#flash fiction
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When it comes down to it, the vast majority of this job is simply making sure people get tea and coffee when they need it.
It’s not what people expect when I tell them: I’m a Prophet of the Lord*, tasked with protecting this world from those malign forces that would threaten creation. And, sure, there are times when I must gather the bold and the steadfast beneath my banner and make war against the darkness itself.
(It’s a pretty cool banner too, the rivers of prophecy themselves streaming in a shimmering cascade from the branches of the World Tree that grows out of my back. The rag-tag bands of misfits, paladins and lost little heroes look pretty badass when they gather under it.)
But, like I said, those times are pretty rare. Which is probably a good thing – the world can only take so many apocalypses, after all…
Most often, what I see in the river that streams from my eyes (seriously, the visions look exactly like I’m in floods of tears … I guess that’s because it’s what they are) are regular people who are ground down. They are the ones worn down by time, by sadness, by a world that has shown them time and again how little it cares for them.
They are also people with great power. Even if, most of the time, they do not realise it.
I see them in those droplets and, even as they shatter on the floor (or a nearby shoulder), I am tracing back their course through the river and marking the moments that brought them there.
All it takes is a kind word, a warm embrace, and a nice cup of tea to alter that course.
You wouldn’t believe the number of times that world-ending events nearly occurred, simply because a spectacular person was dangerously under-caffeinated…
Or maybe you would.
It shouldn’t come as a surprise really, that tiny moments of kindness have the power to save the world.
*(well … of the Lord(s)/Lady(ies)/Genderly Interesting Overlord)
#microfiction#writing#short story#flash fiction#small acts of kindness#empathy is a world-changing force#offering comfort for fun and prophet
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My first @flashfictionfridayofficial! Thanks for the great prompt!
Fandom: Sherlock (Johnlock, Mystrade)
I'm also posting it on Ao3. It's over 1000 words, so feel free to go here to read it!
cw: implied drug use, implied suicide attempt, implied torture
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
There had been a number of times where Mycroft Holmes had been made very aware that he did, in fact, have a heart beating in his chest after all.
The first was when a small, red-faced infant had been brought home. As Mycroft looked down at the crying, screaming thing, he didn't expect the sudden jolt in his chest. A stab of sudden overwhelming emotion. What was equally unexpected was that when he stroked his new baby brother's face and told him to quieten, that everything was going to be okay, that he would always be protected by his big brother, the infant had listened. William Sherlock Scott Holmes simply looked at his older brother, and Mycroft felt that deeply.
The second time was sheer pain at finding his younger brother in a drug den, surrounded by needles, barely breathing. It wasn't the first time he'd found him in a place like this. But on this occasion, it felt different. Mycroft knew that this time, Sherlock had not meant to survive the encounter. Scooping up the younger man in his arms, his heart ached at how thin the boy was, at how little life remained in him. He took him straight to the nearest hospital, where they whisked him away, leaving Mycroft with his aching heart to sit and wait. It wasn't until many days later that Sherlock opened his eyes to see the concerned expressions of his family around him. In his heart, Mycroft knew that this wouldn't be the last time his brother would be in this situation. The pain was indescribable.
The third time was seeing Sherlock chained up in a filthy cell in Serbia. His brother had spent two years moving around the globe, destroying pockets of Moriarty's empire single-handedly. That the criminal mastermind hadn't targeted Sherlock's family should have hurt, but strangely it didn't. Knowing that Sherlock had people he cared about enough to keep them safe meant that he valued at least some people in his life to prevent their suffering. It was a pity that John Watson didn't know the lengths to which Sherlock would go to protect him. It might have saved his heart some of the ache he was currently feeling. But seeing Sherlock beaten, tortured, at the edge of his sanity. Anger filled his heart this time. That someone could do this to his baby brother. Infiltration successful, Sherlock finally cut down from his bonds, too weak to stand, bleeding and barely conscious. Mycroft hardened his heart and made sure no one who had laid a hand on his brother was left to tell the tale.
