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Bad Seafood
Dec 10, 2010

If you must blink, do it now.


No you see it's a joke very nuanced RPGs let you name your guy but nobody calls them that always a last name or title or something ah ha ha ha ha ha it's funny right?

Right?

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Martello
Apr 29, 2012

by XyloJW


Bad Seafood posted:

No you see it's a joke very nuanced RPGs let you name your guy but nobody calls them that always a last name or title or something ah ha ha ha ha ha it's funny right?

Right?

No


Echo Cian posted:

Funny, I don't see any of your names on the judges list.

lol


Jeza posted:

Baka...Martello-senpai...


Yeah, uh, I'll give it a shot. Never written anything you could call romantic before though. Could be a disaster.


This rule was only for HardickONMYMIND but I guess anyone can do it.

HereticMIND
Nov 4, 2012


Echo Cian posted:

Funny, I don't see any of your names on the judges list.

Welcome to the Thunderdome, sister.



Martello posted:

This rule was only for HardickONMYMIND

I'm game if you are. If you wanna pussy out, just lie back and think of England.

BlackFrost
Feb 6, 2008

Have you figured it out yet?


I am in. This is a pretty good prompt for Valentine's Day, now that I think about it.

CancerCakes
Jan 10, 2006

WORST WIZARD, THUNDERDOME
LOSER


In for the original prompt. I might even write a thunder dome slash fic too if haha no.

Sitting Here
Dec 31, 2007


Blood Empress of Thunderdome

Tap to emit spores


Clapping Larry

This stuff is my bread and butter guys so I really want to feel the warm gushy vomit-in-your-mouth fuzzies. I better feel passionate and romanticized by the end of this week. But so help me god it better not be cheesy.

Martello
Apr 29, 2012

by XyloJW


Sitting Here posted:

This stuff is my bread and butter guys so I really want to feel the warm gushy vomit-in-your-mouth fuzzies.

Are you sure you meant warm gushy vomit in your mouth?

JuniperCake
Jan 26, 2013


I'm in for the original prompt. It looks like it'll be a lot of fun.

Zack_Gochuck
Jan 3, 2007

Stupid Wrestling People


I don't know what love is, so naturally I'm in.

Erogenous Beef
Dec 20, 2006

i know the filthy secrets of your heart


Saw the prompt. Hesitated. Drank some beers.

In.

autism ZX spectrum
Feb 7, 2007



Fun Shoe

I both love and hate Thunderdome for what it does to me.

in

autism ZX spectrum fucked around with this message at Feb 12, 2013 around 23:44

Steriletom
May 11, 2009

My inability to write has angered the ghost of Thunderdome! Beware my example, lest you be haunted.


In.

Martello
Apr 29, 2012

by XyloJW


Forgot to do this for the action prompt last week, makes up for me skipping Thunderdome Radio. I edited it a bit in accordance with the excellent crits.

Lord Windy
Mar 26, 2010


I'm in, this is exciting

Fell Fire
Jan 29, 2012


What the hey, I'm in.

Benagain
Oct 10, 2007

Student of the principle art of posting

Fun Shoe

I'm in.

HaitianDivorce
Jul 29, 2012


Sign me up. Let blood and suffering purge me clean!

Steriletom
May 11, 2009

My inability to write has angered the ghost of Thunderdome! Beware my example, lest you be haunted.


I'm going to be very busy all the way through Sunday(Because of love, fittingly).

------------

Remembrance - 750 words

The kettle’s sharp whistle cuts through the silence of the house, announcing that the water has reached its boiling point. John makes his way past the breakfast table and pours the water into a tea glass. He places the tea onto a tray next to a bologna sandwich—no crust—and makes his way through the well kept, tidy kitchen.
Working to balance the food tray, he climbs the stairs, cracks echoing through the house as his arthritic knees protest at every rise. At the top of the landing, a voice calls out through a half open doorway, “Matthew, dear! Is that you?”

John quickens his pace, nudging the door open with his shoulder. “No, Dolores. It’s me, John.”

Dolores’ eyes widen. “John? I don’t know a John. Where’s my brother?”

John is now by her side, setting the tray down on the nightstand. “It’s alright, dear. You forget sometimes. It’ll come back to you.”

She eyes him for a few seconds. “If you say so, John.” The ‘John’ is drawn out, seeming unfamiliar to her tongue.

“I made you supper. Here have some tea. It helps you sleep.”

She blows on the tea before taking a delicate sip. “Where’s Matthew? I need to talk to him about…someone.”

