New critique thread, allow the archives to ablate the drivel of Veeky Forums.
Critique Thread
Andrew Hill
Justin Fisher
In a way it had been fate. The Chesapeake was my mother--she fed me, guided me through life, and gave me her blue eyes. I cared for the Bay more than any given aspect of my life at the time. She cared for me, too, I’d like to believe with complete trust. I hoped for the day I died so that my ashes can be scattered across the rolling waves of the bay and return home.
I’m quite protective over this home, too.
When you’re invited to my home by the ways of the river or the guidance of a horse, a gull shall alert me of your arrival--that or the whispers of the grasses. Whatever may happen, I’ll know of your presence. Don’t make too much noise. When you get to my house, you’ll know it’s my house from the distinct green walls that climb the sky to the clouds. Open the yellow doors of grass and you’re in. Listen to the songs of thrush and relax yourself.
On your visit, though, I ask that you to be mindful of the house laws. I didn’t create them, they’ve always been etched into the Bay’s history. They’re learned as soon as you step foot into the bay’s boundaries:
You must accept the insects for what they are and why they are. Yes, that is a bee hovering near your head. In fact, it is a European Honey Bee, an extremely hard worker. It has a family, a job, and a ruler, just like you. It has a home where it returns to day after day on a given basis. It will not harm you if you do not insinuate it, just as yourself. Instead, I recommend you look at it from afar and appreciate its work and its beauty.
There are pests of which the average foreigner to the Bay will dismiss as disgusting, but you must know that this is quite against the natural laws declared by Earth. The Northeastern Tiger Beetle is one that you’ve probably (briefly) encountered, for, I’m almost sure it flew away from you just as quickly as you walked away from it. From the Patuxent River to the Bay, they roam and keep watch over the sand. They hook themselves to the ground and survey a wanderer's feet. It is harder to appreciate a beetle, I must say. Unlike bees, they do not always have a job. They are often wandering the sand and hiding from those who seek them. They reproduce and they die. But then ask yourself: do you not wander at times? Like humans, they take a break from their busy schedules. They take walks, but they prefer the word “crawls. They drink when thirsty--what doesn’t?. They observe their world.
They’re a scientist's dream, and, like any curious man, your eyes may wander and catch the shifting movements of the beetle. When you see the beetle, don’t only appreciate it, honor it. Smile at it to yourself and continue your journey.
Logan Collins
Re-post from the end of the last thread.
>All right, Veeky Forums, I'm a dick, here's my shit:
“In distant lands with ever-present clouds lay an egg supported by a tree. Heard, or perhaps felt, for many miles were struggles of the protectorate being in the confines of its shell. Its endeavors toward freedom like a newborn’s tender heartbeat. Should any creature survive the mists and terrors wont to meander the egg’s aura, that creature could regard the translucent nature of the membranous shell. If said creature were to then gaze long enough -- with clarity and focus of mind -- a rare and ancient abscission may rend the world external, veiling the moment of connection between creature and eggnomaly. An icy, cool darkness would baptize them in a calming privacy. The fatal mistake of all such creatures, however, is staring too long at the abyss – for even the Lord Death could not stave folly.”
I'm also a faggot and calling it "Birth of the Altkneht"; tentative subtitle "Purveyor of the Abyss."
>Tear that shit up.
>Yes I know I'm an ultrafgt for eggnomaly. Get.
Oliver Brooks
Yes, I saw the other thread already.
Context: Alternate history where Europe (officially and openly) unionizes under the Nazis and the Business Plot works (FDR is killed in a coup).
This is chapter 1, I intend to finish it.
This is my first attempt at a short story/novella, all my other drivel has just been vignettes and more down the lines of poetry/descriptive prose.
Aaron Sanders
I don't know how you get all that context from a hyperlink, but if you want to expand that into a novella you've got your work cut out for you.
Connor Reyes
Dark espers of wit and willow corrupt cock's shadow .Truncating my everlasting breath unto a fancy hallow ground, and mud drips from my teeth and I bite into the sand. Death creep into me and let my shit taste like ecstasy in her mouth. Triumph, cold eyes destitute in the mirror, live and let triumphs die like dead closed eyes in a open casket funeral. Mark these words unto my breath, break fourth tireless fancies of the mind in a vain sort of melodrama that I can't care for or give away to your conscious. Fuck, confabulating constructs twixt my dwindling spires of hate. Hate breaths from my breath in the cold morning, it courses through the blue veins of my arms as I choke your child to sleep. I have no remorse for I have succumbed to my own world, a world of beautiful death lay before my eyes, of fantastic golden eclipses in the dusty storm, of breakneck speed tiny flashes of the blade that drive through the nebula of the ego and conspire against you, they destroy your every thought your every motive and you become me, I rule you forever and your soul will wrought in eternal damnation that fasts everlasting on the blood of the malignant. I will starve you. I will damn you to thoughts unknown to man or beast and the horns will grow mighty on the brow ever cursed into a groaning dismay of rotten flesh. Die then, for there will be no satisfaction in life or death and your joints will twitch in yearning, your jaw will clench for release, and the whites of the eye will turn red.
