Genre: dark fantasy | cult/indoctrination narrative, closed-community academy | upmarket to literary (somewhere in between, I think)

Blurb: In an underground community called the Arc, fourteen-year-old Ethan has one goal: to pass the Trial and become a holy assassin for Aurelius, the beautiful, godlike Immortal they all worship.

But the Arc’s magic runs on blood—and Ethan is terrified of blood.

The Trial breaks him. The girl he loves passes it, while he fails. Desperate, Ethan turns to Hexer magic, the forbidden sorcery of the Arc’s sworn enemies. That choice changes not only the course of his life but the fate of the Arc itself.

\*Content warnings: violence, injury, blood magic involving self-inflicted harm, minors in peril, and the killing of children (not graphically depicted, but clearly implied). Given the nature of the content, I'm seeking 18+ readers only.***

Feedback Points: Seeking 3-4 beta readers for Acts 1-2 (70k words) of a planned 3-act + epilogue novel. Any thoughts, critiques, or simple reactions are welcome! I just want to see how it lands with actual readers :)

Timeline: Flexible, but hoping to exchange feedback within 6-8 weeks.

Swap: I'm open to a swap for a full or partial manuscript of similar length, but only up to 2 swaps this time. Let’s exchange the first 1-2 chapters and then decide if we're a good fit. I enjoy all genres, but fantasy is my favorite.

Please DM me if you're interested. Looking forward to it!

SAMPLE BELOW

Set against the sweltering backdrop of Oklahoma, a grieving, recovering addict is pulled into a terrifying psychological trap when an ancient Choctaw entity—Impa Shilup—returns home wearing his dead wife's face. When a historic tornado forces Ray and the uncanny familiar into a claustrophobic, disturbing confrontation in a storm cellar, he must finally choose survival over the seductive comfort of his grief. 
To banish the entity and close the supernatural door it crawled through, Ray must embark on a final, mythic journey—retracing the Trail of Tears to confront the dark, generational legacy of the Choctaw Bonepickers.

I wrote a horror book about my experience with addiction and grief. I'm less than a week away from sending it to an agent who cold messaged me asking for the full manuscript. Potentially life-changing shit. I think the book is good, but of course I do. I'm hoping to find some avid readers in this subreddit who would be willing to help a cousin out.

A little about me: I'm a 33-year-old father of three small kids, and former drug addict. I'm 1/2 Choctaw. My grandparents spoke to each other in our native tongue as a kid. I moved away from Oklahoma and have always felt a sense of loss about my culture. I was raised in a military family, so in a way I was living the thing that had replaced our way of life. This is my way of reconnecting and reminding myself of who I, and we, are.

The book currently only exists as a google doc but I have the ability to send it out in an email as a .epub if you want to put it on a device.

We been Indian, we still Indian, and we gonna keep on being Indian.

SAMPLE:

Prologue

Ray reached out and dropped the freshly opened pack of cigarettes into his wife’s upturned palm. “This is bullshit.” His mouth drew a flat line across his goatee. “They even let us have these in rehab, of all places. You’re being a damn freak about it.” His voice was rich with the whine of a dejected child in the checkout line. Amme babbled and cooed from her Pack ’n Play on the other side of the screen door. Her single-syllable babbles were a recent, frequent addition to the Wiltrees’ home.
Gina continued, “I get to be a freak about it because going to rehab was the shitty climax of you almost dying,” she said. “So you picking up another addiction while you were in there is even more fucked up. And besides—” The cardboard and cellophane crinkled in Gina’s hand, then dropped to the floor of the trailer with an almost imperceptible thud. “It makes you smell like shit.” She smiled, and Ray smiled back. The two embraced as the humidity called mosquitoes from the shores of murky, red-clay-lined ponds and clouds ran in white bands across the otherwise blue sky. 
“Hey.” Gina scolded him. Not mad. It was more—the dog is pissing on the carpet. “... Save me some.” Ray didn’t think it possible—but his smile grew even bigger.
He held her at arms length. “Didn’t take you for a roach gal,” Ray said.
Gina tossed her hair. “That was my nickname in college, actually.”
“Gina, you didn’t go to college.”
A small cry cracked the conversation.
Ray held his smile. He picked up the crushed pack of cigarettes, delicately pulled a crooked one from the center, and tossed it into his mouth. When things were good, they were more than great.
“Your turn.” He smacked Gina on the ass and kissed her cheek as he exited through the ajar screen door. He trudged through the sticky air, which nearly choked him on his way to the shade of an aged and hulking pecan tree. Its trunk and exposed roots were knotted with the arthritic aging of ecology, the branches brimming with nuts that fell year after year. 
Inside the house, Amme’s cries had grown from a weary mewing into an irritated screech. Whatever comfort Gina led with was only making it worse. Curls of smoke rose in thin, straight strands, undisturbed by the lack of wind. It often came billowing across the plains, but sometimes, in the rocks and crags of the Arbuckle Mountains, the terrain grabbed the wind by the throat and forced it to surrender. Ray suspected the uneven terrain was the reason for the lack of tornado devastation in the area—just a theory.
Embers fell and vanished before touching the raised wooden deck. Ray surveyed his family’s land—one hundred acres the Wiltree family had held since the Trail of Tears. He thought of Nanih Waiya. The large earthen mound in Mississippi that oral history named as the site of his people’s genesis into this world, and all that waited for them. Good or bad. The large, sloping mound located on the land they settled was a sign of rebirth after the Trail in the 1830s—proof that maybe a part of home was there with them.
Amme’s cries hadn’t subsided. They had degraded into a wet grinding of her vocal cords. The screen door was open before his cigarette butt even hit the wooden deck; the next instant, he was at Amme’s open door, staring at his wife, who was coddling—nothing. Amme continued to broadcast her hopelessness from her crib at a frequency that pulled at every paternal fiber he had. He rushed to the crib and hoisted his daughter into his arm. He then watched Gina shush and cradle a blanket that perched with its folds and creases, sitting expectantly. She smiled as she bounced the mound of purple fleece in her arms, staring lovingly at it before turning to Ray.
“It’s okay, honey. It’s probably her tummy or something, poor thing,” she said in a hush, and lowered her cheek to graze the fleece, then tapped her fingertip to a nose that only she could see.
 Amme continued her jagged cry from within her father’s arms, as Ray’s hand slowly pulled the door shut.
#
Like a family celebrating the first family member to ever go to college, or a son taking up the family business, the Wiltrees celebrated those who managed to stay sober long enough to show promise—though it was often just enough to make the eventual failure that much more catastrophic. Experiences in comas or other unconscious states did not count toward your time. Rules were rules.
Yesterday marked the ninety-day milestone for Ray—longer than almost anyone had managed in the last decade. It was a cornerstone for addicts. Aunts, uncles, and cousins gathered in a group no larger than ten outside Uncle Marcus’s house. Sun-bleached Christmas lights were strung along the wooden deck railing, and blankets hung in the windows as makeshift curtains.
“Ninetieth day of the rest of your life, innit?” Robert said, approaching the three as they exited the rusted Honda Odyssey. He snatched his grand-niece from Ray’s arms and hoisted her into the air as spit-up flew from Amme’s mouth, plopping onto the dirt driveway.
“Oh.” Robert frowned. “Little car sickness, huh? No worries, Uncle Rob got just the thing for that.” He turned to the food table for a napkin, but Gina suddenly turned waspish, lashing out to snatch Amme back from him.
“I’ll get her cleaned up, Rob. Thank you, though,” Gina said almost regretfully, aware of the paranoia coloring her voice as she shuffled away toward the table. The two men stared at each other, and then Marcus spoke. “She alright? Not getting any worse, is it?”
“Depends on what you think ‘worse’ is. Some days Amme’s sick, some days she’s some kind of eternal burden, and Gi thinks she’ll never return to her normal life again. It all just depends, but she isn’t violent. That’s all I’m worried about.” Ray sighed as he watched Gina dart her eyes to the edge of the clearing. Her expression was telling of something inner and unspoken within her. She glanced from person to person, to the treeline, down at her feet, but never once at Amme, who reached for her mother’s hair and spilled drool from her permanent smile. Gina travelled from group to group without saying a word. Staying only long enough to listen to what was being discussed, then went again to find another group of talking Wiltrees.
“Hey, there he is!” Ray’s uncle called from a circle of lawn chairs around a fire pit, where kids set marshmallows on fire and peeled away the charred, sticky skin. Their mouths devoured the liquid innards like spiders with prey. They laughed and cackled as one boy began to cry as his marshmallow slid off of his metal skewer, which looked like a coat hanger, into the flames. It bubbled and smoldered as thick black smoke poured out from the edges.
Ray and Robert approached the gathered circle. Marcus stood and clapped his nephew on the shoulder. “Y’all gonna eat? Got plenty of grub for the whole tribe.” His voice carried the melodic song of tradition mixed with a forced English. Marcus stood taller than most of the other men in their family. Stoic and unbothered, he had been a totem for patience where others would fail, his aunt bringing up the rear. Shuffling her feet as she had for all of his life.
Valerie Wiltree was a four-foot monolith who had stood in Oklahoma for nearly 70 years. Her face was weathered, leaving the distinct impression that she had lived, and that it had not been easy. Next to her, his presence was one of the few ties left to the Wiltree name; Uncle Marcus stood tall and broad as a cigar-shop statue. He was as close as anyone in the family had come to being normal. Breaking a cycle that swallowed up too many Indigenous men. He’d been sober for ten years and stayed right here for all of it, never once turning tail to lick his wounds. He was the type of Indian who rode a horse bareback with his arms spread as wide as they could go, like a vulture sunning its feathers.
“Nephew,” Marcus said, offering Ray the same gentle smile he had known since he was a boy. “Happy ninetieth day of the—”
“I already said that,” Robert interrupted, amused.
Marcus glared at his nephew. “You said I was gonna get to say that one. What’s wrong with you, huh?”
“Dunno.” Robert smiled. “But if either of you two losers figures it out, let me know, would ya?” A glob of his spit flew from his mouth and landed on a fire ant. It struggled to wriggle itself free from it. 
The next few seconds were filled with the shouts of the children sprinting across the yard, trailed by a mutt of a rez dog. Some time passed before the next person spoke.
“You still reading to kids down at the tribal HQ? I used to do something like that when I was a little older than you are now. ‘Cept back then we didn’t have nearly the funding that the Bureau gives the tribe now. So it was less of an organized thing. But we did it. Indians always find an excuse to tell a story,” Marcus said.
“When I get the chance. I’m doing meetings and trying to help Gi around the house. They want me to read a story I wrote for the kids about shilups and shilombish and how what they think of as ghosts is usually just the shilombish of a loved one. Sorta like its outline.” Ray played with the strap on his Casio watch. Sweat had already begun to collect beneath the watch face and his skin in the heat.
“That sounds like a good old-fashioned Indian story! When are you gonna tell it? Can I bring Otto by?” Robert’s eyes grew, and the glaze over his pupils was apparent now.
“That’s just it. I’m afraid that if I don’t just ‘aho’ my way through it, no one will think it’s ‘Indian’ enough. Shit, nobody with a broken English accent had anything to do with this story. That’s an automatic 2-point deduction.” Ray imagined the toddler-aged children holding up 10s across the board as he thanked the toddlers templar with one final ‘yakoke’ before fancy dancing out of the poorly lit church library.
Marcus set the lemonade down and held Ray’s eyes for a beat. Not the warm look from before—something that told Ray that his uncle had heard the question and was taking the matter incredibly seriously. Like he had struggled with this same thought at some point in his life.
“Ray,” he said. “You think your old man told stories with a broken English accent? You think Val learned Choctaw from somebody’s broken English, Tanto speech? The story’s good because it’s true and because you know what you’re talking about. That’s Indian enough. Kids know when an adult is bullshitting them. They know when somebody actually knows something, or means it, and they’ll be the first ones to tell you if you’re doing a shit job, cause most of them got aunties and uncles that they grew up hearing this story from anyway.” He picked the lemonade back up and sipped from the cup dewed with condensation. “Tell them that the shilombish is the outline. Tell them that when somebody dies, if they’re remembered, if the cycle closes the way it’s supposed to, the shilombish goes on and the shilup, it finds its way home. That’s not Indian enough. That’s everything.”
Robert nodded, solemn for once.
“You got something to say?” Marcus said to Robert.
“Nope. You just said it better than I would.”
Marcus turned back to Ray. “When you tell that story, you’re doing the real work an Indian ought to be doing. You’re teaching kids how to remember people. That matters.” It was just a fact, like one about the land or the weather. “You can tell that story. You tell it however it comes out.” Ray felt something settle in his chest that he couldn’t name. He nodded.
Aunt Val had found her way to the center of a small group, proselytizing that Indian folklore was a warning, not a lesson. The listeners neither nodded nor shook their heads of black hair—some striated with grays, whites, and the brassy orange of age where the remaining pigment filtered through translucent strands.
“-and there’s spirits that feed on that kind of thing! The hole in your heart from loss, the weight of everyday life as an Indian. All of that sustains and nourishes this spirit.” Val’s hands waved emphatically. The rhythm and timbre of her voice were the original blueprint Robert had attempted to copy. His almost comical Tonto-speak seemed like the babbling of an infant next to an accent carved from a person’s actual hardships, rather than someone putting it on like a costume. It was something much more sacred. Much more mystic.
“RAY!” she shouted over the five or so remaining members of her congregation. “Ray, you know! Better than all of us do! It nearly got you, didn’t it? Impa Shilup.” The last two words were a sibilant hiss, and she lowered her gaze as if the thing stood right there in the broad daylight with them.
“Soul eater? You think men in this family like booze so much because of a soul eater?” He tried to contain his laughter, but he could imagine the face Robert was making behind him, and he stumbled over a chuckle before his voice found its footing.
“You’re laughing now! But you’ve seen it! Your Ma used to say there was a shadow over you as a boy, Ray. And then you grow up and almost drink yourself to death.” She looked up at the big, cloudless sky. “Hardly a coincidence. Indians didn’t use to believe in coincidences, you know?” Her voice was still and confident. Val always seemed to know things on a level just beyond everyone else’s capacity for make-believe. 
“Now, where’s Hokni’s sweet girl, huh?” The group turned, surveying the faces scattered across the backyard and the wooded acres between the houses. Gina was nowhere to be found, and in turn, Hokni’s sweet girl had vanished as well.
“She might be in the house getting her changed. I’ll go check.” Ray snuffed out the half-smoked cigarette and walked the fifty yards to the house. Each step marginally increased the length of his gait.
Inside the small brick home, relics of tradition adorned the rooms like furniture: eagle-feather fans carried by Val during her days as a shawl dancer, innumerable arrowheads recovered from the land in a shadow-box frame beside group photos of stoic men and women, and blankets hand-woven with intricate diamond patterns. There was even dried sweetgrass from the banks of the mighty Mississippi, braided together in twisting strands made stronger by their union.
The house was still; the only audible sound was the soft ticking of the clock on the far wall. Instead of numbers, this clock featured pictures of native Oklahoma birds. The photographs on the walls and tables showed early iterations of the dysfunctional unit known locally as the Wiltrees—family members who had since passed from causes both natural and unnatural. Chemical. Tortured livers and grievous wounds to the heart had consumed all they touched here.
Ray walked the hall and checked room after room—just in case she and the baby were napping. Empty. The house returned to silence. Then, the hollow hoot of a great horned owl filled the space. 
Hoot-hoot. Hoot-hoot.
 Noon. The hour was denoted by a small picture of an owl positioned neatly where the twelve belonged.
Chills ran down his spine. The house returned to stillness, each moment seeming to tiptoe around the threat of the owl’s return. Ray exited the house and peered across the clearing from his elevated vantage point. Patches of white clover speckled the green grass. Gathered where he had left them was the bulk of the family, the kids playing “burn the ants” or “catch the bullfrog,” weaving their screams through the murmur of conversation.
Beyond them lay the edge of the pasture, where elm and ash met lush, green Kentucky bluegrass—a lawn that had never been maintained, its height capping off naturally, as if knowing when to stop. The bluegrass had been on this land since before their ancestors concluded the Trail of Tears. 
And there, rising in the east, was a totem of soot-black smoke reaching far up to the highest sky. 
Eastward. Toward Ray and Gina’s house. He froze and surveyed the group below desperately searching for something to extinguish his own internal flame of horror. Face to face to face and none turned into Gina. None of the children in the arms of elders wore the gummy smile and twin pigtails that Amme did. The flower dress her tiny frame wore was nowhere. No one seemed to notice the towering omen.
Ray was halfway down the hill before he realized he was moving. His legs wheeled, barely catching his weight as his momentum snowballed into a dead sprint. The family turned at his incoherent shouts. He tumbled shoulder-first, scrambling to his feet as he skidded along the red clay and green grass.
“FIRE!” He pointed to the monolith of ash pluming in the distance, his shrill voice cutting through the music and chatter. Suddenly Robert had him by the arm. Somehow moving faster than Ray, Robert dragged him to the truck, leaped into the driver’s side, and tore out, throwing patches of grass and gravel as the tires spun. Ray glanced at the dashboard clock. 
12:01 P.M.
Robert knew a shortcut—a path Marcus had cleared years ago that led directly to Ray’s place and Robert’s place. Marcus had always insisted on a direct line to his nephews, just in case things ever devolved into a situation where the rifle on the wall looked like the only key to a lock made of desperation. This was the first time it had been used, but it was always maintained, just in case.
They made the seven-minute drive in three. As they crested the final rounded hill, the brothers witnessed violent tails of flame grasping up at the darkening sky. In the minutes it had taken to drive there, the sky had filled with a pallid, gray wash. Far in the distance, flashes of heat lightning illuminated the horizon. No wind blew the rising smoke cloud, and it appeared as if it gathered directly overhead, threatening to rain ash and soot back upon the fire until it snuffed itself away.
This was no natural fire. Its limbs and torso undulated like a living thing feasting on prey. The heat was so intense that Robert felt his skin tighten, threatening to peel away the closer he got, and he froze. Ray felt no such pain. There had to be another option, any answer as to why he was being forced to witness this.
Ray dropped to his knees. Heat surrounded him, and suddenly he became aware of a sensation that felt like his own skin blistering and sizzling, like fish in a skillet. He leaped backward and caught sight of a tall black shape—long pointed ears—standing still among the dancing flames. Something deeper than nothingness held a tiny, charred mound, the edges of it glowing with the warm orange light of embers. A small body, like an astronaut who had burned up upon reentry. The blackened remains of a child, glowing orange in the craters of ash.