“He’s just downstairs. He’ll be up in a minute. Here, eat,” John says as he thinks back to the day he helped carry Matthew’s casket out of the church. Dolores cried into his chest at the cemetery as they lowered the coffin into the ground with her brother inside.

“I knew a Johnny, once,” Dolores says. “I asked him out to the Sadie Hawkins dance.” John smiles to himself. They sit in silence for a few minutes as the sandwich steadily shrinks. The sudden ringing of the phone startles both of them.

John sighs, staring at it by the bedside. One ring. Two rings. Three. He picks up and makes his way to the window, his back to Dolores and his voice lowered, “Hello?”

“Dad? Hey, how is everything?”
“Hi, Jacob. Good, good. Listen, right now’s not a good time. Your mother’s—“
“It’s mom I’m calling about, actually. I know you were upset last time but we need to talk some more.”
“I said no. The answer hasn’t changed.”
“Dad, you can’t keep taking care of her. You’re not well, either. I want you to come with me and Lizzie this Sunday. We’ve made a few appointments. Once you see the homes I’m talking about you’ll realize it’s better for mom.”
“No.”
“Greenacres has fantastic nurses and it’s beautiful out there.“
“No!”
“Dad! You’re being stubborn. You need rest at your age, too. You…we can visit mom all the time. It’s really close and—“

John hangs up the phone and breathes in deeply. He turns and stops at the sight of Dolores out of bed, clothed in her nightgown and one arm through her fur overcoat as she struggles with the other half. Her face looks panicked as she makes a run for the door. John catches her and gently grasps one arm while he begins taking the coat off with the other in a practiced manoeuvre. He drops the coat to the ground, his free hand moving to the small of her back and he guides her back to bed with just enough force.

“Let go of me, you crazy man! Shouting at the phone like a pimp! I want to see Matthew! Where is he!” She yells, too weak to resist him. As they reach the bed, the fight leaves her and she allows John to guide her back under the covers.

They sit in silence again for a time. John picks up a brush she keeps by the bedside and gently combs out the tangles in her hair. Her breathing grows deeper and her eyes close. Just as John is about to kiss her goodnight, Dolores sits up. “John,” she whispers. “I had the worst dream. I couldn’t remember your name. I kept trying, and trying but it was always just out of reach.”

“Shhhhh,” John says, putting his head to hers. “You remember it right now. That’s all that matters.”

They rest like that until he can feel her breathing slow once again. When John hears a light snore break out, he stands up, dabbing at a corner of his eye with a used handkerchief. He leaves the room and makes his way downstairs to his favourite armchair. The television flickers on but he is asleep before the image solidifies.

Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

The man was stunningly well dressed. He had a smart looking jacket, and a really neat looking cape, the lining of which was shimmering and sparkling in more than Oriental splendour, which is a great deal of splendour indeed, just ask Kipling.

In I guess.

toanoradian
May 30, 2011

The happiest waffligator


In.

Lord Windy
Mar 26, 2010


Hey Echo Cian, would you be able to say what GMT the submission date is? EST to me means GMT+10

Martello
Apr 29, 2012

by XyloJW


No

There is a resource called the internet.

Lord Windy
Mar 26, 2010


Lord Windy posted:

EST to me means GMT+10

EST is my timezone for Australia. Also I dun know where Echo Cian lives.

Jeza
Feb 13, 2011

The cries of the dead are terrible indeed; you should try not to hear them.


EST is America's Eastern Standard Time.

It is GMT-5. That means the Submission deadline in GMT is 4:59 AM, Monday 18th.

For you, in Australia, depending on whether you are on EST or EDT, it will be 6:59 PM or 5:59 PM, Sunday 17th.

Martello
Apr 29, 2012

by XyloJW


"Alright, listen up! The hardware you'll be operating interfaces directly to your nervous system."

"That's outstanding, sir."

*homoerotic smiles exchanged*

"Please remove your clothing."

*everyone gets naked, lingering camera shots on breasts and chiseled abs*

Martello
Apr 29, 2012

by XyloJW


In other words, shut the gently caress up about time zones for the love of God.

Martello fucked around with this message at Feb 13, 2013 around 15:54

STONE OF MADNESS
Dec 28, 2012

PVTREFACTIO


Flash prompt: Your characters have to shut the gently caress up about time zones

LJHalfbreed
Apr 3, 2009


Hey! I'm new here but I like writing excessively depressive stuff! Can I be in too? Please? Please? GBS doesn't want my sad sad stories anymore


In, please.