James Campbell
Huh?
Jason Martinez
Literally what
Angel Carter
Without context this passage just reads like it was created to impress with words rather than to impress with poetry or imagery. So on that basis I like the word abscission, impressive. I honestly have no idea what the fuck you are talking about though.
Justin Robinson
This type of writing has never been one of my favorite kind anyway.
For minutes I've regarded this posts existence. It's a monument to all the rancid genes and broken chromosomes that rolled into your person.
The possibilities of prose are all there—you can write anything. And you wrote this foul caricature of what, something you read and thought you should imitate?
A man with no soul, no inner convictions, and the integrity of sand and the style of a buttprint left in vinyl.
The Veeky Forums I remember was absolutely top kek—I couldn't imagine this garbage anywhere except maybe inside the head of a paraplegic who wanted to fuck his live-in nurse but couldn't quite reach the zipper on his jeans.
Michael Mitchell
The problem is both of these is that you just have a mash of words with no connection or pathway for the reader. What are you leading to? Because you as hell aren't putting any actual scenery or emotions in my head.
If you make the reader process so much BLAH and not the pathway you're leading them on then you're wasting time and ruining your book
THE MOST important thing is connection for you two.
James Rodriguez
why did it anger you so much?
I appreciate the edge and bluntness, though. Could you go a little deeper than just "ew" though
Jayden Williams
Introduction to a short story based on the intro to Angel's Egg (1985), general Lovecraft-urbating, Berserk's God Hand, and the "Hollow/Human" dichotomy in the D-Souls series.
Tried to open with a gentle, creepy/stilted feel that would lead to the monstrosity in the egg's birth and how it ravaged its world because it didn't know any better.
Always had trouble relating in-mind to others. Great to know it needs more a lot more attention. Not sure if the above explanation of the paragraph does any justice to relatability though.
Joseph Carter
I am man. I fill highways with death and metal. I drift to the back of my skull and I fall into the playground concrete. Warmly, my blood flows from my matted scalp into my open hands, and from my hands it drips into the sand. I am demon. The golden eclipses of death shine in my mind. Flashing. Explosive. I am demiurge. Beautiful spots of red in a ocean of yellow, beautiful spots of yellow in a ocean of grey, the grey is no more. Wilted is thy flower, pedals no longer to bloom, the birds have all flown away from the feeder and I look into the mirror again. I see you. Your shaft of flesh will rot on a cross, and the flies will eat you, the flies will pour out your scrotum and I will eat you, I will devour you, every last morsel, even the shit. Confine me, take me to your prison, leave me in a cold dungeon where the lightning strikes past the clouds on a rainy day from my window. Where the shadows flash across my face from the rusty bars, God help me. She was in the back of the car, she was only seven years old, seven sins, seven trumpets, seven years old. Seven. Spirits lay frozen dead on the edge of your bed, mire singe my lashes on that day, a drink of booze will make it go away. A drink of booze. All away. Turn away from the mirror, lest your red eyes burn holes into the glass, melt your image, stab your ego. I will rule you forever and you will rot in eternal cosmos, never escaping from the endless spiral of the maze that is the being of god, god has you trapped in your being and you will find no satisfaction, soulless being I pity you, I spit on you, I fuck you, end now. Extraterrestrial bile will spill on your textured t-shirt, your cubicle will close in on you. I find myself in the sand, I find myself on the concrete, I find myself holding the body of a mutilated child, her face missing, and red eyes peering from a skull. She was only seven.
Thomas Fisher
Still had Angel's Egg open, so I typed up an interpretation (rendition?) of the first three minutes.
Want to know if the inability to relate and lack of context is just my ideas or my writing/expression, if you don't mind.
>youtube.com
A man of non-committal expression and odd hair stood next to old machinery. Slung across his shoulder, an ornate cross large enough for a child. The man’s grip on the cross nonchalant but firm. Gusts of wind blew his hair hither and thither with vicious resolve, yet his grip and stature remained stolid. He looked to the reddened skies as a bird, or perhaps fish, soared past. The ground, half-soaked in blood and messier bits resembled a checkerboard. On the lighter spaces, wet earth; the darker spaces... best left to one’s imagination, or lack thereof. The man looked at the mechanisms and devices, turned, and stared.
Skyborne and descending was a large speroid. Its entirety black, with odd, discordial protuberances lending a slight white glare to its posterior. Pssseuuuh, psssseuh, pssseuh, more frequent and less intense bursts of thrust for a touchdown. The man always got a kick of wry amusement from the behemoths -- their many thrusters formed the shape of an orange segment, appearing to him an eternally displeased eyeball. A symbol of “What a drag.” He noted there were now several bits of humour tied to the floating eyes. He should never live to witness two in the same place, else he die laughing.
Asher Martinez
HROTHGAR: Prosper and feast, my Spear-Danes! The battle is won, and our hearts made gay. Such pelf in my Heorot--may it be split to each and every man. May we rejoice in His honor, exhange our love, and fill our mouths with all divine. May our blades rest and hang our helms low. I ask of no brawls or scops, nor cruel decrees.