The fourth time was the hardest to bear. To know that Sherlock had once again sacrificed his life for a love that would never be acknowledged. By now, Mycroft was angry at John Watson. He had Sherlock's undying love but was so blindingly stupid not to realise that fact. So here they were, in a prison cell, Sherlock about to be sent away on a one-way mission to the place he had been rescued from not long before. All so that John Watson could be happy. And there was nothing Mycroft could do. His heart ached at how easily Sherlock would throw his life away for someone who merely considered him a friend. But nothing Mycroft could say would make Sherlock change his mind; he refused to tell John the truth, and that was that. The relief when Moriarty appeared on the screen, the phone call that followed, the pardon that he had hoped for arriving almost too late. His heart skipped with happiness only to sink again when he realised his brother had fallen back on old habits. No one who had seen that list could think otherwise. Sherlock had not meant to land in Serbia alive. Telling John Watson to look after his brother was the hardest thing he had ever done, but at that point, Mycroft knew he had to let go. His heart couldn't take any more. One day, Sherlock would succeed, and his heart would break.
The fifth was a surprise. As Mycroft stood blinking at his brother, who was sitting at the kitchen table in Baker Street bouncing a three-year-old Rosie Watson on his knee, his heart gave the biggest lurch he'd ever felt. He felt for the chair he knew must be there and sank into it like his strings had been cut.
"Best man?" His brother rolled his eyes and set Rosie on the floor, watching as she toddled off into the living room.
"Yes."
"But..."
"But what? You've been there every day, meddling, since I was born. For once, and once only, I'm asking you to be there. With me." Mycroft's heartfelt three sizes bigger; a lump appeared in his throat, and his eyes started to fill. Choking down the emotion, Mycroft coughed and turned away.
"Don't tell me it broke him too. You two are ridiculous." John laughed as he walked into the kitchen. So a few weeks later, Mycroft stood next to his brother as he married his best friend, finally.
If the fifth was a surprise, nothing shook Mycroft more than the sixth. He was standing on the edge of the dancefloor as he watched Sherlock waltz with his new husband, besotted expressions on their faces. It happened when the other best man approached.
"So, normally, I guess I would be asking the maid of honour to dance. But seeing as that would either be you or me in this case, would you do me the honour of this dance?" Gregory Lestrade held out his hand for Mycroft, and at once, something like a bolt hit him straight in the heart.
"I'd be delighted, Gregory." He accepted the proffered hand, and they waltzed onto the dancefloor. As they moved in time to the music, Mycroft felt his heart change. He continued to feel its presence long after the dance, the night, the week. Mycroft spent the rest of his life knowing full well he had a heart. It was a joyful feeling most of the time, and, on occasion, it ached. It got larger as their families grew and settled. And he never once said again that caring was not an advantage. Because he had learned that it most definitely was.
@totallysilvergirl @lisbeth-kk @helloliriels @dapetty @calaisreno
If you'd like to be tagged when I post a new story, let me know!
#flash fiction#flash fiction friday#prompt 255: in the heart#bbc sherlock#sherlock bbc#sherlockbbc#john watson#sherlock holmes#sherlock#221b baker street#johnlock#mycroft bbc#mycroft holmes#mystrade#greg lestrade#ao3#ao3 fanfic#ao3 writer
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[#FFF255 prompt In the Heart] @flashfictionfridayofficial
CW: major character death, hospitals
Ship: remus lupin/sirius black
Words: 996
Feel free to give kudos on AO3 if you want ❤️❤️
“Sirius?” Remus croaked.
“Remus? Are really awake this time?” Sirius asked, pressing the button for the mediwitch. He glanced up at the spell displaying Remus' heart rate and grimaced. He didn't like what he saw.
“Yeah, think so. What's happening?” Remus said, attempting to sit-up but failing.
“Remus, they discovered what's wrong. There's a hole…” Sirius blinked back tears, trying to compose himself. “It's in the heart.”
He'd had nearly three weeks to try to process this. Three weeks in mungos after that horrible full moon. Moony had barely howled, the only time he’d gotten up was to sniff Padfoot and nudge him to curl up together. After the change back, Sirius thought he would lose Remus. Never get to see his beautiful eyes again, never get to hear his voice again or tell him he loves him. But he got his heart started and to the hospital, lips blue and face pale. Then he'd not fully woken up until today.
“Don't cry, cariad. Come here,” Remus said, patting the bed.