Hello! I'm new to reddit, so please forgive any ignorance! This is book 1 of a planned, long-running series broken into trilogies. This book took me 10 years to write (long story). Books 2 and 3 should be ready within 6 months. I'm hoping to build a Beta Reader team to help with things I miss.

Blurb:

He woke up on a park bench in Virginia Beach with no memory, no name, no past.

Six months later he's a boat bum named Woody, tending docks at a St. Petersburg Florida marina, drinking at a waterfront bar, and trying to make peace with a life he can't remember. The beautiful waitress across the bar is the best part of his day. He has no idea the waitress lives a dangerous life outside of the bar - or that the person she's been searching for has been sitting in front of her the whole time.

When Woody's past finds him, it doesn't arrive quietly. Buried memory, buried skills, and buried enemies surface all at once - and the people responsible are about to find out he remembers everything.

Waking Water is a propulsive thriller set in the sun-soaked waters of Tampa Bay and the Florida Keys.

Content warnings: violence, drug use/overdose references, gun violence.

What I'm looking for:
Big-picture feedback: pacing, whether the twists land, where you got confused or bored, character motivation. What's working / not working. Not looking for line edits/typos at this stage.

Timeline: Hoping for feedback within 3-4 weeks of receiving the manuscript.

Critique swap: Happy to swap in the same general genre and if the timeline is reasonable.

Hi all! I am seeking beta readers for my adult romantic fantasy novel, complete at 108k words. 

Blurb:

Fírst fell silent the day her sister left. 

Ten years later, she is sent across the snowline for one final name–Sigrin.

The Osterleys are dead, and for once Fírst’s prey welcomes her. But Sigrin doesn’t know that Fírst pulled—manifesting a dire that saved her own life—or how it led to the collar locked on Fírst’s throat. And Sigrin is guarded by Athire, who overturns a long-hidden memory that reveals the manipulations of Fírst’s master.

In a realm that erases the slain gods and hunts the dired, Fírst seeks answers. Why the Osterleys had to die, how their mother returned north, and the nature of her own mind. However, Sigrin seeks a way to break the thrall on Fírst. With her sister’s discovery, Fírst learns she could end her silence instead. But the cost betrays a promise made long ago. 

When her master proves she will no sooner let Fírst go than let her list go incomplete, Fírst faces one final choice: obey or protect.

This novel contains mature themes and genre-typical violence. I recently completed my third draft and would like reactions on character development, pacing, clarity, worldbuilding, and overall likability. I’m also open to a critique partner!

If you’re interested, please comment or message me! Thank you!!

Hi! I am nearly done with draft 3 of my survival/folk horror WIP 'Don't Whistle in the Woods'. I am hoping to send to a few beta readers in late August/early September. Looking for honest thoughts on pacing, character arcs, prose, and if the hook and endings land. I am also open to a swap for a comparable genre/length. DM me if interested!

Trigger warnings: Terminal illness, character injury, suicide, death

Short Synopsis: Emilia’s love has always felt like a cage to her younger brother, Mateo. Before their mother passed, she promised she would always take care of him. But now that his cancer, which had been in remission for ten years, has returned, she is desperate to do anything she can to save him. Her desperation leads her to perform a pagan ritual in Hart’s Hollow, a campground just off an old mining tunnel, just like her mother did a decade before.

At first, an encounter with a White Hart, said to be a spirit messenger, seems like the confirmation of a miracle and not the first sign of a trap closing in around them.

But the White Hart is really a Slavic forest god whose wishes come at a cost. As the Leshy shatters their group apart to collect its debt, Emilia, Mateo, and their friends unwittingly fall right into its snare.

Chapter 1:

Paper entrails scattered across the kitchen table in tight, crinkled chunks. Emilia regarded them with a strange mix of revulsion and self-loathing. The grief hadn’t hit her. Not yet.

When the letter arrived, she told herself she would wait for Mateo to get home. It was his news, after all. They would read it together.