CHORUS: With heads high and drinks higher, may we toast to thee, Benevolent King!
Soon, though, wyrd will take it’s revenge on the pyres of this very mountain,
For, souls we’ve slain and words made vain are now hung from a Godly hand.
Our armour glows, like our eyes on the glimmering-shores of battle,
But we must beware of those who prowl and stalk the night for vengeance,
And the green-eyed monster who seeks to slay our lives in this wide hall.
May we dine in peace, with such a generous feast! Abas with these times of fear and resent.
May we set aside our glories and blades alike. Like our banners, we will raise arms together
On this night, may we drink to the sun, eat to ourselves, and love to our God.
May tomorrow bring a new sky o’er our heads and rest to us all.
Let smiles be cast in this room of revel and wine, for all that is made divine.
Justin Price
Elijah Wood
Will kids like it?
‘Goldor go get the broom shafts!’
‘Yes mistress,’ I’d say.
‘Goldor those dungeons aren’t going to clean themselves!’
‘Right away mistress,’ I’d say.
‘Goldor, you lazy lout! Get over here and polish my fingernails already!’
‘For your divine eminence, mistress,’ I’d say, before getting the spiked boot for painting one shade of colour too bright, never mind the nail when I couldn’t see a darn thing in this accursed, black tower!
From dusk til dawn, from light til dark, from high to low, everyday, for seven days a week, non-stop, in a dark tower where you couldn’t see so much as a glint of your toenail without tripping over a piece of ancient debris first because she was too uptight about getting some construction work done to disturb her beauty nap... Oh, and ten thousand years of it.
Gron, where did all the days go by?
Are you getting an idea what a Goblin has to go through to please his Mistress of Darkness? You’re not alone. I am spawn number two billion, five hundred and sixty three – but she just calls me “Goldor” for short, and by she I mean our ever-loving Mistress of Darkness, Ursula: the Witch Queen, the Black Anointed One, the Lady of Shadows, the Bringer of Death, the Maiden of Sorrows, the Cow of Despair, and most of all – my mistress - has been so for about twenty thousand years now. My, my does time fly by, I still remember being a fresh-faced spawnling when I first laid eyes on my mother – a beautiful creature; when you looked upon her for the first time you saw the very countenance of doom itself: a cruel smile that thundered the hour of your undoing, raven hair that used to whip the stars into abyssal submission, and glossy black mascara that poured the very sorrows of a thousand souls down cheeks unknowing of pity!
Gron, where did those days go?!
I remember when she had the whole world in a vice grip; kings, matriarchs, dwarflords, and barons all – meagre nothings to the power of her divine mercy to spare their insignificant lives, and I – I was proud to stand beside her then, in those days when she used to destroy kingdoms ten times over for fun. Ravaging their cities, plaguing their crops, burying their dead into mounts of bones - and if she wanted - she could do it all over again… Just right after ten thousand years of sleeping to make up for it.
I would call to Gron, but at this point… well, what’s the point really?
Where is my Lady of Darkness who once besieged the mountains of Takeria? Wrought low the elves of Mooradan? Sundered the iron and steel of the Human Kingdoms of Daine? Where was that Lady of Darkness?! Ursula, who used to tame the Dragons of the North under her command, Ursula, who used to sink the ocean and sky to her whims, Ursula, who used to scale the great pantheons of earth under her beck and call?! That was the Ursula I once knew, and by the strength of my green heart, where oh where can I find that lady again?!
Evan Hughes
oh well we all just don’t know do we
staring up
telescope rules
you are playing—
woman lives
on highway roadsign,
don’t you tentacle
wrap your consciousness
around
me, blank
as a sunbeam,
drip eternal:
torch fish
knows my brother,
school generator
perpetrator color
in lake tertiary.
Aiden Stewart
a mouse is dropped into a garden
miniature, and around it are two Poindexters in
lab coats and conversation. "the mouse knows
to always head right for the apple
in the center of the maze. it's got a
remarkable ability to remember things and
has good spatial reasoning, like it's second
nature." "is that so?" "yes, and even when
I tell him not to he goes for it anyways. it's like
reverse psychology. I'm convinced that they even understand
sarcasm and wit these days. in any case, they are very much
enthused in the pursuit of the apples." "well
isn't that just great. they, I heard you say?"
"yes," he pushes up his glasses, "they
have been reproducing." the other 'dexter has a look
of mild amusement drawn on her face. "more trouble
than it's worth, isn't it?" the other looks away coolly, "well,
that's not up to us to decide. we are only concerned about
the data
on mice and apples and the pursuit of them.
everything else is secondary." "do you like
dropping mice and mice babies
into garden miniatures?" the look
of amusement is mirrored on the other
and he says, "well,
it's a living."
