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Nov 29, 2016 18:59
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| # ¿ Apr 26, 2024 23:11 |
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Beige posted:prompt
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Nov 29, 2016 19:41
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Nov 29, 2016 20:27
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Nov 29, 2016 22:42
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im gay 4 prompts
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Nov 29, 2016 23:14
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newtestleper posted:Who's to say prompt me prompt
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Nov 30, 2016 02:27
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Fleta Mcgurn posted:PRAMPT 
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Nov 30, 2016 02:28
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Fleta Mcgurn posted:Prompt: What happened to Okua? prompt?
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Nov 30, 2016 02:54
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Nov 30, 2016 05:34
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prompt
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Nov 30, 2016 16:27
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Okua posted:Okay sorry, sorry I'm here. prompt!
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Nov 30, 2016 17:55
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prompt! in
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Nov 30, 2016 18:44
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sebmojo posted:Who wants a norse flash rule hello
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Dec 2, 2016 07:29
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in
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Dec 6, 2016 03:38
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1146 words acid rain Pray for Rain http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?story=5320&title=Pray+for+Rain flerp fucked around with this message at 22:02 on Dec 26, 2016 |
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Dec 12, 2016 01:15
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sebmojo posted:PrrrrrrrooooooOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooommmpppttttttt this
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Dec 13, 2016 05:28
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in 
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Dec 13, 2016 06:14
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Mrenda posted:I really, really dislike this critique. :O hotsoupdinner posted:Nobody cares. 
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Dec 14, 2016 05:21
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Fleta Mcgurn posted:Actually, I do! Mrenda's critique was quite a bit more helpful. im gonna pick on whoever i like
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Dec 14, 2016 06:46
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nerd
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Dec 14, 2016 06:46
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Sitting Here posted:poo poo goddamn i hate every one of your garbage posts, i think im having a meltdown now u kno how i feel whenever i read ur posts
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Dec 14, 2016 18:35
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Entenzahn posted:Good job guys you made sitting here cry its not v hard all u have to say is that the beach boys r bad
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Dec 14, 2016 20:20
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800 words In some mythologies, the whole world is on the back of a turtle which is pretty cool http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?story=5338&title=In+some+mythologies%2C+the+whole+world+is+on+the+back+of+a+turtle+which+is+pretty+cool flerp fucked around with this message at 22:04 on Dec 26, 2016 |
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Dec 19, 2016 03:52
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in
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Dec 19, 2016 19:36
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as a thank you for all the crits, here's a crit for mrendaquote:The Jester's Sickness you know, the beginnin was really rough and the rest of this story is pretty rough but i liked the central idea of a lovely clown having to try and be a clown for a dying kid. i thought that could've been interesting, but you focused too much on Marie being like i hate loving everything when the really interesting thing (to me) is a dying kid who's really into plays. you have some nice details and actions that say a lot in a little -- the parents getting the clown for the kid gives a lot of info w/o u having to exposit. it's just, all the time you expend on the intro, on marie being like man i hate loving everything and gently caress jenny and gently caress all of this doesnt really come back to a meaningful conclusion. i just, really, dont like the ending. its really rushed. all the details come in the last 10% -- the posters and the books are only noticed near the end and are nowhere else in the story. it makes me feel like the ending was shoehorned in, and trying to find some kind of resolution to this story. which is difficult, because like, it's a rough situation for everyone, but the way everything just kinda works out at the end leaves me dissatisfied. it's not that i hate endings that are happy or positive, but it's that it feels unearned. your character doesnt really do much to warrant this kind of ending -- she kind of is just a lovely clown that tickles herself and then notices some posters and then shes like ok ill just quote some shakespeare now. idk i just wished you hadnt focused on how lovely marie feels and focus more on the kid and developing the relationship between marie and the kid since that seemed a hell of lot more engaging then "man i loving hate jenny."