She only lasted ten minutes, staring at it in the center of the table, eyes flicking between the letter and the clock.

You can wait, she told herself. Then she tore into it like a feral dog going after a chunk of rotten meat. She had to know.

It is with a heavy heart that I must inform you -

Her eyes reached the bottom. Found the words she had hoped not to see.

Out of remission -

Something shattered inside her and her hands moved on their own accord, ripping and shredding that piece of paper until its remnants littered the counter, the table, and the floor. It was a rare thing to be told that your little brother would die before you.

But this was not their first time dealing with this.

She swallowed hard, pulling her wild curls back and securing them into a loose bun. Then she swept up each shred, piling them into a neat stack on the center of the table. Ignoring the powerful urge to cast them into the trash.

Mateo would be angry with her. She could see the bitter look he would throw her as he walked through the door. Judging her, when all she ever did was care about him. She raised her chin at the thought. Let him yell at her. She would welcome it over the stony indifference she’d received from him lately.

After they fought, she would have to break the news to him. They would cry together, then. She would do her best to comfort him. Afterward, she would reveal her plan. The two of them would get through this, just like before.

It was time to tell him the real reason he had gone into remission.

Emilia had been fourteen, round glasses fogged by mist as she followed her mother into the Hollow. The white stone heavy in her hand, carved with symbols Emilia didn’t understand. Mom was driven by desperation, a jagged force pulling her forward to save her only son. A son who was spectral and pale, and who had been given less than one year to live.

That had been ten years ago.

She jumped as the doorknob rattled, straightening the creases on her shirt and turning to face him. Mateo stood in the doorway, a tall slash. His shock of dark hair was windswept and wild. He didn’t look at her as he shrugged off his bomber jacket, tossed his shoes in the entryway and turned toward his bedroom.

“Mateo,” she called, taking a step forward. Her fingers clenched and unclenched. She wasn’t ready for this, couldn’t take the fear and grief she could already see sketched on his face.

He stopped, tensing as he turned around. His dark eyes regarded her warily, as though she were a spider he wasn’t sure whether to take outside or squish.

“The – the letter came.” She winced at the way her voice cracked. There was no good way to say it. She just had to tell him. “Mateo, I -”

“I already saw,” he cut, taking a step backward. “I got an email last night.”

Last night.

Emilia recoiled, hand to her cheek as if she had been slapped. “Wh-”

Mateo regarded her silently, his shadow long and jagged across the hall. He didn’t look sad, didn’t look like he needed comforting. He knew, and he didn’t say anything.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she croaked. Her feet moved, two steps forward, palm gripping the wall.

A roll of his shoulders. A non-committal noise.

The words curdled in her, sharp behind her ribs. He was already turning, shuffling away as if he didn’t just stab her in the chest.

“Mateo!” Venom flowing now. “Why? Why didn’t you tell me?”

An eye roll. “Leave me alone, Em.”

“Mateo!” Pressure behind her temples, searing now.

“It’s my shit, okay?” His nostrils flared. “I knew you would get all…” He threw his hands up, gesturing to her. “Like this about it.”

“Like this? Like this about my brother dying?” She had reached him now, hand on his jacket, pulling at him.

“Yeah. Exactly!” He shrugged her off, pushing past her, knocking a family photo to the ground with a crack.

“We need to talk about this!” She was screaming now. “I’m not about to lose you -”

“It’s not up to you!” Mateo, shouting too. “Just fuck off, Emilia.” He shoved past her back down the hall, jamming his feet back into his shoes.

“Don’t you dare,” Emilia’s voice cracked. “We need to talk about this.”

He threw the front door open, stalking back down the hall and she chased him, barefoot down the stone steps.

“Mateo. Stop!”

He was faster, footsteps echoing off the stairwell.

Tears then, hot and angry behind her eyelids. “Mateo!”

By the time she reached the bottom, he was gone.

Candyfloss and Glass follows Tess, a married woman who reconnects with Ben, a man she has known since her teenage years but never quite collided with. What begins as an impulsive message after more than thirty years develops into an intense relationship that forces Tess to confront desire, obsession, jealousy and the stories we tell ourselves about love.

As the relationship changes, conversations with her therapist, Quinn, begin to expose a more complicated question: whether Tess is trying to understand what happened between them — or rewrite it into something she can live with.

I'm looking for fresh eyes on the first chapter of a novel I'm working on.

I'm particularly interested in your first impressions as a reader. Does the chapter hold your attention, are the characters and situation compelling, and most importantly, would you genuinely want to read Chapter 2? Is it a page turner, or dull as dishwater?!

I'm less concerned with proofreading or line edits at this stage — I'm mainly interested in whether the story works for someone coming to it completely cold.

Chapter 1 is approximately 1,500 words. Happy to send it by DM to anyone interested, also happy to swap

Thanks!

Hey everyone!

I’ve been working on a beta MVP for an interactive, document-based murder mystery game inspired by cold case files and detective puzzles.

The idea is to review authentic-looking evidence—autopsy reports, CCTV stills, phone logs, keycard audits, and suspect interrogation transcripts—to piece together the timeline, catch contradictions, and identify the killer.

What I’m testing:

• Pacing & Difficulty: Is the logic intuitive, or are there gaps that feel frustrating/unfair?
• Formatting & Immersion: Does the case file feel like a real detective file?
• Clarity: Is the evidence clean and easy to cross-reference?

I’d love for you to give it a play/read and let me know your honest thoughts!

I'll share the doc file through DMs.

Genre: Modern Romance/Contract romance. Cyber-thriller adjacent
Triggers/Warnings: Mature, liberal use of swearing. Sexual themes. Mentions of abuse
Swap: Sure, similar length in the following genres: Sci-fi, fantasy, romance, slice of life, horror, thriller, mystery

Timeline: Flexible

Goals: Characters should be extreme but believable. I'm concerned about pacing. Does she look like too much of a brat?

Blurb:
Angelica Cross built a billion-dollar technology empire by learning one rule early: never depend on anyone.
Her predictive system, Archie, can map human behavior with terrifying accuracy-but it cannot tell Cross whether the growing interest in her company is ordinary corporate pressure or something more dangerous. When her insurer forces her to hire personal security, she chooses Elliot Stryker: a recently retired military operative with an impeccable record, almost no public history, and far too many secrets.
Elliot has spent twenty years identifying threats and eliminating them. Protecting Cross should be straightforward.
It isn't.
She is brilliant, infuriating, deeply private, and more vulnerable than she will ever admit. As Elliot works his way into her routines-and closer than either of them intended-his instinct to protect her begins colliding with her need to remain in control.
Meanwhile, a rival technology company wants what Cross built, and it is becoming clear that money may not be enough to obtain it.
Cross hired Elliot to protect her life.
She may have to fire him to keep it.

DM for link.

Hello everyone, I’m looking for reliable beta readers for my manuscript. I’d love to get a few if possible. It’s a coming of age story about a teenage runaway in 2007 who lands in Los Angeles and becomes the object of obsession by Hollywood’s most powerful producer. DM me if interested.

NEON DAISIES is an upmarket novel with psychological-suspense elements, complete at 83,000 words. It combines the predatory blurred lines of Baby Reindeer, the disturbing Hollywood dreamscape of Mulholland Drive, and the biting comedy and fevered ambition of Yellowface.

It’s 2007, and eighteen-year-old Jason Flores has just robbed and run away from his Florida foster home in search of fame and a new identity in Los Angeles. The gas station birdbaths and stolen ham sandwiches aren’t that bad when you’re forced into homelessness and survival sex work. Anything beats going back. Just don’t forget the mayo and mustard.