Caleb Barnes
But as for the majority, a sad and sickly bunch, life is cut out for them. Most the boys know is work, work, work… war if one is unlucky; and Irishmen are a rarity here. Work makes one’s hands dirty, yet not nearly as dirty as war does. Dirt kicked up will make one blind in short time; and army trucks are a regularity here. While uptight men in their Dormeuil suits smoke Cuban cigars and stare out white-frame windows down at the black slums forty stories below, the black slum boys stare up forty stories with naked eyes, smoking Lucky Strikes in their hand-me-down knickers and suspenders. In every sense of the word, they are unique, and in every sense of the word, unexceptional. These are the black slum boys, the toilers and hustlers. They’re young, filthy, and utterly, utterly alone.
Joshua Sanders
Blake Ramirez
I like it - especially the part with the looking up and down the forty stories + then the parallel with the hand-me-down + suspenders being down up as well.... it's interesting
think the army truck regularity line is a bit awkward though in terms of meter. the word regularity is just a bit off
Hudson Allen
Just fuck me up senpai. Also, don't trust my critique.
pastebin.com
Feels like you hit some weird cross between Shakespearean and Victorian writing and then just fucked it up really badly. I'm confused as to how I'm supposed to feel. Nostalgic for home? Sad because of beetle-death? Everything's in some natural order? You did a lot in such a small time and it just feels incoherent.
Halfway decent, but that pun didn't actually fit at all. Good description depending on what you were going for.
I'm not too great on poetry, but this just feels sort of haphazard. And the bad, formless, "I did this in ten seconds" sort of haphazard.
I liked it the first read, thought it was boring the second. Literally prose with enjambment.
Conflicting. Why are all the black slum boys alone, when you've spent all this time describing people in groups? Alone is a singular term, and to have crowds of people and all these vague generalities described to be hit with "alone"... maybe each of them carries a loneliness instead? It was OK just save for that last bit.
Andrew Gomez
...
Parker Gutierrez
I don't really like the voice of the narrator, it's uninteresting and very self-conscious. maybe that's what you're going for, maybe that's true to you but it makes for a bit of a boring read and that is inexcusable in the literary world.
a guy that's has a thought that starts with "it's almost ironic" is absolutely insufferable and an unruly character for any sort of narrative. I get that you're trying to get some project some sort of strange self-awareness to this guy and present him as a sort of character study with 3 different worlds (waking life, internet, dreams) but man it could be done much better. I would read other people's stuff more like established authors, that's my advice and pay special note to the amount of self-awareness they allot to each character - too much is difficult to write with I'll tell you that
Joseph Adams
They left the ongar's villa and descended to Daigar's lower echelon, where the filth dwell in darkness. The white glare of marble sanctums darkened to begrimed wattle and daubs of the poor and teetering cantinas where within wantons flirt and fences lurk.
Henceforth the two would go daily to the cultists' lair via a network of dusty, cobbled alleys and grottos behind the rammed earth edifices. How the crowded streets and the stink of offal and piss did remind Shazarah of Tel'Kor. But more so than in Tel'Kor did they sanctify their higher castes and condemn their lesser as per a cosmic will he never did grasp. He knew not of such poverty in Eros amidst all his studies here. None should meddle with god's intent, it still pains you to see them from thy pulpit of privilege but know it's not of your making but Theirs. Theirs not theirs.
Every alcove he passed loitered beggars or skulking muggers, in every grotto echoed the groans of the starving and cries of babies suckling dry their mothers' withered breasts. And the insane milled in their minds, for the quamites lived there among them. The pommel of Shazarah's dagger provided some comfort as he caressed it beneath his coat
Blake Gomez
Well I'm goin' out to Denver
See if I can't find
That lovin' Colorado
girl of mine
The promise in her smile
Shames the mountains tall
She bring the sun to shining
Tell the rain to fall
It's been a long time, mama
Since I heard you call my name
And got to see my
Colorado girl again
I'll be there tomorrow
Mama, don't you cry
I got to kiss these lonesome
Texas blues good-bye
I'm goin' out to to Denver
See if I can't find
That lovin' Colorado
girl of mine
Isaac Cook
Came from the other thread because this was interesting and I expected more
How is the reader supposed to get any of that? It's all obscure garbage or pop culture trash for influences but none of that managed to make it into the writing
Are you dense?
If your a woman don't try to write men until you know one better than your mother. If your a man it sucked. It felt like that scene in Californication when the gay kid tries to write blood and cum and flops. Grind harder.
Saw the embed thumbnail not watching it. You write like a 13yo girl learning to walk after taking a dildo to the uterus. Jesus get out and experience life more.
Stopped at pop culture reference 1
skyrim was a travesty. Your funny if thats cynicism or mockery or dryhumping kind of sarcasm.
Are you retarded or do you hate your parents? Is this an escapist flight of fantasy or just spite and resentment for being told to pick up your stinky socks and wash them
You seem like a self-destructive musician who recently grew out of angsty teen tier writing. If you look back was it mostly whining about a middle or upper class caucasian life in a developed country
Professional parents but they were focused on them and you got no attention so now you do drugs?
