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May 30, 2011

Hmm, I smell something a bit rotten but with a tinge of cooked flesh...Oh! It's Bad Seafood burning up with promises of artistic progress! Will he be fully cooked or will he burn to ashes? Let's watch.


May 30, 2011

Wait, does that flash rule apply to their duel flashfics as well?

May 30, 2011

Oh, right, he isn't doing this week's challenge. I just assumed he's in.

May 30, 2011

Why aren't there any line breaks, STONE OF MADNESS?

May 30, 2011

The prompt and challenge had defeated me. I swear I will not die until I have eaten a whole secretary bird.

Fanky Malloons posted:

toanoradian: Dark sensual realistic romantic erotica. With a secretary bird that must not die, and crushing poverty, and a religious crutch (per HG and FM)

The Bible vs. the Bird (999 words)

Running to that loosely connected bricks she called a house wouldn’t undo time. I got out of my car some distance from the house and walked. The winds from the sea blew my blue tie to the side. Secretary birds ran across the empty coastal plains.

I saw her sitting on the floor. She still prepared food for three. There were some rice and burnt fish on the three plates. The steam from two of the cups gave a smell of tea. She didn’t look up as I neared her. Only when I was close did she slowly looked up and gave the strongest impression of a smile she could.

I went straight to the point. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

She looked at the table and then lifted a cup of hot tea at me. “Have a drink.” I shook my head and she put it down. She tapped the spot to her right.

I sat down next to her. She refused to look at me. “There’s no doctor or anything?”

“No doctor can save two crumpled bodies. Not like I can pay any if they can.” She began to shiver.

I looked into her face. There were bags under her eyes. She then tried to hide her cracked lips with her bony fingers. “Have you slept?”


“You should.”

“I don’t want to see them in my dreams.”

“Just sleep.”

“I never slept alone.”

Even slapping my own lips could not stop it saying “then I will sleep with you.” She looked at me. The thought didn’t disgust her.

Her bed should be too small for three. She lied down on the bed, showing her back to me. I lied down as well, using my right arm as a pillow. My left hand was on her waist. Moving them up and down had no effect.

“Please sleep.” I continued to rub her waist. This worked when our mother did it to me.

Hours pass in silence with us remaining awake. The bedroom turned dark. There were no light bulbs on the ceiling.

She began to shift. “Maybe if I paid enough attention…”

I rubbed her waist. “Stop. It’s not your fault.”

She turned back to face me. “What if I could afford a car? Or a bike?”

“Stop this.”

“Even riding those secretary birds woul-“

I put my hands on her back and hugged her. “Stop! That’s all in the past.” I pulled her closer just as she was about to open her mouth. “No one in this world have the right to blame you. None of this is your fault. This is the driver’s fault.”

“But how else am I supposed to stop feeling sad? Blaming myself is all I have.”

“You have me.” I hugged her so close I could feel her breath on my neck. She put her hands on my chest and pulled away. Then she kissed me. I couldn’t force myself to remove my lips from hers. Why did I remain here? Why didn’t I stop her?

When did I start wanting her? Her wedding? Her first meeting with my brother? Her first meeting with me? I need this kiss.

She moved her lips away. I gave her back a stronger kiss. She didn’t resist.

Wasn’t this on the Bible? ‘Her husband’s brother shall take her’? Yes it is. I shall take her.

I reluctantly stopped the kiss just so I can remove her top. I then unhooked her bra and untied my tie, before tying it on her. The blue tie lay between her breasts. “Just let it lay there. I love it that way.” I pulled the end close to her nipples and moved it around her left nipple. The light, dry cloth moved easily across her smooth skin. Before long the end touched the top of her nipple. I used the tipping to cover her nipple and sucked it through the tie. My other hand went underneath her trousers. Her panties were wet.

“Wait. He wasn’t this fast.”

“I am not him.” I removed her trousers. “I’m sorry.” I looked at her almost naked body and gulped. I could not see much in this darkness, but the sensation of her smooth skin caused my fingers to shiver. The sounds of her weak breathing made my heart beat faster. Even in this darkness I could still see her brown eyes looking elsewhere. “You’re beautiful.” She remained silent as I removed my trousers.