Sirius gingerly sat down and buried his face in his neck. He wasn't sure how long he cried. He knew that the mediwitch and healer both came in; he could feel the vibrations of Remus talking to them but he had no idea what was said.
Eventually, the world slowly started to come back into focus. He felt Remus playing with his hair, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, and the sound of his heart beating in his chest. The very heart that was going to take his husband from him in all likelihood within the next seven days.
“We were supposed to have more time,” Sirius said when he finally sat up.
“Sirius, my love, we've had more time than we ever imagined,” Remus said.
And while that was true, it really didn't make any of this any better. They were 63, and the average lifespan for those with lycanthropy was about 45, and that number was lower for those bitten as children. And they had made the most of their time. They discovered the horcruxes through kreature, forced Dumbledore to give over what he knew, and worked through a way to deal with the one inside of Harry. Harry had helped clear Sirius’ name and they settled in a cottage in the countryside, a room set up for Harry. They'd gotten married, traveled, worked to make wolfsbane accessible and advocated for changes in the laws associated with lycanthropy.
And this wasn't a surprise, not really. Remus was wheelchair bound, he had potions for multiple organs that just couldn't keep up with the years of transformations. Moony had grown weaker right along with Remus and it was heartbreaking to see.
Remus had given up pieces of himself, his pride and independence. They'd had fights about Remus wanting Sirius to be able to have more time to himself, instead of constantly have to take care of Remus. Sirius was happy to do it but after lots of therapy and learning to communicate and compromise, they had hired someone to come in and help with the house and with Remus’ medical care. Sirius had a hard time giving over that control, but it gave Remus peace of mind.
“Sirius? Can we go home? I don't want my last days to be here,” Remus asked later that evening. Sirius had been reading to him, something that they often did, and he dropped the book.
It felt like ice had flooded his veins and then stabbed him right in his heart. Maybe they were connected now? If Remus’ stops, so will his? He almost wished that it would, but he thought of Harry and their family, and knew that no matter how much it would hurt, he couldn't truly hope for it. Although how he would go on without the man who was his other half, he had no idea.
“Yeah, Moony. Let's wait until tomorrow okay?” Sirius knew that the healer who would be on in the morning would be kind, and give Remus whatever he might need instead of being prejudiced and sending them on their way with nothing. Sirius could get them what they needed, he would do anything for Remus, but it was easier with the hospital’s help.
Sirius didn't sleep that night, watching over Remus, and he barely did the next 6 days either. Remus was much more comfortable at home, and people were in and out visiting all of the time. Everyone knew what was happening, and they had tearful conversations of course, but they tried to keep it upbeat.
Remus got weaker but he seemed at peace. He slept more and more until the morning of the full moon, when he actually was able to get up by himself and the blueish tint from his lips, fingers and toes had disappeared. Sirius hoped so much for a miracle but it was also a known thing that could happen to those who are dying. A sudden burst of energy which unfortunately usually didn't last very long. Remus danced with Sirius to their wedding song, knowing Sirius loved to dance but Remus was horrible. After that it was late afternoon and Remus convinced Sirius that he wanted to make love. Sirius was nervous, he didn't want to do anything to stress his heart, but he also knew it was a matter of time, and he wanted to give Remus everything he could ask for.
After, they lay together until it was time to go to their safe room. Remus wasn't able to take the wolfsbane this time around and they were both a little sad about it. But it turned out it wasn't needed, because minutes before moonrise, Remus looked into his eyes and said: “I'll see you in our next lifetime okay? I love you.”
Before Sirius could respond, Remus went slack in his arms and for the first time since he was four, stayed human beneath a full moon.
#flash fiction#flash fiction Friday#wolfstar#remus lupin#marauders#sirius black#mcd#fanfic#older wolfstar
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You've been on a generational ship your entire life. There's about a million people on the ship, the population doesn't grow or shrink at all. Your entire life is and will be defined by a limited amount of room, a small space, barely large enough for everyone there to fit, that has become your entire world.
The humans that exist on generational ships are very alien to the humans that exist on planets. Your job is to maintain the ship and carry the culture of humanity but you don't need a human lifestyle to do it. Because reproduction needs to be done through artificial wombs all humans are neutered, with sterile sexless bodies. Everyone's job is determined by ship authority, and very dark things happen to those not able to perform some sort of duty. People spend the first fifteen years of their lives in virtual reality, learning about humanity in a simulation until they're ready to live as adults. Everything is so alien from the earth that you read about in books.