>Sorry I'm obviously projecting
>its still your writing thats bad, not my drugs
Deedee wants her journal back dexter
Your transition between work and war is sloppy
Listen to some old vets but actually listen instead of trying to form a response or remember an idea
Needs more confidence
Unlike it didnt seem self conscious to me
The narrator did seem too self aware and explainy, too much tell and not enough show
Emotion rubbed me the wrong way too
An aweful lot of uncertainty with tone/congruence
You coulda had a great setup for cultist lair but you tossed it
>salad without caesar
I aint writin nothin cause I aint got nothin >beside scathing criticisms
>both are on my trophy shelf, next to nothing else
Tyler Murphy
poopoo peepee
Benjamin Wood
here, thanks for the critique :)
How was the writing friend? Where can I improve? That's what I want to know best.
And to awnser you... yes, it is a fantasy. Though nothing on the parent-hating I'm afraid :)
Chase Wood
Лeвијaтaн
I.
Hoћy би мope пocтaјaлo ливaдa бeз ијeднe тpaвкe –
To би били пaшњaци пpeкpивeни нeвинoшћy.
Cyдap тaлaca, пocлaних oд пepaјa, cтвapao јe дјeвичaнcкe opхидeјe.
Лeш, дeoкcигeнoвaн, и визaнтcкo нeбo; Mјeceц и мope.
Лeвијaтaн јe изpoниo и зapoниo ocтaвшивши pyјнy мpљy,
Bизaнтcкo нeбo и цapcкo мope; opхидeјe, yкpaдeнe oд вјeтpoвa.
and a translation
Leviathan
I.
At night the sea became a field without leaves of grass --
Those would be pastures covered in innocence.
A crash of waves, sent by fins, created tender orchids.
A corpse, deoxygenated, and Byzantine skies; Moon and sea.
The Leviathan emerged and submerged leaving a rouge stain.
A Byzantine sky and imperial sea; orchids, stolen by winds.
It's still incomplete.
Ryan Gomez
Whoops, got the id mixed, sorry!
Adam Ross
You ever see the video of the russian guy...
>Where hes so frustrated
>He takes the two most offensive words he can think of
>And combines them
>On two separate occasions in the same video
He came up with niggerfaggot and niggerjew
>i cant tell if your the former or the latter son
>but for you climbing jacob's ladder is a sin
>let it sink in
>literature.exe
Leo Reed
So I'm going to gout on a limb and say it was bad...?
Lincoln Flores
No son its your attitude thats bad
>coming from a kikelord on the innerwebz
>o lordy this gud Fe(e)
Not being facetious either
Find a library, find some kids willing to listen at the library, read to them, ask for feedback.
You will succeed with insanity or persistence or both
Jacob Parker
OK, this is a first chapter from my erotica that's being published soon on amazon. I'd like your honest opinions about it!
It's called Sinning Sisters and it's a story about a romance of young adults from different social environments.
Lucas Gray
Holy fucking shit dude
Lucas Allen
meh fucking dik
Cameron Rivera
>skyrim reference
Are you retarded? Where
Mason Nguyen
How 2 go deep on a layer of grime?
Or maybe it's good? But if yr good, you'd know it's good—it's almost like ye could tell huzz.
John Perry
Still shitposting goblins? Also, if the last posts are any hint, you haven't mastered English grammar (or haven't reviewed your own work).
And no, the tiny children will not like it, it's about
goblins and it's in broken English.
Lucas Kelly
I would say "I teased her it was probably her uncle" :). Because what other group would it be.
Also I got a hard on so I guess it works.
Luis Evans
VERY nice
Asher James
LMAO I lost it at the penis part. Great characters, very meticulous I'd say. You have a great potential and I'm looking forward to reading the whole story!
Gabriel Price
I suddenly dropped by underwear and immediately pulled it up again; she could see my 7 inch erect cock for a second. ‘’Did you just?” She asked. “What? What are you talking about” I asked with an innocent voice and a guilty smirk. Suddenly the dominant side in me awakened and I told her to strip. She hesitated until I strictly said; “Now, slut!” She was blushing so red and seemed suddenly so submissive. She has quite big boobs, size D, and a glorious ass, unlike her smaller sister. I told her to submit to me and she had no idea what to do. She awkwardly looked at me.. “From now on you call me Master, understood?” “Okay” I suddenly pulled her hair, ‘’Okay, who?”; “Okay, Master.” “Good girl” I said. “Turn around and show me your ass.”
“How come you are suddenly being so submissive, Masiha?”
“Uhhh, because I like to be uhhh put in my place” She said while blushing.
“I like you, Masiha, from now on you are my sex slave and you’ll do anything I tell you to”
“Okay”
“Okay, WHO?!”
“Okay, Master”
“Are you enjoying this?”
“Maybe” she giggled.
I walked towards her pussy and felt how wet she was
“Certainly” I replied
I ordered the Muslim slut to suck my cock and she slowly got my dick out, stared at it for a second, even smelled it and put it in her mouth. This was clearly her first blowjob, which I didn’t mind. After a few minutes I told her to stop, I didn’t want to cum just yet.
“Why are you cheating on your boyfriend, Masiha?”