I thrust into my brother’s widow. She moaned and arched her back, slamming her thin stomach into mine. She put her hands behind my neck and whispered, “Kiss me.” I did so while I continued thrusting. Due to my height, my torso almost completely covered hers, my chin at the same level as her eyes. I felt the cloth of the tie moving about on lower chest, as if its soft material lapped at me, adding to the pleasure.

I looked at her eyes and pinched one of her earlobe. “I love you.”

Perhaps her smile had been override by her moaning.

She pushed me away as I was about to finish. I ejaculated on her tiny stomach. Few small droplets land on my blue tie. I wiped it all away with my shirt.

I stood up from the bed. What do I do now? “I meant it when I said I love you.”

She turned her back against me. “I’m your brother’s wife.”

“Isn’t it in the bible that the husband’s brother should take the widow to become his?”

She was silent for a few moments. “Is my son in heaven now?”


“He flew to heaven on angel wings, didn’t he?”


“Have you noticed the secretary birds around here?”


“They mate forever. They remain even after their chick had taken flight.”

It’s over. I then wore my suit and walked to her. “He bought me that tie. I’m returning it.” I leaned down to kiss her. She stopped me.

May 30, 2011

Fanky Malloons posted:

Dark sensual realistic romantic erotica. With a secretary bird that must not die, and crushing poverty, and a religious crutch (per HG and FM)
Adherence to self-inflicted prompt: like a masochistic puppy ready to be pounced by hungry secretary birds

Umm excuse me none of my prompts are self-inflicted. They're all inflicted upon me by the evil Secretary Bird Supremacists in this thread :argh:

Also here's my review of STONE OF MADNESS' story. I apologize for being late. Apologies also to the shortness of it, I blame only my lack of experience giving critiques. Also because there's only one big misstep in your story I could find.


A Gift 982 words

Wait, do we have laser guns yet?
Your story could be in any periods of history. Alice is your typical upper-class girl with typical spoiling father, a stereotype that could still exist today. I couldn't place Giles at anytime either. I knew he's rich enough to own his own house, that he's stronger than Alice, that he's less cheery than her, that he appreciates material wealth more than her, but man, that could be any rags-to-riches businessman in any age.

Setting also doesn't help. A beach and a house with doesn't really paint any historical period. From my brief research the use of portmanteau as luggage begins around 17th century (for rich people), the same century for the first sighting of ottoman chairs, first English-language newspaper and the stereotypical 'look' of a fireplace. As there are no parts in the story where further details about their furniture is given, this story can be set from 17th century to current age, and there are tons of difference there. Clearly I'm not going to ask for every prop you use to be historically accurate, but there needs to be some signs of the time your characters are in. That's what interesting about historical fiction; seeing characters live in a different time. This story could be set in the future for all I know.

I shall smoke your plot and chill out
There's the general feeling of ease in this whole story. Even the mysterious chest, probably the only suspenseful thing in this, had a bit of a subdued effect. I want to know what's inside the chest, but it's not like I really care, y'know? On one hand this fits the prompt and the challenge, but on the other your story lacks tension. There were few moments of 'unease', such as Giles' doubt of his love towards Alice, that hints at something darker, but I didn't feel that those hints affect the mood at all.

The calmness affects the romance as well, making it rather understated. But since you're writing upbeat and 'lite', it fits beautifully. Good job!

The rest of my review are small complaints.

I think 'leer' already implies a wicked expression, so 'leer wickedly' is redundant. Maybe change 'bestiarist' with 'ornithologist'. 'insensate with excitement' is impossible, as 'insensate' means devoid of feelings. 'the one sat upon the other' is after Alice not being able to differentiate Father's things with Giles'. Are you talking about the ottoman chairs?

There were moments where there's a response to an action but the action wasn't there. For example, the sentence "and now it seemed preferable to accept Alice's outstretched fingers, instead." Alice didn't offer her fingers and Giles hadn't been shown to use his own fingers.

Be careful of your dialogue tags. Read again and make sure any tags that are not 'said' can actually be something that produces a sentence. For example, you can't really squeal a word.

Semicolons already connect two sentences as somewhat related, so I think the 'and's after the semicolons can be deleted.

Your plovers didn't do much besides appearing. As a newly-converted hater of all birds, I approve.

