Lub wub. My heart thrashed in my chest when I heard the car tires scrambling for grip. I whipped my head up toward the frightening sound and that’s when I saw a hero born.
I caught glimpses of him. The color of a Hawaiian shirt as he effortlessly slipped through the air to disappear in front of the car sliding toward him. Angelic wings of dust hugged him as he rolled backward through an explosion of debris holding two small children in his arms. The car clipped him, just barely, yet he kept the children safe.
I lost sight of him as the swell of ,bodies ran to assist. I remembered to exhale.
A comfortable warmth spread down from my chest as I replayed the scene over in my head. What if I were the one he saved instead of the child? Embraced in his thick, muscular arms. I would have to find some way to repay him for putting his life on the line to save me.
Who am I kidding? I tucked my stringy hair behind my ears and withdrew into myself. Hunched shoulders and stooped head over my manga. I’m invisible. I’ve slinked through life used to the shadows. No one would care. No one knows I exist.
People parted like curtains as the ambulance arrived. And there he was; for another brief moment, Mr. Hawaiian shirt. It would be nice if someone cared.
I found him when I searched for news of the accident later that night. My heart ached as if I lost something precious. poo poo, he was beautiful. I fell into the sky that is his eyes, allowing myself to be weightless in his gaze. I felt him. It was an undeniable connection. The one. My one. My soul mate.
I blinked rapidly as I reclaimed my sense of self. Someone this perfect has to have done some amazing things in their life. I knew his name. I bit my lip. He was really handsome. I can almost imagine him paying attention to me, paying me compliments and other things I’ve read in my books. The warmth in my chest was back and it was rapidly spreading downward. I would cook him a nice dinner. I could learn. I could be the perfect girlfriend. A shuddering breath escaped my lips as I touched myself. I wondered if he would be gentle with me.
The tendrils of my dark thoughts dug their icy claws into me and dumped water on my fantasy with words of hatred. No one would want a flat chested tomboy like you I said to myself. You’re so ugly, no one would even want to rape you, I said and believed it. I remembered the look on the face of a boy I liked when I asked him to watch a movie with me and knew it was true. But I wanted to have this one nice thing for myself so bad. No one would get hurt.
He’s way out of your league, I savagely taunted myself. I honestly couldn’t help it.
I glanced at his picture once more. I sighed, flipped the laptop closed and went to bed.
It was just a peek, I convinced myself. It was a craving I just couldn’t shake off; like a sudden pang for candy, except it wouldn’t go away. Would have never realized how easy it was to find him on Facebook. When I clicked on his profile, I grimaced when I the prompt told me I had to be his friend before I could look through his pictures.
My thoughts emerged once again. If he saw a picture of you, he’d probably throw his computer away.
I reluctantly agreed with myself, but my curiosity was too strong. My eyes wandered over to some of his other friends. He knew a lot of beautiful people. There was no way he would accept my friend request if I used my real face.
I opened another window and visited Instagram. As I skimmed over all the models on the website, I loaded the gun of my dark thoughts with ammunition to use against myself later. You’d think I’d get the point after all these years living alone, but a little hope would bleed in and I’d think things would turn around.
My mouse stopped over someone pretty, yet nondescript. Not a lot of followers either.
I started downloading her pictures.
There was a happy anxiety in my belly as I watched him leave work. It’s been a month since he’s friended me on social media. I’ve almost sent the wave emoji at him five different times, but what if he wants to talk to me? What would I say? What would I do when he found me annoying? What if he saw through my lie?
No, it’s smarter if I loved him from afar. I can’t ruin what I have with him.
The heat rose in my cheeks as he walked past and almost looked at me. I showered today, brushed my teeth and put on deodorant as well. I haven’t heard any dark thoughts at all today.
I waited as long as I dared and turned around to watch him walk away. He looked so much better in person. Whether it was attributed to my adrenaline high or my lack of negative thoughts, I threw caution to the wind and I was on my feet and following him.