Capntastic
Jan 13, 2005

A dog begins eating a dusty old coil of rope but there's a nail in it.

Fallen Rib

LJHalfbreed posted:


In, please.

Nice, diggin' this preemptive Stockholm's syndrome. Go get 'em.

LJHalfbreed
Apr 3, 2009


Capntastic posted:

Nice, diggin' this preemptive Stockholm's syndrome. Go get 'em.

I want to write stuffs. Lots of stuffs. The only way I'll get better is if I get decent, unabashed, no-holds-barred critiques. Getting butthurt and finding ways to better myself from it is infinitely more useful than writing snippets here and there and getting my ego swollen from people who may just be saying things to be nice. Plus, the prompts help keep me focused.

If I go into this fully expecting to not pass muster while still learning from the experience, I can only get better.

Well, that, or find out that writin' stuffs should never become my day job.

CancerCakes
Jan 10, 2006

WORST WIZARD, THUNDERDOME
LOSER


I'll crit the first person to post their piece after I lay down my story. Doing one in depth might make my eyes bleed slightly less than however many we did last week.

Down With People
Oct 31, 2012

The child delights in violence.


I'm in.

Let's do this freak thang.

LJHalfbreed
Apr 3, 2009


I think I'm done with my submission, but I'm not sure on how the Flash prompts work... are any of the previous ones mentioned valid? I was under the impression it was judges only (basically stone's one about timezones only).


I need to make sure because my whole submission is basically timezones and calling people repeatedly by their first name, plus also sex. I want to know if I can delete it for the timezones thing, or if I need extra reasons to do so.

Thanks!

LJHalfbreed fucked around with this message at Feb 13, 2013 around 21:20

V for Vegas
Aug 31, 2004

THUNDERDOME LOSER

LJHalfbreed posted:

I think I'm done with my submission, but I'm not sure on how the Flash prompts work... are any of the previous ones mentioned valid? I was under the impression it was judges only (basically stone's one about timezones only).


I need to make sure because my whole submission is basically timezones and calling people repeatedly by their first name, plus also sex. I want to know if I can delete it for the timezones thing, or if I need extra reasons to do so.

Thanks!

I think the answer you're looking for is - shut the gently caress up and post your story.

You're welcome!

STONE OF MADNESS
Dec 28, 2012

PVTREFACTIO


Heh, but taking this seriously for a moment, it's all in the OP. Basically whatever Martello/the other elect/the judges says, goes. The minimum requirement for entry is that you meet the prompt. Anyone can enter a flash rule, but pick your moment, don't poo poo up the thread. If you're the next person to enter after a flash rule is posted, it's your flash rule, and it is loving COWARDLY to ignore it - but (unless stipulated otherwise) a flash rule only applies to that one next poster.

As you entered directly post my (flippant, spurious) flash rule, you are obliged to make your characters shut the gently caress up about time zones. Up to you whether they begin the piece talking of nothing else but later (lovingly) learn their lesson, or simply never mention them to begin with. It's down to Your Interpretation. Now shut the gently caress up about flash rules.

If you suck this week I will be merciless.

also

V for Vegas posted:

shut the gently caress up and post your story.

Martello
Apr 29, 2012

by XyloJW


V for Vegas posted:

shut the gently caress up and post your story.

Martello
Apr 29, 2012

by XyloJW


shut the gently caress up and post your story

Erik Shawn-Bohner
Mar 21, 2010

by XyloJW


LJHalfbreed
Apr 3, 2009


Embrace 1,156 words


The phone dropped and spanged loudly off the kitchen floor’s tiles, halted only by the curlicued wire connecting it to its base. I left it there, the tinny voice on the other end nearly inaudible.

No matter. I finally accomplished my goal. All that was left was to wait, check on Marilyn, and ignore those horrible feelings of self-doubt. I did the right thing, I’m sure.
Well, almost sure.

I dipped my head into the living room, afraid to catch her eye, but I still needed to make sure that she was still there. My memory was never what it used to be, and recently got worse. Well, since… yeah. Some moments I could tell you fifty different facts on random subjects, other moments I felt like I was one memory away from disappearing as a person completely. Lately, I felt like I could barely remember my name, or why I was even here.

Tony, my name is Tony. My name is Tony, and her name is Marilyn. I am here for Marilyn, just like she is here for me. At least I have that much together.

I caught a glimpse of the top of her head, mostly at a weird angle due to how she’s on the sofa. Well, then there’s the fact that I’m afraid to confront her face directly. I want to hug her, hold her, tell her that everything is going to be all right, and just have her close to me, one last time. But I can’t.