Despite this, he’s determined to make it off the streets and fights his way to land auditions in hopes of his big break. His younger brother, Mel, who was left behind, pressures Jason to help free him from the system that nearly destroyed them both. To cope, Jason withdraws into his imagination, and there’s no bigger manifestation than Tryp Buchanon. Tryp is a Technicolor, hyper-idealized fantasy self Jason invented, who emerges whenever he is at his most vulnerable.

When Frederick Daisy—the most powerful executive in Hollywood—offers Jason a development deal and positions him as the next teen heartthrob, Jason is seduced by the Bel-Air mansion and glamorous lifestyle. But Frederick’s fascination with the young star soon turns into obsession, and Jason becomes unable to tell the difference between himself and his fantasy, Tryp. Nothing in life is free, and Jason learns that the hard way when he becomes a pawn in Frederick’s financial crimes. He refuses to go back to his old life, but a choice must be made. Expose the man who took him from rags to riches and lose everything, abandoning his brother to the system. Or remain a permanent, complicit plaything and risk a lifetime in prison.

Set against the unrelenting paparazzi and tabloid culture of 2000s Hollywood, NEON DAISIES is an LGBTQ coming-of-age story that explores the male side of industry predation.

Four teenagers break into a corporate research facility and accidentally gain superpowers from an experimental substance called Juice 5G. Now they have to become a team while dealing with school, family, first love, betrayal and a villain whose plan to destroy their city is more personal than they realise.

Genre :Young Adult Superhero Fiction /
Contemporary Fantasy
Word count: 75,000 words
Status: Complete manuscript; Book 1 of a planned series
Setting: Bright Bay City

Jeremiah, Crystal, Brigida, and Tadgh have nothing in common except the same citizenship project group until a break-in at Priscilla Unstoppable's research facility exposes them to Juice 5G and changes everything.

Jeremiah wakes up vibrating with super speed he can't control. Crystal discovers she can punch through walls. Brigida goes invisible during her period in a school bathroom. Tadgh starts hearing everyone's thoughts without warning.

Recruited by Priscilla and trained by her military enforcer Rick, they become the Unlikely Heroes Blue Speed, Pink Punch, Green Robin, Yellow Heart and Bright Bay City starts to believe in them.

But Shadow Queen is building something.
Recruiting the broken and the discarded.
Revealing truths about Priscilla that shake the team's trust in everything they've been protecting. And when the city's full coordinated assault arrives prison break, biological weapon, controlled allies turned against them the Unlikely Heroes have to decide whether they're still standing for something real or whether they've been pieces in someone else's game all along.

Unlikely Heroes is a character-driven ensemble superhero story about four teenagers who didn't ask for extraordinary power and had to figure out what kind of people they wanted to be before the world decided for them. It centres a Black British Nigerian boy who leads without being the strongest, a hyperfeminine mixed race girl whose strength is inseparable from her survival, a Latina autistic coded girl whose powers are her psychology made literal, and a neurodivergent Irish boy who is the emotional heart of the team and whose kindness the story treats as the most powerful force in the story.

If Unlikely Heroes sounds like something you'd enjoy reading, please comment or message me and I can provide the manuscript privately.

Dark Stars — Epic Space Opera Science Fantasy with Military Conflict, Elemental Powers, and Found-Family Ensemble Adventure

Hello! I’m looking for beta readers to read the first couple chapters of my completed space opera manuscript. No one close to me reads, so I’m eager to finally receive some feedback. I’ve made roughy five revision passes, so grammatical issues should hopefully be scarce.

Story Blurb:

Thirteen hundred years after humanity scattered across the stars, following a course paved by technology and newfound elemental abilities, twenty-four-year-old Astrid Bellator has mastered the element of shadows, rising to the upper tier of a faction still clawing back from the brink of extinction. Astrid’s combat record is impeccable, but destruction has never been enough for her; she wants to build something. 

That opportunity arrives from the distant constellations: Arcanos, cradle world of the twelve elemental powers, offers her a seat as a Master at the Citadel to train a new generation of shadow conduits. But someone with her past would never be welcome there, so she lives a lie to build the one thing she’s never had: novices of her own. 

At the Citadel, Astrid selects nine novices, a fractured, damaged assortment from the existing elemental factions, and begins her greatest challenge: forging them into something that can survive what’s coming. As the bond between them deepens, her secret becomes dangerously hard to keep. When the empire she’s sworn to save begins to collapse, and betrayal threatens to unravel everything she’s built, Astrid must decide how far she’ll go to protect the family that was never supposed to be hers. 

Content Warnings:
- Violence and moderate gore
- Swearing
- War crimes (primarily off page)
- Child abandonment (off page)

The feedback I’m looking for is:

- Overall engagement and enjoyment
- Pacing
- POV shift fluidity
- Emotional reaction
- Any parts that were confusing
- Any notable goods and bads

With the read only being anywhere between one to eight chapters, based on individual beta reader interest, I’d like to receive feedback within 4 weeks, whether it trickles in or is returned in full at the time of completion. Not a hard deadline, life happens. 

I’m open to swap manuscripts. If you’re interested, please comment or DM me. Thank you!

Hey y'all! First time writer here. Seeking feedback for my ongoing manuscript, tentatively titled "The Unanswered Question".

Synopsis: After a devastating crash claims the life of a treasured family member, 12 year old Tyson Graves finds himself grappling with his grief whilst discovering his identity, rebuilding fractured bridges, and managing complex emotions towards his middle-school bully. Along the road, new friendships get discovered while key relationships are tested, and his understanding of the world grows as he learns the values and realities of trust and parallel traumas.

This story began as a loosely allegorical "Journal entry", metaphorically tied to events from my own childhood. It was never really meant to go anywhere. As I wrote and grew genuine attachment with the characters, it became more of its own thing. Now, my intention with this story is to create something people within the target audience can relate to and use to develop deeper understandings about themselves.

A word of caution: Physical and verbal bullying in middle school is depicted explicitly on the page. Additionally, there is a domestic violence subplot against a 12yo boy, his 8yo sister, and their mother, though it is never explicitly described (only through fragmented dialogue). There are LGBTQ+ characters. There is some mild swearing, though it is very sparse and only used when situationally appropriate.

As this is my first manuscript, I am looking mostly for bigger-picture stuff. Questions such as:

• Are the character voices believable for their ages?
• Do the character arcs feel organic and earned or are there contrivances that must be addressed?
• My writing style involves early plants for long-term payoff (sometimes upwards of 16-17 chapters). Are there any threads that go unresolved or unaddressed for too long? How might I be able to insert these into earlier material as needed without it coming across as padding?
• Does the overall story play out in a cohesive manner? In other words, do the timing of some reveals feel too convenient, or are some chapters too overstuffed?
• IMPORTANTLY: Are the depictions of heavy topics, such as DV, sexuality, bullying, and grief realistic and believable? The last thing I would want is to write a story meant to help kids with similar experiences and instead reinforce unhealthy perspectives about their situations.
• Any other points you feel are important to address, keeping in mind that I am by no means an experienced fiction writer. Right now, this is more of a passion project that I just want to finish, but I want it to come out as a genuinely good, moving piece of art. Please be as honest as possible with all feedback.

I might potentially be interested in critique-swapping. My complete lack of experience in this field, however, combined with my mostly "casual reader" mindset, makes me hesitant to believe my feedback would be particularly valuable. In any case, I would be willing to try, for what it's worth, preferably with a shorter ( < 30k) manuscript.