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Dec 19, 2016 21:30
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thank u 4 crits 
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Dec 20, 2016 19:05
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Erogenous Beef posted:Kaishai is the multigrade synthetic which keeps the cylinders of Thunderdome churning.  the blue is kaishai's tears flerp fucked around with this message at 07:07 on Dec 21, 2016 |
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Dec 21, 2016 07:02
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Second Word Bounty
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Sitting Here posted:Like, yes, don't respond to critiques, but also maybe everyone doesn't need to spend days and days responding to the critique response. Both are things that clutter up the thread. I would love to see more workshopping in the fiction farm! Maybe someone could create a new thread for 2017? Something that encourages people to discuss TD stories as well as other writing??? no u
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Dec 21, 2016 20:16
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Sitting Here posted:tpmorp
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Dec 26, 2016 20:33
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MERRY CHRISTMAS KAISHAI HERE IS MY MOUSTACHE MERMAN STORY FROM THAT EUROVISION WEEK The Mysterious, Mustachioed Merman In the underwater city of Domeland, crime was rampant. There was mermurder, merthievery, merforagery. The good and innocent mermen could not walk out of night, in fear of being attacked by baby faced vandals. That was, until, a new hero was born out from the harsh sands of the city. Some say the hero didn’t even have a father or mother, but that he was born out from all the cracked shells the ruffians have trampled over. Some say he doesn’t even exist and is just a lie from the corrupt merjournalist complex. It’s not even clear if he’s a merman or merwoman. The only thing agreed upon, though, is that, whoever the great hero is, they has the most glorious moustache. # Moustache, as the journalists called him in the paper, sat on the rooftops of an abandoned apartment building. It was 1 AM, but that didn’t really matter since they were at the bottom of the ocean and was always dark. However, all the self-respecting merpeople would sleep at reasonable hours except for the bad guys (and also the good guys who were looking to beat up the bad guys). Moustache hated bad guys because they didn’t have moustaches. Or even beards. He could understand, maybe, that it was because it would make them less aquadynamic, but really, that only matters if they’re merolympians. And merolympians are heroes, not bad guys. He heard a blood curtling scream ring out from the streets. Someone was in trouble! Moustache sprung up, ran his finger against his moustache, and felt power course through his veins. All of Moustache’s power came from his glorious and well-groomed upper lip hair, and he leaped off the roof and swam towards trouble. Before he did that, though, he called the police since they were the unspoken heroes who would help anyone, anywhere. When he got there, though, there was nobody there. He cautiously sculled around, worried that he had gotten too late, and that the poor citizen was already harmed. His moustache twitched. Danger! But it was too late, and Moustache was hit in the back of the head with a big rock. He fell down, his face rubbing against the sand, his moustache still twitching. He heard maniacal laughter, but it was off key and nasally, and he knew exactly who it was. Plain Face. His archnemesis. “It’s good to see you're as predictable as ever, Beard.” “It’s Moustache,” he said, trying to hide his tears. He could never grow a beard. It was his greatest shame. “Well, you’re about to be nothing,” Plain Face said, flipping over Moustache. He saw, in his hand, the most hideous and awful creation in all of the merkingdom. A battery operated clipper. Plain Face laughed as he turned it on, his hairless face writhing with joy. Moustache tried to get up, but he didn’t have the energy. The rock had done a number on him. An ordinary merperson would’ve died to the blow, but the power of the moustache saved him. But there was only so much it could do. All his power was used up. Plain Face knelt down in front of him, and he could smell his really awful cologne. Like, for real, it smelt like rotten eggs. Moustache considered, for a brief moment, to rename Plain Face to Rotten Eggs, but then decided this wasn’t the time to make such brash decisions. “I guess this is the end of Moustache,” Plain Face said as he held down Moustache’s head and shaved off his moustache. Moustache’s scream was heard by everyone in the great city of Domeland. # Moustache was nothing now. He was now just Mermle, a boring and harmless librarian at Domeland’s premiere library. Plain Face laughed and kicked Mermle in his tail. “I knew it. You’re nothing without your moustache. You’re not even an hero.” “You’re right,” Mermle said, clenching onto his aching scales. Then, blue and red lights filled up the alley. Mercops jumped out of their squads and shouted, “Put your hands up.” Plain Face stared at Mermle in disbelief. “The true heroes are the officers who put themselves in harm’s way each and every day.” # Officer McCoy put a blanket over Mermle, but it was all wet and heavy (because they’re underwater and everything) so Mermle threw it off. “Sorry about your moustache,” McCoy said. “It was quite beautiful.” Mermle nodded solemnly. “We all make sacrifices,” he said. McCoy pat Mermle on his shoulder, and they sat in silence. There wasn’t anything to say. A great moustache died and neither of the men could think of anything to say. McCoy opened his mouth to say something, then stopped and left the long and frankly awkward silence. Mermle rubbed the smooth skin on his upper lip. It’d take at least a month to grow it back.
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Dec 26, 2016 21:42
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sebmojo posted:Cracks knuckles, makes come at me bro motion w/fingers SkaAndScreenplays posted:Cracks neck without using hands, because badass... ska and mojoplays write me a story about a dragon, and no metaphorical dragons, a for real dragon and the dragon needs to be a big part of the story. the story cannot be fantasy or sci-fi. 1500 words due january 2nd, 2017 11:59 pm pst
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Dec 26, 2016 23:35
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in Nowadays it’s easier than ever to find old friends and strike up a new conversation with them. It often happens that two people can drift apart for no good reason, and it just takes one of them to rekindle things.
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Dec 27, 2016 01:30
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Jagermonster posted:crabrock is a butt u all r butts
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Dec 30, 2016 21:05
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thunderdome 2017: the beach boys are bad
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Dec 31, 2016 01:46
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thunderdome2017: we write bad words, so can you!