I stop a moment, as silent as a church whisper, but don’t hear any other sounds. I’m not sure whether to be happy or sad that the noise of the phone dropping didn’t awaken her.

I remember when we got that sofa. That’s a good thing, right? Some twenty or thirty years ago we decided on new furniture, I think it was. We went in and found something she fell in love with, with a matching recliner perfect for my back. I remember Marilyn drat near conned that salesperson out of our whole living room… group? Collection? Suite? I’m sure it’s suite. I think. But I remember how quickly her glittering eyes hid that intelligence the salesman was wholly unprepared for. Wasn’t the first time she used her brains to show me a thing or two, but I never got jealous. Next thing I knew we went from him having me over a barrel about stainguards to her having him promise delivery that same day, for free. drat, the brain on that woman was mindboggling. And with a body to match? I was the luckiest damned guy in the world.

I found myself face to face with her gorgeous eyes and rakish smile, and flinched. It happened again. I wandered. Somehow I went from the living room, past the kitchen and ended up in the hallway, staring into a framed photograph of her from what felt like forever ago. My goofy grin plastered right next to hers, us all dolled up in ‘frontier garb’ in an old-timey embrace. I feel a bit sad as I can’t remember where that was taken. One of those kitschy sideshow attraction things, I’m sure.

I loved this hallway most of all. Marilyn called it our “Hall of Records”. I just knew that I liked having those concrete reminders that I wasn’t crazy. Yes, we did have dinner in France. We did go backpacking through Yosemite. Hey look, we did actually get a picture with a manatee. Yes, we experienced the hell out of life, here’s our proof.

I used to hate getting my picture taken. I always felt too tall, too awkward, too gawky. Marilyn broke me of that habit quickly. Every picture, us hand in hand, arm in arm, cuddling, hugging, laughing. I don’t think she could ever take a terrible picture in her life, and her good looks just rubbed off on me somehow. Everywhere we went, she’d find someone to take our photo. Here’s one of us at that jazz bar they tore down a few years ago to build a Starbucks. There’s one of us at that Indian place that moved to the other side of town. That’s us in Cancun, holding bags of Mexican Coca-cola, happy as can be. Everyone complimented us on what a beautiful couple we were, and each time my heart swelled.

I’m exhausted. I don’t know how I managed it, but dialing the phone took everything out of me. It reminded me of that one movie that Marilyn liked so much. Guess that’s what gave me the idea. But now everything feels worse.

Dammit, back in the living room again. I can’t see her now, not like this. Not with my mind wandering, not with me barely even being me anymore. How much time has passed? Did the phone call even work? Who did I call? I wish I could just hold her, but I can’t. Not now. Not anymore.

The blue-red-blue-red flash of a police car pulls into our driveway, creating a strange lightshow in the kitchen through the window. The kitchen? How did I… It’s getting worse, I think this is pretty much it for me. I concentrate as hard as I can, and move myself slowly to the living room, focusing on the floor, trying to keep myself together and away from the front door. I keep my hands up, just in case, you know?

Another flash, and things have changed. Looks like the police kicked the door in and tromped all over our clean floors. I’m now in the living room, facing the couch, my heart dropping, and realizing that I was right. It’s true, they can’t see me.

The cops and first responders retreat outside. I snatch small snippets of conversation, mostly about the coroner, how sad the situation is, and about last night’s game. Suicide, they said. Came too late, they said. Guess I had the right idea, I just didn't do it fast enough. They laugh, and I think it’s at me, even though I know they can’t hear me.

I’m stuck staring at her, her eyes closed and head turned where I sat next to her as if in conversation with me. Or saying goodbye to me. Well, not me. What was left of me. I tried, I really tried. But my heart just… we were old… I should have went to that doctor. Her hand looks so frail grasping mine. His. Its. My old one, whatever. I failed. I didn't help her in time.

“I’m sorry, Marilyn. I’m so very sorry,” I hear myself say, knowing that nobody else can even hear me.
And from behind, I hear her respond, “I know, my darling, but it’s all right now.”

I turn, and there she stands, as pretty as the day I met her, as beautiful as the day I last saw her.

We embraced once again; this time, forever.



Edit: Forgot wordcount, no other changes made

LJHalfbreed fucked around with this message at Feb 13, 2013 around 22:03

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Fanky Malloons
Aug 21, 2010

Is your social worker inside that horse?



I see you and SaddestRhino attend the same school of tense-continuity

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