It wouldn't be so hard if society wasn't meant to resemble earth, meant to resemble the most conservative and traditional of earth. The American flags hanging up on the walls, despite everyone alive on board having never known America. The way the pods you live in have astroterf lawns, and fake blue skies painted above them, and the facades of American suburban homes. The way resources a distributed from things meant to look like family run stores, despite the monolithic power behind the economy. Even as monolithic as station authority is it still must dress as democracy, and must preach capitalism in a world with no markets, and patriotism in a world with no nations.
Despite your sexless body you're not free of performing gender. You wear dresses over your breastless neutered body, are expected to act feminine, to carry gender rolls into the planet you're going to. Your husband is expected to do the same for maleness. You love him but your situation feels like a performance with no audience. Despite having neither the instinctual desire nor the physical apparatus to you try to be physically intimate with him, it's what everyone does with their spouse, it would be weird not to.
Space isn't as empty as earth thought it would be. There are things that lurk in the void between stars. Nobody fully knows what they are, where they come from, even if they all come from the same place. Sometimes they put the ship in danger, sometimes the authorities make deals with them. But nobody is allowed to know. You're just all told to be afraid of them but not understand why you have to be afraid. The nightmares between stars aren't delt with with knowledge but with ignorance, they do seem creepy from the little you've seen of them but everyone kind of knows their power is being used for something by the station. Patriotism is always helped by having monsters beyond your borders.
Your entire you've dreamed of blue skies and stars and fields and forests and oceans and all those pretty things you've never seen, that you never will see. People always dream of being so high ranking they'll have access to suspended animation and life extension technology, but so few ever reach that rank. You've read all the classics they allow, read Dante, and Milton, and Homer, tried to let poetry bring you to earth but that planet is alien to you now. Sometimes you wonder what it would be like if you weren't raised in a world that copied earth, if you were accepted as a member of a race that lives on a ship, that exists so liminally. Would there still be such a longing. Mabye you shouldn't have been expected to meet a standard from another world. Mabye you weren't born to long for anything. Does it scare you to think you wouldn't want earth if they didn't tell you to?
#196#my thougts#worldbuilding#writing#my writing#my worldbuilding#leftist#leftism#science fantasy#science fiction#sci fi#scifi#space#original fiction#flash fiction#short fiction#short story#anticapitalism#anti capitalism#dystopia#cyberpunk#space colonization#spaceship#space exploration#scifi writing#scifi worldbuilding#queer#gender theory#anti capitalist#anticapitalista
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That feeling when you read an old thing you wrote and wouldn't change a damn thing about it 🥹 doesn't happen often but I'm NGL, I'm so proud of this.
Link if anyone would like to throw some kudos my way, but I'm going to put the fic below anyway.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/41365350
The Lost
“Morpheus…?” Several voices called out the name from a single body, though not all at once. They overlapped, some having a cadence which lingered long after the others’ echoes had died out. The body to which they belonged was still assembling itself upon the spot where it originated – as though it could not quite find its way through the endless void. Their edges shifted slightly to the left as the silence became so deafening that it pressed in upon the ears which had not yet manifested. “Oneiros!” They tried again; this time the sound had sharp edges, both hissed and shouted. Each iteration stopped short, though the echoes continued seemingly ad infinitum.
Dream of the Endless materialized, silencing all. He looked on at the being struggling to keep themself together. A brow arched slowly in curiosity, though not confusion. Lips pursed, he did not speak. He did not feel he had reason to, yet.
“What is this?” The voices hissed and crooned. Apprehension crept into their words.
“This,” Morpheus stated slowly, “Is that for which you asked.”
“It's so dark,” the voices wailed in unison. “So… cold.”
“What did you expect from an absence of dreams?”
The entity considered the King’s question carefully. They hardly felt human, let alone alive. They certainly had not anticipated such feelings to follow them out of the waking world. Finally, a single voice uttered a frightened whisper, “I expected peace, if only for an hour.” Their form still had not fully stabilized, but it was less a sandstorm and more a shadowy, humanoid figure. Emerald glinted out of the space where one might assume their eyes would be. "This is worse than the most gruesome night terrors."