I made it two steps before the paralyzing claw of fear clenched my heart. What the hell was I planning on doing? Stopping him to say hello? And then what? I think I’m going to throw up.
Without thinking, I turned and fled home.
A car laid on the horn and slammed on its brakes. I turned toward the sound and my muscles ignored me. In the space between heartbeats, our eyes met. I already knew he wouldn’t save me. My darkness was back in that moment, hissing at me, saying I told you so, you stupid girl.
He tensed and leaned forward into a run. Towards me. He noticed me.
And then a pain I’ve never imagined possible crashed through me, the world a disorienting and nauseating spiral.
I woke up in a hospital surprised I woke up. I tried sitting myself up, but my vision swam and I slumped back down.
“Easy there, you banged your head when I tackled you out of the way of that van.” The voice belonged to a man with long hair and a Metallica t-shirt. “Sorry about that, by the way. I kinda acted before I knew what was going on and didn’t wanna see a pretty lady get run over.”
Pretty lady? I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. “Is there anyone else here?” I asked, hoping my love followed me to the hospital.
He looked uncomfortable and awkward as he shook his head. She emphasized with him. “Nope, just me. Sorry,” he apologized hastily. “I can leave you to rest if you want. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
I opened my mouth to answer, but something in his demeanor gave me pause. As if he automatically expected rejection. I knew that feeling intimately.
“No, no you can stay,” I said. I slowly pushed myself up to a sitting position. “My name’s Sadie.”
“I’m Russ. Nice to officially meet you.” He wiped his hands on his pants.
I looked at Russ for a moment. “Thank you,” I said deliberately. “For noticing me.”
|# ¿ Jan 12, 2020 00:10|
|# ¿ Aug 8, 2022 08:03|
This legit reads like we boned, our condom broke and years later our kid wrote a sweet story.
|# ¿ Jan 14, 2020 01:31|
In, flash rule plz
In your world, growing old is punishable by death
In, bitches. Flash me.
|# ¿ Feb 27, 2020 04:05|
I Did It Because I'm Richer Than You
Word Count 898
Someone's drawing crop circles... on the Moon?!
Lead Engineer Horst entered the conference room, back straight and head held high with confidence. “You asked for me, Kelly Miller?” He spoke loud enough so that his voice carried through the room approximately the length of a football field. He squinted, adjusted his glasses and then groaned as he saw his boss stand up from her chair and hold out her hand.
With a sigh of defeat, he started walking. A minute later he clasped Kelly Miller’s waiting hand and she energetically pumped it up and down with a dazzling smile.
“Employee! So fantastic of you to come see me on such a short notice. Please have a seat,” she said with a sweeping gesture.
Looking around, Lead Engineer Horst did not find any chairs in the immediate area. He frowned when he remembered seeing a chair and a tablet near the entrance.
Kelly Miller motioned him away from her with a suggestive waggle of her immaculately sculpted eyebrows.
Lead Engineer Horst huffed. He had worked for Kelly Miller and Cameron for decades! He deserved respect, dammit! No way is he going to suffer the indignation of walking all the way back just for her amusement. It’s about time she understood what a privilege it is for them to have him as their lead engineer. He deserved their respect.
Interim Lead Engineer Doug entered the conference room and was struck dumb by its opulence. Diamond chandeliers straight down the entirety of the chamber. So many obviously expensive artifacts line up down the far wall. On the conference table, a tablet with his boss’ face smiled at him.
“Please, take a seat Jakey. Can I call you Jakey?”
Jakey, nervously walked around the plush chair and sat down to what could be described as a ‘cloud for your butt’. “Sure thing Mrs. Miller.” He saw his new salary. She could call him Lord Cameltoe Face the Fourth for that kind of money.
“Jakey, I have a problem,” she said, getting out of her chair and starting the walk down the length of the table. “I’m extremely rich. I want to flaunt my wealth so much so - that people will look back years from now and still think to themselves, “Oh my God, Kelly Miller is so rich. Brainstorm with me. Go.”
Jakey stalled for a bit, but then snapped his fingers when he thought of something. “You could single handedly orchestrate a system to deliver food worldwide end world hunger! It could be your legacy!”