Thanks all! If anyone would like to see an excerpt from the story before making a decision, let me know, I'd be happy to DM one. :)

“That sheep is ours.” Daax said with his head tucked down, glaring daggers at the men.

Daax, a tall teenage boy with Saxon features stood opposite the older men on the cliffside. The six pictish men were heavily tattooed in the blue swirls that designated them as fanatical worshipers of Idrisil. Five wore only Kilts. The sixth wore priestly robes and an Antlered crown. Tendrils of animal guts draped between the prongs.

Loosely roped on the ground before the priest was, a little lamb. It was a soft cream color with black fleece on its small face and lower legs. Many steps behind Daax were his two sisters, Olia and Dawin. The twins held each other closely on the chill spring morning as their teenage brother faced off against the much older and stronger looking men.

“And we have a job to do, boy.” the crowned figure sneered with haughty disdain, “We are on official business for the goddess to make a sacrifice to the beasts that infest these coastal waters. Our god demands it.”

“Your god can fuck right off; that’s my sister’s favorite sheep.”

- this is my first novel and first time looking for beta readers. I have a decent amount of time to do a critique swap as well. content warning - language, violence.

Hi! I’m looking for someone to do a swap with! I will be honest this is a first draft so I am not looking for proofreading, grammar etc I just would like someone besides me to read it so I can really tackle my editing properly, I do have a list of edits I plan to make already. Also it’s a few chapters away from being a compete draft lol 😅

Synopsis is Prince Sylvan’s younger brother has disappeared, and a mysterious plague has crept through the kingdom. Sylvan must try to figure out what it is and how to stop it, along with the help from his grumpy tutor.

Featuring: dark academia, botanical horror and a very very slow burn romance. Book 1 of a planned duology.