Morpheus fell silent once more. A gasp and a sob ripped through the otherwise barren air. The being collapsed, seemingly suspended within the void. Dream crouched over the being before him as it settled into the form he knew to belong to the subconscious’ current mortal body, if slightly desaturated. “You are so fractured,” he murmured as he very slowly pushed the hair from their face.
These dreamers, he referred to as Lost. They were the ones so plagued with nightmares that they pleaded (with him, albeit usually unbeknownst to them) to be freed from the Dreaming altogether. Of course, this was something that Dream of the Endless himself could not fully grant – for humans could not survive without it. Instead, he could relieve them of the Dreaming by casting them into the void at its outskirts. Very few of the Lost actually experienced the void. Typically, their waking minds would assume that they simply did not remember the Dreaming. Lost like the one lying before him, however, he pitied. They knew that all that awaited them in his realm was taciturn darkness. They could not look forward to sleep any more than they had while they were plagued by his nightmares. His art was wasted on them.
With a heavy sigh and a sweeping gesture, the Endless dotted the void with faraway stars and swirls of dust. His heart had softened towards the Lost as he discovered them – and the circumstances which created them. He hoped that maybe they would find their way back into the Dreaming when the time came; in the meantime, he could at least brighten the void for them.
#the sandman#the sandman tv#sandman#fanfiction#the lost#dreaming#dreamers#Dream of the Endless#Morpheus#author#writer#creative writing#fiction#flash fiction#one shot
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"Faster than light?"
"Anything can be achieved," the alien's translation device said, "by balancing the four fundamental chkoi."
"You mean gravity, electromagnetism, and the nuclear forces?"
"No, the fundamental chkoi."
"What are they?"
"Spite, tiredness, hope, and 'fuck it'."
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Instead of "you came back wrong", I came back wrong and no one will tell me why.
No one will even tell me I'm wrong, I just feel it in the way their voices are so cheerful and strained, how they look at me and smile too hard, until it looks like it hurts their faces, like they're smiling to keep from screaming.
I came back wrong and I know you gave up so much for me, things I'm terrified to even ask, things you'd cry to tell, but you won't, you'll never even tell me you failed.
Everything is exactly the way I remember it, everyone, even you, except now you've spent too long and awkward a time in a room with a stranger and can't think of a polite way to leave (or ask them to)
I wish you would just tell me the truth, or listen when I say I KNOW I came back wrong, instead of changing the subject or insisting it's fine, everything's fine, it's so much better with me here, your dreams come true. But that would be admitting it was for nothing.
So we both sit here. Until one of us cracks. If there's mercy, it'll be at the same time.
It's not you, it's me.
#Flash fiction#Fiction#Came back wrong#Actually this is just being found out as autistic or trans lmaoooo#... You know. If you're lucky.#Writing
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When you were young, your mother used to read you an old fairytale every night before bed.
It was a sad story, about lovers who walked through hell to reunite with one another and almost succeeded, only to be separated again forever in the last moment. It made you cry, and the next night you would beg your mom to read it again.
"You know it'll be sad, right?"
"This time they'll win, mom! This time they'll have a happy ending!"
But they didn't. Nor did they win in the next night, or the night after that.
Deep down, logically, you knew it'll always end the same way. The story is done. It's been told long before you were born. But when mom was telling it, you could pretend that maybe this time it'll work out. This time will be different.
When you grew older you didn't stop pretending, even though you knew it was silly and getting sillier. When you learned to read and write, one of the first things you wrote was a new ending. It was bad, about you as an all-powerful angel coming down to help the lovers reunite and then you get invited to their wedding.
"It's not real, it's fanfic." a friend told you when you showed them. They explained the word, and you saw what they meant. But you didn't care, seeing the words on the page helped you pretend.
You read voraciously as you grew. All kinds of stories with all kinds of ending. But you kept coming back to that one. Reading from your mom's old copy which her read to her from.
You didn't need mom to read to you anymore, but sometimes you asked her to anyway. Occasionally she'd do it, but more often than not she was tired.
Soon she stopped reading. Then she stopped speaking altogether, her voice too weak and throat too sick to speak aloud. That's when you started reading the story to her.