She seemed surprised, like she totally forgot about him and said she didn’t know.
“Think harder, Masiha, why are you betraying your lover??”
“Because I’m a uhhh slut?” She started blushing and looking at the ground
“Exactly, you are a naughty slut and I think you need to be punished, don’t you think?”
“Yes, Master”
I sat on her bed and told her to bend over on my lap. “I’m going to spank you 5 times, I want you to count them”. The first time I didn’t spank hard. “One” she said. After doing 3 more she forgot to say four. I pulled her hair and said I will have to start over. This time they were much harder, her ass was already red. For the last one I used all my strength and she cried ‘’Five” out in pain. It was so loud it probably woke up Aida. We suddenly realized we forgot about her and I told her to check on her. She went downstairs and told Aida that I left long ago but didn’t want to wake her up. Aida went to bed and Masiha came back.
She whispered “I told her you left”
I said it’s getting late and that I better go. She looked disappointed and suddenly seemed to have an idea.
“You can’t leave, the hall is noisy, you would wake Aida up, besides my parents can come home any second, they really really can’t see you.”
“I guess I’ll be sleeping over then, by the way, how is your ass?”
“It still hurts a little, Master” She giggled.
“You haven’t thanked me for the punishment yet, slut”
“Sorry Master, thank you Master, I really deserved that”
“Good girl”
Levi Jackson
critique my shit fags
Juan Bell
...
Julian Fisher
I think you're getting a lot of positive responses due to the Muslim angle. It's passable writing. Not bad, but a long way from being anything more than standard erotica.
Joshua Thompson
Trying too hard whilst uninspired.
Andrew Price
is this some sort of next level meta shitposting? Those replies were obviously ironic, if you can't discern that then you gotta fucking sort yourself out my man
Isaac Stewart
generalizing whilst gay
Benjamin Ward
If you say so.
Connor Gomez
I only read the first two sentences, and I'm already bored to death. Reads like a stale desert, and there is no flow. Also looks like genre crap
Owen Parker
Actually this guys been refining this story for a while in crit threads.Ever since last year, I've seen it crop up now and again
Christopher Nelson
I've got a start here that I can't get to go anywhere useful, so if someone thinks they can use it, take it.
I slip like sand between your ampersands
and and you stutter once
I'll clutter twice as much
Samuel Rivera
Goblin poster, stop samefagging
Jackson Diaz
there were 3 goblin stories in the last crit thread and I didn't write any of them so idk what you're talking about
Josiah Anderson
>HROTHGAR
>literally one of the most important places in the game
>if not the most important place
>highest place in-game humanoids are living
>main campaign/quest cannot be completed without travelling there several times
Nigger you are the weakest link, your writing aint even chain in the fence
>fuck the Danish
Colton Rodriguez
It's based on Beowulf
How much more autistic can you get.
James Lopez
I'm the author of your post, buddy. Leave that guy alone. Check my id if you must.
William Adams
She read Dostoevsky
In carnivore carriage.
Sound could not disparage
her; disrupt her
nor her solitude rupture.
Such eyes! Flashing eyes!
What truth therein lies?
Why flap so, why flit so?
A candle in the window.
Does a glance melt like butter
Raskolnikov's axe?
Can she read through the fat and blubber,
So viscous, so crass?
It's wasted on her
Like life on the dying.
I live like I'm dying,
Fixated on her
Feet. Cart me away with her
ere I'm forced to repeat
a nostos so bitter:
No Penelope sweet.
Ammonia soaked pillow
In her place,I will greet.
She read Dostoevsky
Like a carnivore meat.
Kayden Morris
Here comes the avocadolooking man
with his cunt face bringing bottles of beer
in the middle of the street
son of avocadolooking man
he thinks he's more, he think he's more
because he shits and barks and scrapes and eats
inside his shitloft full of cans and pipes
and he likes to write, the cunt!
he wants to be ALLEN GINSBERG - what a shitface!
and f5 f5 f5 until down and he can't even manage to
Michael Rogers
kek'd und check'd
Jack Clark
If you wrote it in under 3 minutes it's fine
Nolan Gonzalez
This is MY piece of experimental a-poetry, you will not understand it. At the end I will write the mandatory bibliography to get at least an hint of what we're talking about here.
"THE sun is bright
sunsunsunsunsuns[1]
AAAAAAAAH MAI FAIR LAAAAAAAAAAAD
(THE[2])
°°°°the fact that (alone,alone,alone,blalone
water down (water) ^papesatan^
water
-----------------------the sun - why don't you
mabellemabellemabellemabelle
MARIE?[3]
teh
sun
isbrig
th [4]
(water down) ---- -- ----------
-------------[5] ---- -- -- - . Zang Tumb[6]?
and.
IIIIKNOWAHTITMEEEEEANSSS TOBEQUEEEER
Andrew Peterson
If you don't kill yourself over how bad it is then you should kill yourself over not feeling any shame exploiting the FORBIDDEN MUSLIM LOVE IN TIMES OF SCIENCE PLUS SEX scheme just to get published.