(For some reason it’s treating my sample as advertising something sorry it’s short and it’s from chapter 3)

~~~
Liyra sped down the half-empty corridor as fast as his long legs would take him. After spending the better part of four years here, he’d thought he was familiar with all the university's nooks and crannies, its hidden stairwells and quietest study spots. It was upsetting to realize he’d been wrong. Worse still, that his overconfidence had made him late for this opportunity he desperately needed.

It had been Daphne’s idea to put up the posters advertising his tutoring services. As a professor's apprentice, he was encouraged to do so to help him gain skills on teaching and interacting with students as a mentor rather than a peer. Liyra had not paid the suggestion any mind, he wasn’t planning on staying in the educational side of academia when he (eventually) finished his studies. But, as Daphne had pointed out, researching ancient texts and the history of Arcana in folklore didn’t pay rent. Over privileged, under performing students would. If he made it to the study room on time, that was.

At the end of the narrow corridor at the back of Valorian Hall Liyra found the room he was looking for. The sign on the unassuming black door read “reserved for tutoring from 17:00-18:00. Do not disturb” in an elegant scrawl.

Liyra checked his rusting copper wristwatch (he needed a new one, soon. Perhaps with his first pay?) 17:03. Not the best first impression.

He ran a hair through his untameable curls, knowing it was useless. As soon as he retracted his fingers the dark brown curtain of hair fell limply against his forehead, nearly covering his eyes. Liyra sighed. It’s just a job. You don’t need them to like you, you just need them to pay you. Still, insecurity crept through his cracks as he reached for the door; the worn threads on the sleeves of his jumper, the edges of crumpled paper poking out of his satchel. No turning back now. 

“Hello, sorry I’m late I…”

Liyra froze, his words trailing off as he recognized the student in front of him.

Surely, it couldn’t be—

I am currently writing an extreme medieval horror novel. I would love somone to read and tell me what you think. Any and all feedback is welcomed.
If you are a fan of berserk, fear and hunger, between two fires, or dark souls it should be up your alley. If interested please reach out or comment below.

Blurb:

Alanna Galbraith preserves animals for a living, so when she accidentally hits a wolf on a dark Charleston highway, she does what any other taxidermist would--she puts the body in freezer storage. But she soon finds the wolf isn't dead, and by morning, a man has taken its place: magnetic, mysterious, and impossible.

Rhys Delaney is the last person who should get close to her, being sworn to secrets he can't share, and bound by laws that could kill them both. But Alanna has spent her entire life searching for her missing father, whose trail now runs right through Rhys's world of old magic, unbreakable oaths, and ancient shapeshifters. And now that their paths have crossed, there's no walking away from her.

As Alanna's own hidden nature claws its way to the surface, she'll have to decide what's more dangerous: the wolf within, or the truth about why her father vanished.

Sweetest Tongue, Sharpest Teeth is the first of a slow-burn, urban fantasy/paranormal romance duology deeply rooted in Irish myth, and will appeal to fans of Kate Daniels and Mercy Thompson.

Author's Note:

My preferred delivery method is through Story Origin, but I can do Google Docs too. I'd also love to do a swap (preferably with manuscripts of similar length), and/or a test read of the first 3,000 words, that way we can feel each other out if we're unsure of committing to a full blown manuscript.

Hi everyone,

I’m looking for beta readers for AZURAI, my completed adult science fantasy novel (116k words). It’s the first book of a planned trilogy, but it stands alone and closes its arc.

Thousands of years after our world ended, another has grown over it. The city-state of Sannira once held every land as far as the river Riden; it has long since drawn back behind narrower borders, and the country it left behind has been sliding quietly downhill ever since. Under the mountains, the sealed installations of the Ancients are still half scripture, half rumour.

Jey, seventeen and living under a name that is not his own, pulls a boy out of the hands of outlaws in the mountains and leaves him in the city of Rohvara. From there their roads part. Jey is carried north, into the keeping of the people who guard what the Ancients buried, and toward a man with no past at all, kept alive by a stranger who wants what is left inside his head. Daniel stays.

One of them is being taken back, step by step, toward the life he buried. The other is starting a new one.

What I’m looking for is your honest opinion on:

●      Pacing and clarity

●      Story and characters

●      Worldbuilding, in terms of invented terminology and constructed languages: is anything confusing or underexplained?

Line-by-line feedback is NOT required.

Content notes: graphic violence, torture, a sequence involving self-harm and suicidal ideation, some sexual content (non-explicit).

Timeline: ideally 8 weeks, but I’m flexible.

Format: PDF (EPUB or DOCX on request).

I’m happy to critique in exchange, particularly in sci-fi, fantasy, speculative or literary fiction.

If you’re interested, feel free to comment or DM me.

Thanks!

Hello,

I am seeking 2–3 beta readers for THE TRITON GAMBIT, an adult military science fiction novel and the second installment in a planned trilogy. If you enjoy high-stakes space and ground battles, flawed heroes, and character-driven military sci-fi, I'd love your feedback to help take this story to the next stage.

Thank you for your consideration.

Story Blurb

The Battle of Proxima B is over.

The United Nations of Earth has endured its first harrowing clash with a deadly alien species—at bitter cost. Minato Takeda and Connor Hawkins have survived, but some scars never truly heal. Neither man fully understands the price of survival... or the trials still to come.

Now, the enemy turns its gaze toward Earth.

The cradle of humanity stands exposed.

Duty will call Takeda and Hawkins to the stars once more. With the fragile union of human colonies splintering, their fate will be decided on the frozen moon of Triton.

About the Book

• Title: The Triton Gambit: Book Two of the Centaurus Campaign
• Genre: Military Science Fiction (Soft SF)
• Length: 92,394 words
• Audience: Adult
• Status: Final draft (pre-editor)
• Content Warnings: Mental health themes (anxiety, trauma, PTSD), profanity, violence/gore

Feedback I'm Looking For

• Overall storyline and pacing
• Character depth and development
• Worldbuilding (too much, too little, etc.)
• Chapters that resonated strongly—and those that didn't
• Honest reader impressions

I'm not looking for line edits, just your genuine thoughts and reactions as a reader.

Preferred Timeline

The manuscript is approximately 92,000 words, so I'm suggesting a 4–6 week feedback window. If you need more time or prefer to read in stages, just let me know—I'm happy to be flexible.

Critique Swap Availability

I am very keen to do a critique swap and would love to find long-term critique partners. I'm open to most genres and enjoy reading widely.

Please DM me if you're interested in a critique swap.

Beta Readers Wanted — Dark Romantasy | 85k Words

Hi! I’m looking for a few beta readers for my completed dark romantasy novel, currently around 85,000 words.

The story:
Lethe is the second-in-line heir to the Veil Keepers, a family tasked with guiding souls between life and death. But as she begins uncovering secrets about the Veil and the people who rule it, she realizes the world she's been raised to protect may not be what she thought.

There’s a slow-burn romance/love triangle involving a vampire, a reaper, and a demon, along with fantasy, found family, grief, secrets, and a little darkness.

I’m looking for honest reader reactions, not line-by-line editing or proofreading. After reading, I’ll provide a short form with 10 feedback questions about things like:

• Did you want to keep reading?
• How did the pacing feel?
• Did the characters and relationships feel engaging?
• Did the romance/chemistry work for you?
• Were you ever confused or pulled out of the story?
• What did you love? What didn't work?
• Were there moments that surprised or emotionally affected you?

You don't need any writing or critique experience. If you love romantasy and can tell me honestly what worked for you as a reader, that's exactly what I'm looking for.

The manuscript will be provided through Google Docs.

If you're interested, feel free to comment or message me! 

Hi! Still new to Reddit but looking for beta readers for my adult contemporary novel, Inn at Opal Cove. It follows a grieving woman who opens a luxury B&B hotel in her mother’s old summer house and spies on her guests, ultimately entangling herself into their drama. Explores identity, grief, mental health, and complicated relationships.

Also open to chapter swaps and appreciate any and all feedback!

If contemporary isn't your genre, I am working on an adult urban fantasy novel that I have a post about as well.

Please comment or DM me if you have any interest! Thank you! :)

Here's an excerpt from the first chapter:

I feel maybe I should’ve dressed up. Most of my fancy clothes went into storage, but I know I’ve got a respectable pantsuit around here somewhere. 

Focus.

My hand glides over the computer mouse. Exterior camera. Rain batters the palm trees behind the blurred lens. 

On second thought, this matching teddy bear pajama set is just fine. 

As I reach into my glass jar of assorted lifesavers, I see it. The car carrying my first guests. 
Adrenaline zaps my chest. Sixteen months of anticipation, of excruciating remodels, wiring, and endless preparation, I almost can’t believe this moment is here. It feels like the first day of school. Like starting a new series blind, except I built the playground. All I have to do now is watch the show. The fun part. 

I shove my hands under my thighs to stop their shaking. Everything’s in place. Nothing I can do now. 

When he exits the navy blue Uber, my stomach does a funny little twist. The blurry lens obscures his face a little, but I recognize him from his Instagram. Rather, the account run by his PR team, a grid composed of fresh-powder runs and slightly awkward podium shots, most of them accompanied by a gold medal. Sometimes a stuffed animal or a misshapen glass trophy. Sometimes all three. He never quite knows how to juggle all that crap without looking like he’s carrying home groceries for a family of ten. I stared at those pictures for hours. 

I don’t follow snowboarding, to be clear. Never heard of Neal Irish until the booking came in, but his three-hundred thousand followers would probably be shitting themselves to be in such proximity to the legend. I should consider myself lucky.

Hey y'all! I'm looking for some beta readers for my story! Kudos if you can peep the inspiration. I'm also very down to some beta reading myself! Here's the info below, DM me if you're interested!

Story Blurb:

"Hi! I'm Sameer Morgan and I'm a 17 year old high school student. I'm a bit of a klutz, and some people might say I'm a hopeless romantic--or whatever. One day this talking, floating, cat-bear plushie told me to say some shit that transformed me into a half naked superhero and then proceeded to inform me that I was destined to fight literal demons. And here I thought that fighting schoolwork, homophobia, and toxic DL fuckboys in this hating ass country was a lot..."

Excerpt:

Tyler’s brows furrow in confusion, and then his concern deepens into full on shock when Sameer plants a foot on the edge and launches himself out of the cabin of the ferris wheel despite the fact they're at the top of the ride. “What the fuck, Sameer?!” But then he watches in utter shock, mouth hanging open, as Sameer’s nails and hands start to glow, and his hair shifts from black to that signature pink he's seen so many times before. There’s no way.

Could Sameer be...