In conclusion, a nice relaxed story with decent characters and dialogue but lacking in historical settings or characters.

May 30, 2011

Fun? So are we, like, allowed to make fun of the judges?

cuz i got some fat jokes

May 30, 2011


Fanky Malloons posted:

Your beautiful and sexy judges this week (in order of beauty and raw sex appeal) are:
Me (obviously) :wink:

Jeza (I think?)
Bear Sleuth (belated congratulations!)

You clearly need the space.

I've been sitting on that one for 10 bloody weeks! Man it feels good letting it out.

Serious talk: I only find Thunderdome and thus write a lot because Nautatrol RX* and Martello were such good posters in the third TVTropes thread that I ended up following them to Creative Convention. This had been an excellent 23 weeks of flash fiction writing and I thank you two for being great.

SurreptitiousMuffin posted:

I feel like I haven't improved as much as everyone else.

Well it's normal since you're already so good.

* Jeez, what happened to this awesome fella

May 30, 2011

Etherwind posted:

Since everyone is being all mushy

We're all potatoes that have been pounded on for 23 weeks.

SurreptitiousMuffin posted:

Bob Ross! That was it! Sebmojo looks like a younger, more metal Bob Ross. That's been bothering me for days now.

Huh, all my jealousy towards him seemed to have intensified. I need to be better than metal Bob Ross.

May 30, 2011

I am tired of understanding the song's lyrics. Have something from, I don't know, Brunei Darussalam or Timor Leste or some other obscure Asian country.

May 30, 2011

Thunderdesk 2012: Many Desks Enter, One Desk Leave

Things I want in Thunderdome 2: Wrath of Erik-Shawn is:

  • More poetry prompts As much as I complain in that week, it is legitimately one of the hardest challenges in Thunderdome and I like things to be difficult. Maybe also add a challenge where the posters must submit their poem to a journal too.

  • More exotic timezones The confusion and panic created by misreading a deadline is one of the most exciting experiences in Thunderdome. That feeling of rush as actually there's only half a day left oh shoot to write is the best. We have had EST, PMT, GMT+8, WIT, ROT, E.T., why not have more?

  • More hyperlinked list of contents Come on judges and judgesses it's not really hard to add some hyperlinks. If it's hard I'll do it for you, free of charge.

  • More paired crits I suck at criticizing ergo I must do more criticism. Criticism partners give me only one work to crit so I can focus on them instead being distracted by other works. Also I am obligated to crit, unlike other threads and I like forced jobs.

  • Harder flash rules I need more hard challenges because being saddled with difficult and unfair additional constraints in my writing feels good oh god whip me whip me harder

Also I want to see a week where previous winners battle it out, but it's logistically complicated and rather hard to manage, so I'll just make a fanfic. Anybody wants to be the arigato or the yaoi?

Peel posted:

I find criticising or analysing writing incredibly difficult so it'll be good practice.

I guess not reading your crit is the Christmas present then :v:

May 30, 2011

supermikhail posted:

Am I the only person who does not enjoy poetry?

I don't. I'm simultaneously scared and awed of poetry, with all its 'metre' and scansion and dicktastic meanings.I found writing them is stifling at best and torturous at worst and by god does reading them makes me feel as if I was reading Linear A. I don't want to write poetry, but thinking in terms of poetry making can also help in my fiction writing (like the richness of few words, or how to write beautiful description). So why not have a poetry writing challenge? Besides, kicking you in the rear end is kind of Thunderdome's unwritten rule.

May 30, 2011

There were few weeks where people put poems as their entries on their own volition. These people are mad. But the number of weeks where we have to write poems is exactly one: Week VII, "The goons who lose will pay the highest price." Read a bit on all the previous prompts, would you? The OP worked hard to write them.

May 30, 2011

Don't kinkshame, please. Not her fault she found multi-headed enraged Super Saiyan attractive.

May 30, 2011

There is no Prince Adam behind that beast, Meis. There is only The Beast.


May 30, 2011

Sitting Here posted:

toanradian (or however the hell you spell it)

If you want to make it simple, the origin of my nickname is a manifesto written after horrible 8th grade maths class: To A No Radian World, Keep Degrees.