It was hard at first, your tears choking you up. It was hard pretending that the story will end differently.
"The diagnoses are just estimates, probabilities." your dad said. And when he spoke, you could pretend there was a chance. But when the doctors spoke, their words felt as final and unchanging as the old words in the storybook.
Eventually, mom was no more. Your dad read something personal and touching in her funeral. Everyone thought you would, too. Everyone knew how much you loved writing since you were little.
You thought you would write too, imagined it in your mind as your mother's end drew near. You had so much to say, but the words wouldn't come out. The only words that would come to you were from the story. You tried to bat them away, but you knew you couldn't. You couldn't change this ending.
When it came your time to eulogize, you pulled out the book and without preamble started reading from the second-to-last page. This time there was no pretending.
Everyone knew the story, even the people who didn't know mom personally. Everyone knew it will end in tragedy. The lovers will not get a happy ending.
Except this time they did.
You didn't notice the change until you were halfway through the final page, so out of it you were. But the reactions from the mourning crowd clued you in. Your stoic dad choking down a chuckle.
You looked closely at the book and saw the words were written in your mom's neat handwriting.
You kept on reading, a smile on your face.
It wasn't the real ending. It was fanfic.
But just for a little while, seeing the words on the page helped you pretend a little longer.
#writing#flash fiction#microfiction#death#writing about writing#writblr#charles writes#long post#short story#sad
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He is never without a backwards cap. Bro is just a Bro and nothing more.
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"Tell me something nice."
"What?"
"It's been a day," the protagonist said. "And I feel spectacularly mediocre. So tell me something nice."
The villain blinked at them. "You're wonderful."
"And now tone it down to something believable."
"I happen to really like you," the villain said, "and if you were extraordinary I'd have to kill you."
"...I'll take it."
The villain snorted.
#creative writing#writing#heroes and villains#villains#flash fiction#dialogue#enemies to lovers#to delete maybe#writing inspo#hero x villain#i'll write properly later
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After the occupation, the princess was confined to the palace.
Once a month she'd be taken on a walk around the city, heavily guarded of course, to show the people that she still lived. It also served, of course, as a reminder of what they stood to lose if they made trouble. The princess did her best go wave and smile and give the people what encouragement she could.
The rest of the time, her life was spent in musty rooms and dusty towers. She filled most of her time scouring the castle for materials which she would sew into more and more elaborate outfits, which she would show off on the days when she was allowed outside.
Indeed, the public loved their princess and her dresses so much they'd often sketch or paint them along the route and pass the images on so that all could see the princess at least was well.
This pleased the occupiers for two reasons. First: it kept the princess out of trouble. Second: it gave them a reason to sneer and they did love a good sneer.
"What a vain creature she is!" They would remark.
"Doesn't even care we murdered her brothers so long as she gets enough satin to make her little dresses!" They squawked.
This was unfair, of course, for to call her creations "little dresses" was to call Queen Murderfun the Needlessly Genocidal "a tad piquey". Her dresses were gravity-defying wonders lace and pearl. They were thunderstorms captured in velvet and waterfalls summoned in silk. She was a wizard with silk.
Still, she bore their mockery with a tight smile and careful deference.
"Please, good sirs, my home, my people and my city now belong to you. Let me keep, at least, this one last joy."
And they sneered and they crowed most unpleasantly, but they let her keep her sewing room.
Of course, they would have known their mockery to be doubly unfair had they realised the true purpose of the princess's elaborate designs. For hidden in the intricate embroiderings across her gowns, jackets and fans, the princess had encoded secret (and very detailed) messages. When she would go on her monthly walk, the city's loyalists would line the route, sketching down the patterns to decode later.
Thus did the princess transmit all the occupiers' secrets (unearthed while supposedly 'searching the castle for old fabrics') to the city and thus did she build her resistance.
On the day the revolution finally came, she girded herself in armour of thick spider silk and whale bone. She cut a fine figure with a lacy handkerchief in her top pocket and a razor sharp knitting needle keeping her hair up.
As she waltzed through the castle to open the door for her army, the Usurper King tried to stop her and she simply unfolded her handkerchief and showed it to him.
Upon seeing the impossible arcane pattern emblazoned across it, he fell to the floor with blood streaming from his eyes.
She always had been a wizard with silk.