“You are my first choice for this project, Pablo, and I need your ideas. Go.”
Interim Lead Engineer Pablo, formerly known as Sam the Janitor, thought as long and as hard as someone who was currently high on marijuana could possibly think. He giggled. “What if, you like, go to the moon, right?”
Kelly Miller rolled her eyes.
“And then, like, make crop circles man. That would be rad. Really mess with those scientists and poo poo.”
And then her eyes widened. She stood, knocking her chair backwards. “You have my loving attention Lead Engineer Pablo.”
Pablo continued, lost in his fantasy. “Yeah, and then you can build like a hundred rockets and pack them full of fireworks, man. They go off and spell ‘Kelly Miller is the richest’. People will have to look at the moon, man.” Pablo fluttered his hand excitedly and continued with enthusiasm. “What if we build like a rocket suit and fly you up to the moon?”
Tears ran tracks down Kelly Miller’s flawless face. “You’re a goddamn visionary. Follow me. I think I can do you one better.”
Deep in the lab, Kelly Miller stood inside a glass container and tapped at a screen in front of her. “We’ve been playing God. Watch this Pablo.” With a pause for effect, Kelly Miller pressed her finger against the screen.
And turned into a grotesque mockery of reality that was beyond the comprehension of a simple drugged addled man such as Pablo.
Lead Engineer Pablo screamed and soiled his pants with the savagery of a bottle of soda with a roll of mentos dumped in.
With another beep, Kelly Miller, stood in the glass container once again. “Oh stupid thing, I made a typo. One moment.” She jabbed at the screen for a few minutes and with a final button press her skin instantly transformed into a shimmering material that moved and looked like liquid mercury. Two gigantic and nearly transparent wings unfurled from her back and stretched across the entire room.
Pablo stared agape.
With a beckoning of her hands, Kelly Miller asks excitedly, “Well? What do you think?”
“I think I poo poo my pants,” Pablo said slowly.
“I knew I could count on you. You’re like my hype man. Very important.” She wagged her finger at him in approval. “Come on, we have a lot of work to do.”
Cameron leaned into a one of a kind telescope conversion kit. It fit into the James Webb Space Telescope he had specially delivered to his home. He looked up at the moon and marveled at Kelly Miller’s super special secret project. “That son of a gun did it. Crop circles on the moon.”
Fireworks went off in space and Cameron read the message out loud. “My name is Kelly Miller, and I am extremely rich.”
Tears lined Cameron’s eyes. “You sure are babe. You most certainly are.”
|# ¿ Mar 1, 2020 02:28|
Tough but fair judgery. Thank you for the crits.
|# ¿ Mar 2, 2020 20:52|
Sign me up Neth
|# ¿ Mar 24, 2020 16:38|
I'm gonna write for this week. Whether or not you count me in as in, that's up to you. Flash me bb
|# ¿ Jun 14, 2020 16:33|
“You’re letting me run point on this?” Emilia said, wide eyed as she reverently accepted the mind drive.
Henry sat on the corner of her desk and leaned in. “You deserve this. You put in long hours, you help others constantly while you meet your own deadlines. So, of course, when this world’s most talented writer, multi-billionaire philanthropist and excessively well endowed man dies; I personally feel that you need a break from the drudgery of this job and you deserve something special.”
Emilia tore her gaze away from the 100 yottabytes of digitized human memories to look at her boss with what could only be described as undying love and loyalty. Her head swam as the weight of the project sunk in. “gently caress me,” she whispered. “ I get to Archive Mercedes the Mellifluous. Holy poo poo.”
Images smeared by as Emilia flitted through the memories, not even stopping to take in the sights. She was on a mission. She wanted to know how he became such a powerful, handsome and well respected man. So of course, she zeroed in on his childhood.
She looked through his eyes and experienced his earliest memory as if she was living it. She waddles her way into the kitchen of the three storied apartment and finds the cat food under the sink cabinet. She cringes at the bitter flavors as she crunches on a mouthful of the dry cracker-like kitty kibble.