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Dec 31, 2016 08:24
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a new study bible! posted:except for flerp 
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Jan 1, 2017 09:05
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 Resolution: reconnect with an old friend 1150 words To Punch a Ghost My mom thought I was summoning a demon when she caught me carving up my old doll. “What are you doing?” she said, grabbing onto her cross necklace. “I ain’t letting you bring in no devils to this house.” “It ain’t what it looked like,” I said, and it was true because I was actually trying to deal with a ghost problem. I was hunched over the doll with a knife I stole from the kitchen, and there was scraps of plastic on the bottom of my feet. I was in the attic, since I didn’t think Mom would look up there, but the floorboards were creaking and she probably heard it. I hated the doll. It had those lifeless eyes, the one where I knew it was made by some kid in a country thousands of miles away who don’t want to make dolls for a kid who’ll probably just toss it in the trash five years after they get it. A perfect one to trash. “You possessed?” she asked because she watched the Exorcist a week ago. “‘Cause I ain’t wanting to deal with that nonsense.” “Nah Mom, I think the house is haunted.” Which was true, I remembered seeing a ghost when I was like two, but I just thought that was me being a idiot baby. Then, a month back, I saw it just standing there over my bed with a stupid grin on its face and wide eyes. I threw my lamp at it once, but it just passed through it. And then every night after, it was always there with the same smile. “And what’re you gonna do.” “I’m gonna bring it to the real world.” “Then what?” “I’m gonna punch its face.” Mom stared at me. Then she shook her head and reached her hand out, fingers curling. “Give me the knife. It’s dangerous for girls to play with those things.” “How else am I gonna make a ghost real?” I asked Mom. She walked up to me, swiped the knife right out of my hand and said, “I don’t know, honey, and I don’t care. Just don’t be stupid.” I couldn’t tell if she was actually worried or was just tired. “It’s okay,” I said. “Ghosts can’t touch real people. It’s one of their rules.” She shook her head, then Mom went down the ladder and I was standing there staring at the torn out chest of the doll. I read online that was how you get a ghost to come out, you gotta cast a stupid spell that involves an awful doll that’s all cut up and then the ghost can become real. Most of them say then you have to go and find why they can’t pass on or whatever, but I didn’t care about the dumb ghost. It was just annoying, and if I punched it, it’d probably just run off and haunt some other stupid kid. Hopefully, it would haunt Billy from across the street. He pushed my head into the dirt last week. “Why do you wanna punch me?” a ghostly voice asked, mostly because it came from the ghost who appeared behind me. It was a real dumb ghost, too. Didn’t even have a body, just a puff of white smoke. It had a little chubby face with fat cheeks like a baby, but was still an adult. “‘Cause you’re a jerk,” I said, digging my hand into the plastic doll. The online guide told me that I needed a knife to make sure the doll was cut up properly, but I just assumed if I could just rip it up, it’d work out just as well. I guessed that ghosts weren’t quite an exact science. “What’re you doing to that,” the ghost said, floating over to me. “Cutting it up so I can punch you.” “Your mom bought you that, though.” His face sank a little. “My sister had a doll like that.” “Don’t care.” “I miss my sister.” I stopped tearing at my doll and turned to face the ghost. “And I miss being able to sleep without a spooky ghost opening and close my window.” The ghost turned his head down in dejection. “I just…” I picked up the doll and threw it at him. It passed through him and hit the old floorboards hard. “Shut up, man. I liked it a whole bunch when you didn’t talk.” I passed through the ghost and grabbed the doll. He just kept standing there, even when I went back to the table and started ripping apart the doll even more. I was going at it for a couple of minutes, but I knew the ghost was still there. It was frigid and I could hear wind flow through the cracks. Then, he started sobbing. It was light, just barely audible. Like an eleven year old who had his ball stolen. I turned around and he quickly swiveled his head away. “Seriously?” I asked. “How do ghosts even cry?” “I just…” the ghost said, voice soft. “I thought you could help.” “I’m twelve, dude.” “Well, I know, but like, you can’t go to adults. I tried that once, and no one really cares. They just think it’s a weird optical illusion or something. Kids though…” “What can I do, then?” I said as I ripped deeper into the doll. The whole chest was almost hollowed out. Once that was done, it was just a dumb incantation and the ghost was gonna meet my fist. “I don’t know,” the ghost said and a puff of smoke from his ghost body went up to his head, like he was scratching his head. “I think we have to figure it out.” “That sounds like a lot of work,” I said and went back to the doll. “What’s easier, I think, is I punch you in the face. And then you leave.” “Hmmmm,” the ghost said. “I don’t really like that idea.” “You’re the worst ghost, you know?” I said. “You’re not even that scary.” “That’s rude.” I went back to the doll, and in a quick few pulls, the doll was all ready. It was lying there, chest hollowed out, and then I said the magic words. “Well, Mr. Ghost, it’s time to find out if the spell worked.” Then I turned around and the ghost wasn’t there anymore. “Sorry, I really don’t want to be punched,” I heard a voice say through the walls. I waited for a couple of seconds, fingers clenched tight in a fist. He really was the worst ghost. “Hey Mom,” I called downstairs. “Bring some guac and chips. I solved our ghost problem.” “Did you punch him?” Mom yelled back. “I don’t want to talk about it.” And not a day goes by where I don’t imagine that dumb ghost face getting smashed in by my fist.
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Jan 2, 2017 04:43
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anime was right posted:they're all terrible and you should feel terrible dont worry i always feel that way
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Jan 2, 2017 21:37
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