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Inkognito
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Everything posted by Inkognito
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My story, Safe Haven, sounds like exactly what you're looking for.
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Also, has anyone seen the updated story description or are y’all just being polite? Because I changed it yesterday and haven't stopped cackling since. 😂
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Hey guys, Just wanted to say I appreciate you calling my ass out on that. I’ll admit, I’m way out of my depth with this stuff. I’m used to skating by mostly on vibes and author voice. Before I posted this story, I literally told myself, “God, I hope no one with a military background reads this and catches all the crap I'll probably get wrong.” 😂 So when I read your comments I was like, “Oh, shit,” and immediately rewrote the beginning of the next chapter, then posted it while whistling like I meant it all along. 🤣 So thank you, honestly, for continuing to read and stick around anyway, trooper homies. You’re the real MVPs.
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An electronic ping cut through the cabin. Denny looked up from his seat. "Motion trip?" Tom stopped shuffling his cards and moved to the monitor. "Northeast quadrant. Probably a deer or coyote again," he said, tapping on the keyboard. "Wait. Sensor log shows a hit seven minutes ago." Mark was on his feet. "Why are we just seeing it now?" "Signal was jammed. Delayed until it could push through." "Check the woodpile," Mark ordered. Tom switched cameras. The feed shimm
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Six months had passed since the night Brady had stumbled into their lives, and the scrawny, terrified kid who'd knocked over half their shed was barely recognizable. His shoulders had broadened under Denny's relentless training regimen, his hands were calloused from countless hours of repair work, and his eyes had lost that hunted, desperate edge that had marked him as prey. He moved through the cabin with quiet confidence, no longer a guest on sufferance, but a functioning member of their stran
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The chili was thick, spicy, and warm, the kind of meal that stuck to your ribs and made you forget, for a moment, that the world was a cold, hard place. Brady sat at the now repaired heavy oak table, though it still bore the scars of the night before. His bowl was nearly empty, the spoon scraping quietly against the ceramic as he chased the last bits of meat and beans. He kept his eyes down, hyper-aware of the four men around him. He felt like an intruder, a stray dog allowed to sit at the
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The fire crackled in the stone hearth, casting dancing shadows across the cabin's weathered wooden walls. Mark sat in his usual chair, methodically cleaning his rifle. Denny lounged on the couch nearby, absentmindedly flexing his scarred knuckles. By the window, Ralf stood in silence, his eyes sweeping the treeline more out of habit than any real concern. Tom sat across the room, shuffling a deck of cards as he launched into yet another long-winded story, this one about their
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A street-smart eighteen-year-old thief takes on what he thought would be an easy score. Now he's trapped between four lethal ex-mercenaries... And a dangerous world of secrets ready to steal far more than he ever bargained for. * "I have a feeling it's going to be a crazy ride." — Person with Excellent Taste, Ch. 1 "I'm hooked. The action and pacing were fantastic." — Man of Culture, Ch. 1 "Awesome start" — My Hype Man, Ch. 1 "Dang, step-dad-mercs will get him though." — Some Guy on Ch. 3
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The moment Ben Gay walked into homeroom, he knew today would be a disaster. It was Tuesday. Tuesdays had always had it out for him. First period was English. Today's assignment was an essay to "Reveal a Truth." Ben decided today was The Day. Capital letters made it official. Like signing a contract with the universe, except the universe was probably going to breach it. At the end of class, Mr. Lockwood shuffled the papers and selected one at random to read aloud. Of
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Ben Gay just wanted to tell the truth and get his story straight. That was his first mistake. The second was thinking anyone would believe him.
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By the way, I really, truly hope I don’t get comedy. Can you imagine the catastrophe if anyone expected me to be funny on purpose? The sheer awkwardness would be so powerful it’d qualify as a new form of renewable energy. Scientists would study the fallout and weep. So please, think of the readers. Think of the children. Think of the gays. Spare them all and give me something safe and joyless, like brooding existential horror or interpretive spreadsheet fanfiction.
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The penthouse smelled like sweat, wine, and something self-congratulatory. Jake stepped inside casually, the kind of entrance a man makes when he already knows the ending. There was laughter coming from the bedroom. He walked down the hall and pushed open the door. There they were, exactly as he knew they would be. Haven, naked and sprawled across the sheets, looking like a cologne ad for moral bankruptcy. Clay beside him, a wine glass dangling from his fingers with the bored
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Bruh. Remind me never to play poker with you. Also, if that were the case, then this story would read very differently on a second pass, wouldn’t it? Hypothetically speaking, I might have snuck in a few Easter eggs for readers, though of course I’d never admit to something so devious. 😏
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Be sure to bring your popcorn, your boxed wine, and your best dramatic gasping skills. Chapter 6 hits harder than a tap from a faceless torso whose opening line is just “stats?”.
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The view promised freedom, but the walls whispered ownership. And Jake? He was nothing but the auction merchandise, waiting for Haven’s bid. Jake stood facing him, his rehearsed speech already forming on his tongue. Something about boundaries, self-respect, and all the other lies people tell themselves when they’re trying to salvage what’s left of their dignity. Haven crossed to the bar with that same confident control he used to close deals and ruin lives. “Will you marry me?” Ja
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Killer theory, guys. I’m dying to see how close you really are. 😇
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The office air was dense with the fog of recycled breath and apathetic mediocrity, while fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like flies on the spoiled leftovers of a rich man’s indulgence. Jake sat at his desk, staring at the gift box that had arrived an hour ago. Inside was a Patek Philippe watch with a note card in Haven's aggressively perfect handwriting. I could give you so much more than he ever could – H Jake read it and came to a sobering realization. The only differenc
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Yes, that means it’s currently in the moderation queue. @Cia handles story approvals and should have it reviewed within 24 hours. If more than 24 hours pass, you can send her a message.
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Ah, I see. When you reach the four steps for adding your story, go through each step. Don’t select Save Story until you’ve completed the fourth step and selected your tags. Once you hit Save Story, a pop-up will appear allowing you to add the text to your story.
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I see everyone collectively decided to graciously ignore the typo where “is now” should’ve been “his mouth." My editor (me) is fired. Y’all are fired too. But thank you for loving it anyway, homies. 😭
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Hello! If I’m understanding your question correctly, here’s what you need to do: Click on the Stories link at the top of the page, then open the dropdown menu labeled Add Story. From that menu, select Add Story.
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It was Wade's first day at the ranch, and he'd never felt more like a man. Dust on his boots. Sun on his back. A lasso in his hands and absolutely zero awareness that his life was about to get very gay, very fast. His boss, a rugged rancher named Hank, watched him from across the corral with eyes that could only be described as "smoldering" and "possibly illegal in several states." "You ever rope a steer before, boy?" Hank drawled. Wade swallowed. "No, sir." "Well," Hank
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Originally a throwaway parody in The Straightest Lies We Tell Ourselves, this story lassos the cowboy trope of a city boy in search of himself and drags it straight, or not so straight, into a cowboy crisis.
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I walked through the valley beneath skies torn asunder, Past the Attack of the Hellbenders, all fire and thunder. Their breath reeked of judgment, their eyes full of war, As they hissed ancient warnings on Waterwall’s shore. The Wandering Kodama stepped onto my track, Bowed its head low and said, “No turning back. The Journey to Salvation cuts deeper than bone, And the path that you take, you must walk it alone.” From the shadows came two with one soul split in skins, The
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A poem featuring all 23 story titles from the 2025 Creature Feature Anthology.
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