With a mental flick, another memory starts to play. She’s reaching under the bed to grab her shoes and instead grabs a fistfull of cat poo poo. She then runs crying to her mom, still holding that turd like the handle of a weapon.
Work can wait, so she just rushes through random memories here and there, catching snippets of Mercedes tripping over a raised slab of cement and skinning his knee; him being the last one in his kindergarten class to learn how to tie his shoes; him getting slapped across the face because he wrote ‘petting zoo’ and an arrow pointing up a girl’s leg.
Emilia flicks the memories farther into his teenage years and shook her head in disbelief after beautiful girls awkwardly try to date him and him being absolutely oblivious to their advances.
Grinning, she flicks the memories over to where he loses his virginity. Nineteen years old and she finally gets the hint when her friend removes her shirt. Emilia/Mercedes bends the blonde over a table, pulls down her stretchy pants and What the gently caress you sicko? You think I’m gonna tell you the very intimate details of the first time I had sweet, sweet, passionate. After a few sweaty minutes, she hops on to the kitchen table, and wraps her legs around her waist and using her hand she HEY! loving pay attention when I’m lecturing you on your spying on my life, you loving cretin. If I could, I’d flick you right in the dick, you dickless cock smuggler.. The blonde climbs off the counter and gets on her knees. Emilia/Mercedes wraps her sweat soaked hair in her fist and guides her Wow, just wow. You’re sick. You know that? Sick. I hope your significant other walks in and reads this over shoulder and they’re all like, “Omg, you sick bastard. I’m going to my mothers while you think of what you’ve done, you pervert.” And then THEY flick you in the dick, you peeping tom motherfucker. I hope you step on a lego and then have to get your dick amputated.. And then Emilia/Mercedes had to tell the nurse why there was semen in her own eye.
Emilia, sweaty and bothered pulled out of the mindspace to take a break and gather her own thoughts. The office was empty, as usual. She looked at her watch and it told her it was time for bed. She ignored it. The watch was a little bitch and she didn’t have her fill just yet.
Back in the mindspace, Emilia searched for the turning point where Mercedes became irreversibly famous. She’s pushing through the crowd feeling electric and with a painful erection threatening to tear the pants off her. She’s through the rioting mob and in front of her are police in riot gear. Behind them is Donald Motherfucking Trump. She charges, feeling invincible. Tasers stab into her bare torso and far too many volts are coursing through her. But she has a secret weapon. Enough cocaine in her body to kill an elephant and give Mick Jagger a bloody nose.
With stupefying strength, she leaps onto a cops face and catapults herself dick first into the side of Trump’s fat loving head. She stands up, unfazed by the fact that she knocked the orange off the President of the United States’ face with her throbbing rock-hard-baby-arm-holding-an-apple penis and screamed at the top of her lungs to the deathly silent crowd, “I’M MOTHERFUCKING MERCEDES AND MY COCK IS OCKED AND READY TO ROCK!”
She was then pummeled half to death by the police.
With a sharp inhale, Emilia pulled away from her workstation. She took a few minutes to slow down her breathing. “gently caress my face, it was all true,” she said to the empty office. Would have expected some kind of exaggeration, but people actually undersold the story.
She glanced at her oval office watch and it gave her a bullshit time. One more memory for tonight, she thought.
Emilia looked for how Mercedes the Mellifluous died.
She snorts a mound of cocaine straight out of a woman’s rear end in a top hat. She shoves the woman off her face and suddenly remembers the two dark haired ladies trying desperately to fit her in their mouths. Another woman swings her leg over Emilia/Mercedes’ head and sits on her face. Her thighs are T H I C C, and while she usually loves that, the woman is sitting down in a way that Emilia/Mercedes can’t actually breathe.
The woman straddling her is really getting into it, moaning and thrusting and throwing her hair back like she’s being video taped and Emilia/Mercedes is slapping her leg trying to tap out.
