens the finely honed misery of copernic's HELP! I’M TRYING TO DATE IN A WORLD WHERE MY FUTURE SELF CAN TIME TRAVEL TO RUIN MY RELATIONSHIP! tickled our fancy to the greatest degree, so they may take the win. mrenda with waking up, yoruichi with the firebird, derp with noise and rohan with #lockdownlyfe may take hms. snagging the loss by virtue of not being quite good enough in a strong week is ouzo maki with gravity. step up to the lightly encrusted gorethrone, copernic. crits to come within a day or two.
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Jul 11, 2023 15:43
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In spin
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Jul 11, 2023 21:57
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The Flying Steel of Doctor Wang 1220 words "Doctor Wang! Villains of the Black Moon Circle have broken into the Orthopaedic Ward, intent on reclaiming their injured bandit captain Han Xian!" Nurse Ko's hasty words struck Doctor Wang like a thunderbolt. "The Black Moon Circle?! But nurse, I am engaged in an operation!" He raised a gloved hand, slick with the blood of his patient, reknowned scientist Ellery Quan. "I cannot assist in the defence of the hospital at this time!" The nurse gasped, and the eyes of the other doctors in the room widened in shock. "Dr Wang's skills as a surgeon-swordsman of the Spinning Scalpel school are without peer - if we do not have his aid in fighting these interlopers we are all surely doomed!" whispered the Anaesthetist to the attending Registrar, who nodded vigorously. There was a soft, pained voice from the table. "No, Doctor - you have trained all your life for this moment. You must meet with your mortal foes and defeat them." It was reknowned scientist Ellery Quan. Dr Wang looked at the anaesthetist, with blazing eyes. "Forgive me," said Professor Quan. "I did not want to shame him by telling him: his drugs could not render me unconscious because my kung fu was too strong." "You shame us all, Professor Quan," said Doctor Wang and stripped off his mask. Underneath his face was a rictus of barely-controlled rage and his long moustaches quivered as he spoke. "I will defeat these foolhardy challengers and return before sepsis has had a chance to set in. They will rue the day they chose to assault the Li Ka Shing Faculty of Medicine!" The corridor outside was awash with blood and bodies, and the air thick with smoke. At once Dr Wang set off towards the embattled Orthopaedic Ward. As he did memories of his childhood floated unbidden to his mind. It had of course been the Black Moon Circle who had assaulted his village, many years ago in the far-off Tianzi Mountains. Their leader, the evil Han Xian, had laughed as his disciples, all masters of the forbidden Black Moon Style, had slaughtered his family and burnt their crops. In that moment Wang had sworn vengeance! His thoughts were interrupted by a howl as three warriors of the Black Moon Circle came crashing through a nearby window. The first one’s fist lashed out with blinding speed, its deadly black corona of corrupted Qi a harbinger of doom! But Dr Wang was a true master of the Spinning Scalpel style, and his hands were already whirring around him, deflecting the savage blow with ease and sending a razor thin sliver of steel into the hearts of two of his assailants. The other he grasped in one bloody, rubber-gloved hand and flung him into a wall with an audible crack of three of his thoracic vertebrae. “Who is leading your villainous band, malfeasant? I will challenge and defeat him, as I defeated your first leader Han Xiang!” The criminal swordsman coughed up blood as he gazed into Dr Wang’s steely eyes. “You know him well! It is Jian Wushuang, your former teacher!” At this fearful intelligence Dr Wang’s mind reeled - it could not be! The treacherous bandit, seeing his opportunity, scuttled away and Dr Wang sank to his knees, lost again in memory. It had been the wise Jian Wushuang who had led him away from the path of vengeance, schooling him in the intricacies of the Spinning Scalpel style over long years and eventually writing him a reference for medical school. “Young Wang,” he had said as Wang prepared his tea after another gruelling training, “The path of vengeance leads only to death. Instead, use your kung fu to foster life!” Dr Wang had lived by these words, the only exception being his confrontation with Han Xian when that fiend came to capture Professor Quan. In the circumstances, he reasoned, a certain discreet demonstration of his style was appropriate and Han Xian’s shattered xyphoid process was a legitimate consequence of his intended devilry. But this! Dr Wang wept a single, outraged tear that fell like a glittering jewel to the blood-spattered floor then splashed like the shattered remains of his faith. But then, his countenance hardened. There was only one place Jian could be - the cafeteria leading to the Orthopaedic Ward! He would challenge him at once. A few moments later Dr Wang crashed through the double doors, scalpels already ready in his fingers. The room was full of Black Moon Circle ruffians, who turned at his entry, but Dr Wang’s eyes were only on one man, who turned slowly. Jian Wushuang’s long white beard glinted in the fluorescent lights and his eyes were black as the sky at midnight. “Ah, Young Wang. I feared it might come to this.” “I am Young Wang no more! Why have you betrayed your ideals, your words to me, your kung fu! This is treachery beyond understanding!” They began to circle each other slowly. “Do you even begin to understand, Young Wang, why Han Xian attempted to capture Professor Quan?” There was the barest flicker of movement and three scalpels hissed towards Wang, who deflected them with precise gestures. They left trails of red on his hands. “Han Xian is a villain! He wields a corrupted style and his mind is full of evil!” Jian shook his head slowly. “No, Young Wang. Han Xian was working at my instruction.” “You lie!” cried Dr Wang, and with that battle was joined! A whirlwind barrage of scything kicks and slicing blades ensued, each man fighting with every fragment of kung fu at his disposal. The Black Moon Circle onlookers shielded their eyes as the blazing streamers of Qi grew ever brighter. At last, it was over. Dr Wang stood over the beaten body of his former master, panting and covered in streaks of blood. Then there was a noise behind him and he turned, with a gasp. Standing in the door was reknowned scientist Professor Quan, holding a blood-soaked sheet to her wounded side - and in her other hand she had a pistol! She sniffed as she saw that Jian was defeated but alive. “I am sorry, Dr Wang. My area of science is, as you may not know, geology, and my findings indicate that the Tianzi Mountains are full of valuable rare earth metals. I will be leading a project to demolish them, destroying all the villages already there, and use the rubble to make electronic equipment such as electric cars and microwave ovens. Accordingly I cannot afford to leave such a powerful Taoist swordsman opposing me." And with that chilling enunciation she pointed her pistol at Jian and pulled the trigger. Dr Wang was thunderstruck by this revelation, but his kung fu was still beyond reproach. Even as the trigger moved under Professor Quan's finger he flung a scalpel with lightning-quick accuracy. It met the bullet and sliced it in two, the fragments ricocheting back and into Professor Quan's face! She cried out and fell to the ground unconscious. "I cannot countenance the former actions of Han Xiang... but... " And with that solemn word he extended his hand to his former teacher, who took it and rose. "Will you fight with me against this evil, Young Wang?" Dr Wang smiled. "Young Wang, no. But Doctor Wang? Doctor Wang will fight by your side once more!"
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Jul 17, 2023 08:23
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mine was WUXIA x MEDICAL DRAMA
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Jul 17, 2023 10:39
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