Ethan Baker
bait
Justin Mitchell
didn't really get feedback on this, so I haven't changed anything
Josiah Roberts
10/10
Adam Gonzalez
2 months in the making
Jeremiah Lopez
Retard
Joshua Jackson
I’m lying here on my back in the damp grass just outside the rear end of the house. Grace left me for Edinburgh a few hours ago now. There’s a slight breeze this evening. Every so often the breeze erupts into a semi-gale for a short while. And in those moments I can hear and feel the whole world around me shift violently; the branches and trunks of the trees that line this little patch of back-garden lawn that I’m lying on creaking and squeaking as they’re bent under the strain of this wind, creating a kind of static chorus of leaves sliding against each other, debris colliding in an overture of little snaps and tap-tap-taps, distant howls of some tall and thin protuberance protesting, and the not-so-melodic notes of the wind chime that Christina has hung up by the back door.
In these moments of spontaneous meteorological excitement, engulfed by the chaotic symphonies of conflicting matter, that sticky black weight feeling at the base of my guts swells exponentially and almost escapes out my throat. But where its progression seems to be barred by something. Probably my seemingly unbreakable abhorrence to throwing up. But really it feels more like a terrible scream that would tare my larynx apart if it had the chance to escape. And so I lie paralysed by the fear of this ever-encroaching terror who’s source seems to come from somewhere deep within me.
My eyes are locked upwards, staring into the shapeless abyss of an overcast sky. It’s like someone has stolen the sun and taken away all definition of the clouds, and left only a perfect wash of single-tone cold-grey-violate. And my sickness is only increased as I struggle to find some small detail to focus on. But there’s nothing up there; just light, brilliant and horrible in this dying afternoon, diffracted and pouring in from all angles, turning the whole world into a flat grey purgatory in which I cannot think or move or turn away from.
Christian Jenkins
>Grace left me for Edinburgh a few hours ago now.
I assume you mean
>Grace left for Edinburgh a few hours ago now.
unless Grace dumped you in order to have a romantic relationship with Edinburgh.
Juan Roberts
She left you to go to Edinburgh, she didn't leave you for Edinburgh, unless she's having a romantic relationship with it. I'll grant that it's grammatically the same but the phrase has common connotations and reads strangely.
Carson Nguyen
no, as is implied, she did leave me in order to have a romantic relationship with Edinburgh
William Phillips
sorry
Joshua Hall
Then I think you should make it more explicit that she's going to have sex with Edinburgh, perhaps introduce her parents to it as her fiancé, because it sounds like a mistake as it is.
Caleb White
The froth of boreas’s verglass
Swept I, the lone wanderer, from height
The lamina had undergone the chemistry
And perforated by my tuffs I held ground
Yet I stood high in these alps of glass
To see the snow that had begun to pour,
And I breathed in the full white clouds
With flakes of snow hanging from my chops.
So I whistled an echoed from my pursed lips
So that my canine companions could be saved.
I stand here on the glazed grey of this mountain
Self proclaimed as the new Master of the Hunt.
There are now no snowmen in this village of glass.
There remains a man and his dogs, now guilty guards
Of this forsaken ridge of what was once Nature’s bridge--
I am that man, he who shatters glass.
Matthew Harris
the relationship is of a symbolic nature, in the novella i'm writing at the moment, grace leaves our home of Blebo Craigs in order to whore herself to 1000 men within the city Edinburgh
Joseph Garcia
Critique the shit out of this poem that is the summerary of all my failed relationships
This is a story of all lovers of the past.
In the beginning was the maiden of north-west.
The memory of her has become vague, but her smile is still the best.
Then came the one who held my hand at dawn,
but as soon as the sun arose our love turned into a boring yawn.
Thirdly it was at a party that we met.
She stuck her tongue down my throat until I broke into a sweat.
Some time of dryness passed me by.
The more satisfied I felt, when she finally took me by the hand.
Sadly time ran out and we had to say goodbye.
Still I loved every night we spent.
Saddened by our departure I focused on studying to pay the rent.
However my love for women could not be restraint.
Soon the gods above send me a present.
She was wisest of all, and I loved her accent.
With her months passed into days, I dont know where the time went.
But all good things will come to end.
My heart felt an incredible torment.
What did I do to deserve such a cruel event?
In desperation my mind was again intent,
on studying to understand what love ment.
In this journey I met a delightful madam.
Though it stayed at friendship, I could not be her Adam.
In between the previous and the next.
There is always her, the one I still adore.
I worship her and bow at her feet every day.
But her majesty is an illusory folklore.
So what is there for me to say?
Of course love does not work with a whore.
So on the matter of the next I can not say more.
Then came the one of the forbidden love.
But I did not want to risk my life and she was got rid of.
Momentarily I was seduced by her scent.
But the newest lover did not give me consent.
With head hanging low I left in discontent.
My next object of desire, was she who had passion like fire.
But I must admit this was not love.
Only my precious essence did she require
Now writing this my heart longs for new eyes to get lost in.
I want to surrender to her beauty, and let love finally win.