Her heart actually gave out before she ran out of oxygen. She knew she was dying, so she did the only thing left to a man in his late forties surrounded by naked women using his body as an amusement park. He clamped down on those delicious oatmeal porridge thighs and went to loving town.
With the power of cocaine, Mercedes the Mellifluous died three hours later with an erect penis and his tongue sticking straight out of his mouth.
Emilia had tears in her eyes and a lady boner in her pants. She powered down the mindspace and looked longingly at it. “The world will know your name,” she said out loud. Tears ran down her face in a melodramatic fashion. “And it is my honor to shout it from the rooftops.”
|# ¿ Jun 15, 2020 04:59|
Poems as to why erotica is bad
|# ¿ Jun 16, 2020 00:14|
And I'll fuckin' do it again
|# ¿ Jun 16, 2020 04:07|
Let's do this. In
|# ¿ Aug 17, 2020 23:29|
Hi. In. gently caress you.
|# ¿ Oct 27, 2020 22:05|
I Got A Shot Time From The Door
1111 bad words
The hospital room door exploded as Dr. Raphael stepped into the room. His white lab cloak flapped majestically behind him and his dark eyebrows knitted like two obelisks of unnatural power. A megalith.
He stopped to stand in front of a patient restrained in his bed. The patient’s hips were making obscene motions; truly an affront to God. “Behold!” Dr. Raphael bellowed, an angelic choir magnificently matching his every spoken word. “It is I, Doctor Archangel Raphael, first of his name, Lord of medi- Would you stop that insufferable hip thrusting?”
That patient, as it were, would not stop his hip thrusting and guttural grunting. Actually, he hip thrusted so fiercely that the bed was scooting across the floor with the unpleasant screeching sound of metal grinding against laminate flooring.
Dr. Raphael turned to his physician assistant, leaned in close and whispered. The angelic choir did not hush their voices. “You’ve said you’ve tried sedation?” The PA cringed in pain as the doctor practically blared an airhorn next to her ear.
“We’re currently maxed out on ketamine, fentanyl and trazadone per kilo.” She said, “Honestly, I have no idea how this guy isn’t in a coma right now.”
Dr. Raphael’s eyebrows furrowed and they cast a long shadow in the room. “I’m afraid I know what is wrong with Mr. Winkiebottom,” he said with the gravitas that was once reserved for only James Earl Jones. Dr. Raphael loosened his tie and cast away his lab coat. With a crack of thunder, he flexed and his bulging muscles strained against his clothes. “I’m going to need everyone to step out.”
The PA backed out of the room, maneuvering around the shattered door with a familiarity learned by experience.
A halo shimmered into existence above Dr. Raphael’s head and his eyes shone like gold in the sunlight. “Speak, you piece of poo poo. I command you in the name of the Lord,” he said.
“Cream got stombled back in her lap as long green the back of his mouth tight glasses ether,” Mr. Winkiebottom said in tandem with a deep and rich voice that did not match the frail old man.
Dr. Raphael glowered. “Tch, I knew it. You don’t have anything better to do down in hell that’s a more productive use of your time than possessing humans?”
Mr. Winkiebottom’s head snapped up and dark eyes bored into Dr. Raphael’s. "Sharp but just fakkin’ dude grunt," he said. "Jesus, did you know what I knew? When in Hell is sunshine.” Not once did his pelvic jackhammering falter in its devilish rhythm.
“So this is how we’re going to play it?” Dr. Raphael and the angelic choir sighed in glorious unison. “So be it.” He swaggered toward the possessed patient.
With one herculean thrust of the hip, Mr Winkiebotom flung the bed up to a vertical position. The thrusting stopped. “Oh? You're approaching me?” Mr. Winkiebottom said, “Instead of running away, you’re coming right to me?”
Dr. Raphael continued his slow and menacing walk. “I can’t beat the holy ghost into you without getting closer.”
“Oh ho! Then come as close as you like.”
Dr. Raphael felt a gentle hand on his biceps urging him back, so he stopped and looked over his shoulder. The PA stood there, eyes transfixed on his manly arms. She blinked and then jerked her hand away as if shocked by his delicious muscles. She stammered, “Can I have a word with you outside?”