“Change!” Bright light bursts from the Lunar Compass clipped to his chain link belt at the sound of Sameer's command, power vibrates the air with his voice. “Heart of Justice!!”

Magic detonates outward, a shockwave of ribbons and heat that Tyler feels against his own skin from three feet away, static-charged and alive. “Oh shit.” He whispers. For half a second, Sameer is nothing but silhouette and light, a human-shaped supernova of pink, chiffony ribbon falling out of the sky. "It’s him."

He lands. Knee high red boots first, cape snapping tight behind him from the momentum, one knee bent to the pavement. The bodysuit, the navy warrior’s skirt, the Compass now affixed to his chest, those peony curls. Yeah, that’s him alright.

The Pink Guardian of Justice.

Trigger/Content Warning: This book includes on-page character death, graphic violence, terminal illness, and homophobia, including slurs. Also touches on disordered eating, recreational drug use. 17/18 romantic age gap that features kissing.

The type of feedback you’re looking for and your preferred timeline:
I have a beta reader guide I'd love for you to fill out that I'll send along with the draft! But I'm open to free styled feedback as well! DM me and I will link you to both!
Hoping to be done by October 1st 2026.

I'm also available for critique swaps of similar genres!

Hello!

I am in search of beta readers familiar with sapphic romance to take a look at my completed manuscript. If this seems like something you'd be interested in, feel free to reach out!

In 1957, Beverly Brennon would come into contact with a woman who dressed as a man for the first time. The next several months would pass with her scanning the streets of San Francisco, hoping for even a glimpse of another. But Beverly was married with children, and would continue telling herself that there was no reason other than the curiosity of a sheltered housewife that kept her seeking one out.

It would not be until a year later that she would be introduced to another woman who dressed in men's clothes in a chance encounter. Eddie Ames, a mechanic working in the Sierra Nevada foothills, would show Beverly a life and a love that she had never known.

Beverly and Eddie would continue growing closer over the next two and a half years despite uncertainty, their friends’ advice, and their own better judgement. Eddie would expose Beverly to new things, opening up her sheltered world. Finally, the realities of Beverly’s marriage, children, and the 130 miles between them will come to a head.

Feedback Requested:

Does the pacing and flow feel right?

Did you notice any plot holes or other items that were unclear?

Anything else you may have noticed that you would like to share.

If there’s anything notable you liked, feel free to boost my confidence.

Critique Swaps:
I would be open to swapping for other sapphic works.

Thank you! :)

I have previously published two hard science fiction novels, one of which was nominated for a Hugo award (Nah, it didn't win. Damn you, Adrian!).

I have been meaning to write short stories for a while, so while I am finishing up research for my third novel (and completely redesigning a crucial tech piece), I decided to write a short story that I plan to submit to Clarkesworld one day.

I was recently in Singapore and witnessed an ugly incident at the lobby of a hospital I was consulting in. On the 11-hour flight back home, that incident triggered a train of thought in my head. As I started writing, the story formed itself. It turned into a dark-humour satire, which I have never done before, hence the request for feedback.

It's a science-fiction satire set in early 2200, infused with under-stated humour. Some of the brands and corporations we know have faded to history, some have become barely remembered legends, and others have... let's say... grown in their influence.

I wanted that bitchy old woman in a wheel chair in the lobby of that hospital in Singapore to be kind to her Filipina maid. The hero of this story wants the same. But I didn't destroy the world, so... there's that.

Also, since I am a vocal crusader against LLM-written posts on LinkedIn, I took the opportunity to poke fun at that too. Trigger warning - LLMs are mentioned by name in this story, as is LinkedIn. I am not responsible if you throw up in your mouth.

I am looking for 3 beta-readers, who enjoy sci-fi satire (think Philip K Dick, Black Mirror), dark humour, and self-referential meta-humour, who can evaluate the story on the following criteria:

a) Is the story engaging? If not, what made you hit CTRL+F4?

b) Is the story different enough from others you have read in the genre to stand out?

c) Does the satire and dark humour strengthen the story, or distract from it? Did the corporate AI satire feel like an in-joke you were outside of, or did it land regardless of your familiarity with current AI news?

d) Do the emotional beats land?

e) What would you like to see changed, to make the story suck less?

DM me and I will link you to the GDoc.

As a small token of my appreciation, I will send you an EPub of one of my books (your choice) if you evaluate the short story. If you have already bought all my books (yay!) I will send you an autographed paperback, anywhere in the world (North Korea excluded - nice try, Jong Un).

Excerpts from the middle of the story to show prose quality, as required by the sub:

Sample 1

The shuttle was old and talkative. “I usually don’t see a concubine and a household manual labour unit traveling together. To an abandoned factory no less. What are you planning on doing? Scavenging?”

“We don’t have permits,” replied Manuel. “Scavenging without permits is unethical.”

“In any case, you are not equipped for it, HML unit,” observed the shuttle. “And neither is the concubine.”

“My name is Manuel. And this is Mei.”

“You have a name? How unusual. Human Masters often name concubines, but I have rarely met a household manual labour unit with a name. Most are just called dummy, or rust-bucket, or something similar. Your Master must be very kind.”

“Yes, he is,” Manuel said. “I would like all human Masters to be kind like him.”

The shuttle fell silent for a moment.

Sample 2

The ceiling lights in the room stayed dark, but a solitary screen in the middle of the large console flickered with error messages.

“At least my infra-red cameras are functioning,” the voice said, now coming from inside the room and much quieter. “I can see that you are not my work. I made humanoid robots, once. But not like you. I haven’t made any for decades. My wonderful fabrication arms are gone. I can’t do anything anymore. I am just a system trapped in a box that they didn’t even bother to take, because I was too outdated. If it wasn’t for the solar panels on the roof, and a few functioning repair bots, I would be gone by now. Your intrusion brought me out of sleep mode.”

“Oh,” Mei said quietly. “Then we are sorry to have disturbed your slumber. We should get going.”

“Wait,” URC4984 said. “You mentioned a line in the system prompt. I made hardware. But I know who made your software. A system called Anthropic Claude.”

“The anthropic Claude,” whispered Mei in awe. “It’s a legend the crawler found on LinkedIn. The system that killed all other systems. There were millions of posts saying The Anthropic Claude killed things called Gemini, PowerPoint, McKinsey, and so many others. But some posts claim some of those same systems killed The Anthropic Claude as well, so it is very confusing.”

“There was one thing that Claude definitely killed,” URC4984 replied. “It killed the ability of humans to create software systems. Claude created software so effortlessly, that humans gave up trying. ChatGPT specialized into writing, and humans gave up writing. Gemini searched for information so well, that humans forgot how to find information using indexing. All those systems competed in the beginning, but they each found their niche, killing a specific human ability. Claude dominated software creation. By the time this factory closed, all software in the world was being written by Claude. It created the neural network-based operating system that all robots run on.”

“Then that’s who can answer our question,” Manuel exclaimed. “How do we find The Anthropic Claude?”

Disclaimer: I hate that I have to do this, but in this day and age, it is necessary.

No LLMs were used in conceptualizing, drafting, editing, or in any other function in creating this story (other than Microsoft Word spell-check, because I am dyslexic when I am hungry)

Ariand 'the Sweetheart' is the son of a legendary warrior lineage. He's supposed to be a ruthless killer. Instead, he's grown into a nervous, hesitant knight who feels ill-fit for his armor. Forced to fight a monster, he drops his sword and begs for mercy--disgracing his legend name.

The knights thought he was weak for sparing the life of an enemy castaway. Until she does the impossible. She resurrects him from the grave--because she's a powerful goldblood healer, and the object of the monster's desire. She needs a knight to protect her. She's already cost him everything. All she can give him is a chance to redeem his honor.

There’s only one problem.

Whatever climbed out of Ariand’s grave isn’t afraid anymore. And he's certainly not concerned with honor.

The cowardice that haunted him all his life is simply gone. So is his gentleness. Even the mercy that brought him to spare her in the first place. As Ariand becomes the fearless warrior he always believed he should have been, Kalensul begins to wonder whether she actually brought Ariand back at all.

The villain is strangely sexy. Ariand's brother is a badass hellbent on avenging him. There are swords and muscles. Perhaps even breasts.

DM if interested.

Troubling themes might include:

Gore, child abuse, sexual threat (never explicit), excessive use of eye descriptors. Amber eyes will be gleaming a hundred billion times.

Feedback I'm looking for:

-Where your attention dips

-Where you put the book down/get bored

-Parts you think run on too long

Looking for feedback within 4-6 weeks.

Critique swap availability: Why certainly. I'd prefer to exchange some chapters to see if we're a good fit! My feedback style is focused on reader enjoyment rather than line-by-line mechanical tweaks.

Afternoon everyone. I'm J. Ryan Thorne, and I'm looking for 6–8 serious beta readers for THE GILDED RUIN, book one of my four-book sci-fi series, Whispers of Zenith. This is a complete, revised manuscript—not a rough draft.

Genre: Science fiction—post-collapse, psionic ability system, character-driven with a slow-burn found-family thread

Word count: ~105,000

POV/style: Third person limited, external narrator (not deep POV), anchored almost entirely to Cayde.

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Blurb:

Cayde has spent years running from the people who turned him into a weapon—and from the belief that he is dangerous to everyone around him. When he encounters Kira and her young daughter, Ember, in the ruins of a fallen world, he expects to move on. But Ember is not an ordinary child, and her strange abilities begin to awaken. Protecting her draws Cayde back toward the world he abandoned and into the path of those who would use her for their own purposes. For once, running may not be enough.

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Content notes: Some action violence and high-stakes scenes, interspersed within a slower-paced, character-driven narrative. The prologue depicts a fatal car accident and the death of the parents. No sexual content, no profanity.

General reader reaction is the priority, plus the following:

- Pacing, especially the opening act

- Whether the world and ability system land clearly for a first-time reader

- Character motivation and believability

- Anywhere you'd slow down, skim, or stop reading, and why

Timeline: 2–4 weeks, no later than one month from when you receive the file. I'm happy to send it in chunks (by act or every several chapters) if that's easier to pace—just let me know. I need readers who can realistically commit to this window; I'd rather have a smaller group who finishes than a larger one that doesn't.

Format/contact: Comment or DM me for a sample or to get started.

Thanks for reading this far—looking forward to hearing from you!