Xavier Martin
Kind of confusing what happened before the events of this writing.
It's too... consistent? Every paragraph seems to be the same length, and really just describes something in allot of unnecessary detail. You need more action and dialogue to shake things up.
Really need critique on this:
Gili parried Nero's sword swing with her spear, then quickly moved in for a counter-attack, landing a blow to the old man's sternum. Had they been fighting for real, she would have gone for the kill with a jab to the throat. Instead, the old mentor of her's simply got the wind knocked out of him.
"Very good." He coughed out, recovering from the blow. Nero was said to have been an unparelleled warrior in his youth, but Gili only ever knew him as the patient old man from the palace, who prefered slow walks through the garden over battles out in the jungle. She often wondered why he was chosen as her mentor, as patience was not a big theme of her personal quest.
"Did I hit you a little too hard, old man?" She teased. Nero laughed.
"You'd best be counting your blessings that this blade is blunted." He ran his fingers along the edge of the training blade. "Or else that pretty little finger of yours would've been sliced clean off."
Gili smiled. She'd known Nero since the very begining. Since the day the Speakers came to her house and dragged her away from her parents. She was only seven when it happened, and she'd go on to spend the next ten years of her life training within the palace walls with the other Chosen.
"It wouldn't be the worst thing." A voice beamed from above them. Cyrus's voice, the man responsible for overseeing the Chosen, of which Gili was the most important to him. "Training with a real sword, that is." He stood on the balcony above their training center, watching with disdainful, impatient eyes.
"Aye, perhaps for another day." Nero bargained, sheathing his training sword. He was Cyrus's cousin by blood, but clearly held disdain for the man.
Daniel Murphy
Pretty good. Personally I think stories about "chosen" people are clichè, but whatever floats your boat.
Dylan Price
Grace ingests datura seeds and in the trip delirium she becomes convinced that god wishes for her to become a hermaphrodite and that the only way for her to achieve this is by fucking 1000 men in the city of Edinburgh
Josiah Myers
bump
Jose Cox
I still haven't gotten critique and that was yesterday.
Grayson Adams
Take it from huzz, there's nothing like a bunch of crap thrown together. Well except the quiet enveloping darkness of boredom, & gotta send thx for that. Yeah, we get it, Hitler. Edgy. Parody. Wow.
Preposition Ratio: 10.21 %
Zombie Nouns:
'impression', 'religion', 'fiction', 'nation', 'explanation', 'celebration', 'conversation', 'passion', 'vacation', 'position', 'publicity', 'community', 'relativity'
Leeches:
'friendly', 'fully', 'promptly', 'nearly', 'truly', 'patiently', 'actually', 'only', 'probably', 'apparently', 'early', 'initially', 'softly', 'absently', 'nightly', 'needlessly', 'really', 'unruly', 'naturally', 'unusually', 'slightly', 'finally', 'overly', 'merely', 'similarly', 'instantly', 'Immediately', 'literally', 'sarcastically', 'strangely', 'postmaturely'
Lexical Diversity: 29.38 %
Content Carrying Words: 61.26 %
Personal Vocab Diversity: 44.41 %
Longest Word: 'Schellingstrasse'
Jack Perez
I've been seeing this format of post a lot, what site do you get this from?
Wyatt Nelson
It's a script I made.
Preposition ratio: [prepositions / total words] (10% or less is ideal, makes reading more dynamic)
Zombie Nouns = nominalization = verbs turned into nouns
Adverbs leech the verve out of verbs
Lex Diversity = different words / total words (doesn't really mean anything)
Content Carrying words = (nouns, verbs, adj)/total words
PV Div = (Words - Most Common Words) / total words
Longest Word = usually something worth getting rid of
Kayden Brown
autism
Also what's huzz?
Caleb Barnes
>on Veeky Forums
>haven't read pynchon
%|
Carson Cook
Life is but a prolonged swim in some collective afterbirth.
Being is repulsive and over-real, an ocean of organ taste.
To know and to be known, experience is a fluid exchanged mouth to mouth.
Foundering adrift amidst our own broth we are listing and lapping,
Sensory sewage secreted and sampled, eyes shut and orifices full,
Sinking and swimming, gullets brimming with the unspeakable.
Sensation is itself a thing vulgar, to share in the stew, to taste you,
Gruesome goop, gruesome group, all I come to rue, naught to know but that undue,
A common yoke these unclean masses, choking, intolerable, and interminable,
Death ever adds to the soup, our world one big vaginal vichyssoise,
Gross.
Ryan Cook
...
Hudson Moore
what the fuck did I just read
Camden Stewart
...
Ian Brown
>fucking fuck fucking fucker fuck fuck
Nope
John Ross
...
Daniel Evans
...
Mason Rogers
boohoo he said a swear. guess what? NIGGER FUCK CUNT SHIT ASS BITCH KIKE. get used to it fag.
Colton Reyes
Really?
It gets old and loses strength if you say the word in every single line.
Also, this scene is particularly boring.
Just one paragraph and kill the guy, Jesus. There's no need for all that "fuckity fucking fucker I hate you".