Stepping out of the patient’s room, the PA turned and sighed before speaking. “Two things. Why do I get the feeling this was practiced?”
“Memes are all the rage this century,” Dr. Raphael said matter-of-fact.
“And we can’t beat up our patients! Not anymore.”
Dr. Raphael’s eyebrows twitched in warning. “Why the hell not?”
She flinched away from his anger. “W-well, HR is now involved. There was a complaint filed against you last week when you body slammed a patient you said was possessed, through a hospital window.”
“She was speaking in tongues!”
“She had dementia, sir.” She put her hands up in a conceding gesture. “I’m with you in that I also think Mr. Winkiebottom is possessed, but we have to think of non-violent alternatives.”
Dr. Raphael looked down at her and squinted; his eyebrows combining into an imposing monolith. “Listen,” he said slowly, “Inside Mr. Winkiebottom’s body resides an entity most fierce and evil. He is not some weak poltergiest you can light some scented candles purchased on clearance at Walgreens and ouiji it away.” His eyebrows pointed in the direction of Mr. Winkiebottom’s room and Mariah yelped, ducking out of the way. “Black Satan is in that old man, and he’s bored. It actually would have been easier to deal with if he were angry.”
“But sir, HR-”
“This is what you’re going to do, Doctor,” Dr. Raphael said, the angelic choir diverging to sing an ominous and kick-rear end arpeggio scale. “You’re going to march to HR, take your clipboard, polish it all sparkly, turn it sideways and shove up their asses! While you’re busy with that, I’m going to walk out of here, strut down to Mr. Winkiebottom’s room and exorcise Black Satan straight out through the pee pee hole. And I’m gonna look good while doing it.” His shirt exploded off his body, showing off his oiled and super defined physique.
Dr. Raphael slapped his pectoral muscle. “I’m about to end this devil’s career.”
The holy doctor stepped into Mr. Winkiebottom’s room. The old man, still tied to the vertical bed, grunted and humped his way around to stare down his adversary.
The doctor struck. Fists moved faster than lightning. Eyebrows striking faster still. Mr. Winkiebottom’s hips whipped around so fast, they were invisible to mortal eyes. Every contact was a concussive force as strong as two freight trains colliding. The choir of angels were singing their hearts out, taking turns belting out beautiful solos that would bring a demon weeping to their knees. Six gigantic wings unfurled from Dr. Raphael’s back and he surged forward. The room shattered as the two combatants exploded outside.
A heavenly shaft of light encompassed them; Dr. Raphael’s one hand around Mr. Winkiebottom’s neck and the other elbow deep inside his dick. With an angelic finale, he yanked his hand out and birthed Black Satan in all his obsidian and gold blinged glory.
“Whatever dawg, I wasn’t even trying,” Black Satan drawled, disintegrating in a flurry of ash and embers.
Mr. Winkiebottom moaned feebly, “Is it time for my sponge bath?”
Dr. Raphael grumbled and gazed back over the destruction. “Sure thing sir, let me find your nurse.”
|# ¿ Nov 1, 2020 00:10|
|# ¿ Aug 8, 2022 08:03|
On the subject of Losertars: I personally dislike them. I know I'm not the strongest writer round these parts, but I've lost a lot of good avatars due to dumb losses. Have we considered a Loser Gang tag? They keep their avatars, but still wear the shame of writing the best bad story.
On the subject of no kayfabe heart weeping: I miss you guys. I miss writing in TD. This year has been brutal as gently caress and my work has sucked away any joy I would get from the writing process. It takes too much energy to create when my career in this pandemic has been emotionally draining me like a goddamn vampire. I've been driving on E for the majority of the year. But with the vaccine I do feel a little hope coming up and with it, I can free up some emotional real estate to begin creating stories again. I love you guys. Let's hope next year we don't have to deal with a civil war or preferably, an alien invasion.
|# ¿ Dec 27, 2020 03:28|