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Thank you for reading. If you'd like to support my writing, you can do so at https://ko-fi.com/strangelittlestories
#writing#microfiction#short story#flash fiction#wrote this a few years back and finally got round to posting here
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PLAYING WITH DEATH
PS: My new line of D&D enamel pins is now live on BackerKit!
#short fiction#short stories#microfiction#flash fiction#very short stories#vss#photography#art#fiction
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PROMPT
What if clockwork had HUGE beef with the flash family? They slow down time or travel back and forward in time and it just ruins all his hard work. At the beginning, it was ok but after five years? No, just no. Now the justice league has to summon Danny to make political connections, but after the summoning Danny is just gon smacked and asked flash to sign something, when asked why Danny just says "you and your entire family pissed off the controller of time and timelines. He isn't allowed to because ghost writer won't allow him, so he has been planning your lives after you die, he has a HUGE grudge with you guys, you're like celebrities". And flash? He has a new love for being alive and absolute terror for when he dies
#dc comics#dc universe#dcu#flash dc#fic ideas#dc x dp prompt#dc prompt#dc x dp#dp x dc#dpxdc#dc x dp crossover#writing prompt#flash family#flash fiction#flash fic challenge#writing ideas#story ideas#ideas
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Hermit crabs are weird animals. They don't make their own shells, they steal them. If you live in a coastal city like I do you'll be somewhat familiar with weird creatures that live in the ocean but aren't fish. And sea snails don't shed shells, they only leave behind shells when they die. Hermit crabs are living in corpses basically, sometimes long dead corpses.
So when you did. Mabye something will want your bones. The hard parts of your body you leave behind after the soft parts are all gone. Something that doesn't have bones of it's own to enjoy and to keep it steady.
And whatever takes your bones won't do it out of disrespect. It needs those bones just like you once needed them. Those bones will keep it safe and alive just like they once kept you safe and alive. It's not a human taking them, but it's still something that will use and love those bones just like a human would. And you don't need them anymore.
So mabye, if you're ever near an empty beach in the winter, or a forgotten bit of rock under a bridge, or a mostly empty subway station in a coastal neighborhood, leave some human remains out. There's something that might be living there that could use them. Not as a sacrifice, but as a gift to a neighbor.
#196#my thougts#my wriitng#my writing#short fiction#flash fiction#horror#my worldbuilding#worldbuilding#creatures#cryptid creature#cryptidcore#cryptids#eldrich horror#eldrich horrors#monster#sympathetic monster#urban fantasy
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I deleted my account @baka-tsuki
For old times sake let me repost one of my favorite piece...
The day Trafalgar Law's brain stopped working...
"Captain! Captain! Your wife is fighting marines on the docks!"
Law needed a few seconds to let Bepo's words sink in.
"Wife?" he muttered, his thoughts racing as he froze on the spot. His brain struggled to process the notion that Y/n could be his wife.
"Captain?" Bepo waved his hand in front of Law's face. No reaction.
"Ah, good work, Bepo. You broke him !" Shachi and Penguin laughed, amused by their captain's dumbfounded expression.
"Yo, I'm back," you said casually, hopping onto the submarine and wiping some blood from your lips. "Um... We might need to leave like... right now, capt'" You pointed towards the army of marines chasing you.
"Law are you okay?" You approached the man who awkawardly turned away and left.
"Ah?" You raised an eyebrow but brushed it off as the marines were getting close. As everyone prepared to submerge, Law remained silent and retreated to his cabin.
Poor captain...
"Wife...?" was the only thought occupying his mind for the past few hours.
©fuumoksun - do not translate, publish on other plateforms. Headers by me
#trafalgar law#trafalgar d water law#x reader#x y/n#one piece x y/n#one piece#one piece imagine#one piece reaction#trafalgar law x y/n#reaction#fluff#old account repost#one piece fluff#one piece law#fanfiction#flash fiction#trafalgar one piece#law one piece#one piece x reader#imagine#heart pirates#y/n#op law#one piece headers#blurb
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"There are two things you must learn about the world," the witch said. "The first is that it is what it is."
"It is what it is, and what it is is shit!"
"The second thing, oft forgot, is that it is not what it will be."
"Should that fill me with hope or despair?"
"Determination."
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