#Short short story

[vyrid]

imagine that there was no BWL and Harry grew up in an orphanage and Voldemort discovers him doing dark magic in one of the empty Hogwarts classrooms because he wants his crush to like him back and Voldemort is so impressed by his ability of doing dark magic so he decides to mentor him in the arts to mold him into the perfect image of himself and overtime as they learn and grow together they begin to have feelings but are unsure of committing but then Voldemort decides to ask Harry out after a battle and he has flowers back in his office but during the battle somebody stabs Harry in the back and he dies and Voldemort regrets never confessing his love for him sooner

[harry-styles-obsessed]

Can you write some core of angst with happy ending

Apologies if this one if shorter than usual! Had to write this quick so my bad if it’s crap 🫣

Jealousy

©️ please do not copy or translate my work.

“So when were you going to tell me?” Your voice was cold and furious, Harry’s confused eyes settling onto you as he placed his bag down onto the table “what do you mean y/n?” He asked softly your eyes not daring to meet his “why you would cheat on me.” The man was astonished at your accusation… your words absolutely rendering him silent

“What?” He asked utterly confused “you’re always with HER. You’re always holding hands with her! You’re always fucking with her! It isn’t fair Harry!” You spat out the alarm on Harry’s face obvious “sweethe-“ “don’t fucking sweetheart me you two faced asshole!” Harry fell silent jaw dropping as he just stared at you green eyes filled with genuine hurt and confused “y/n…” “Harry you and her have obviously gotten feelings for each other! It’s clear! It’s fine it’s fine! Spare me of the grief of hearing you break up with me!” You raised your voice “break up with me?! Y/n what the fuck is-“ he had to quickly remind himself that you were just struggling, squeezing his eyes shut as he pinched the bridge of his nose before his dark green eyes focused on you watching as you turned your back to him going to walk to the bathroom only to be stopped by Harry’s slender fingers wrapping around your wrist cold metal of his rings pressing against your wrist as he swiftly yanked you back towards him but making sure to remain gentle his eyes boring into yours as he gripped onto your wrist gently

“It’s for the movie.” He spoke getting a sarcastic “uh huh” from you only for him to cup your cheek forcing you to look at him “it’s for the movie. I swear. Olivia wanted me to do it. To get our chemistry up because I didn’t like it…” your face immediately fell lips parting in confusion “didn’t like it?” You asked sheepishly “yeah. I hated it… it made me uncomfortable.” He spoke before grabbing your hands gently bringing them to his lips as he pressed soft kisses to your hands “I didn’t like it because it wasn’t you. I felt guilty as shit because I had to act like she was you…. The only way I could do what I did on that set today was imagine you were her.” He spoke calmly and reassuringly immediately defusing the situation that could’ve easily been so much worse. You blinked staring at him in shock immediately feeling guilty “I’m sorry… I-…” he shushed you gently hand coming to cup your cheek as he stroked his thumb against your skin “I understand. It’s okay… but please don’t ever think I would stoop as low as your exes… I’d never cheat on you or fall in love with someone else. Okay? You’re what I want… who I want… I love you.” He then wrapped his arms around you, holding you in his embrace as you breathed in the smell of him not saying anything for a while as you both just stood in silence, Harry doing what he usually did- waiting for you to break the hug first, just so he knew you had enough of the hug… enough of his love… a hug was capable of saving a life after all.

Eventually you however let out a soft laugh, arms still around him “I’m so stupid….” You murmured and Harry chuckled shaking his head “I won’t disagree on that one…” he teased playfully “but at least you’re cute…. Stupid but cute…” he murmured pulling back to look into your eyes a small grin on his lips his dimples popping out before he leaned down pressing a kiss to your lips “I love you.” He murmured against your lips, “love you more.” You spoke back, lips remaining against each other, before eventually you fell back into his embrace… you didn’t like to admit it but you were insecure at the best and worst of times but with the help of Harry you were able to shut that down within an instant. He truly was the love of your life… your hero… your whole entire world.

[crazyskirtlady]

It was after the total eclipse

Everyone around the world excited to watch, to see the spectacular cosmic beauty, a rare sight.

After the laughter and pictures and live recordings had dwindled.

After the excitement faded to work a day mundanity...

The dreams started

A few people talked about them and were dismissed.

Conspiracy nuts

New age wackiness

Just those Weird people who believed themselves to be of some super natural or psychic skills.

But then it was the people who didn't engage with any of that, just your average nobody, stressed from work and bills and hardly getting enough sleep anyway.

The dreams were all remarkably similar when described:

Flashes of a world too small to be seen with our naked eye, familiar and yet so alien, right beneath our skin. Something microscopic, chaotic and yet mechanical in its perfect functioning. Confusing at first, blurry even and then the images grew sharper and with them understanding. Sudden and unforgettable knowledge imprinted deep into the memories or maybe... dredged forth?

It seemed like every single person on earth was having the same dreams, everyone united in this simple yet bizarre phenomenon.

People who struggled with sleep issues even reported having the same perceptions, shorter perhaps and definitely less frequently than others, but the visuals were identical. The memories that echoed even upon waking were all concluded to be the same as well.

Those same tin foil and tree hugging types ranted about alien transmissions or experimental government frequencies. The average person rolled their eyes, though baffled by their shared experiences with such lunatics. No sane explanation could arise for what was happening. Just shrug it away.

Other people flew off the rails entirely, claiming the dream "instructions" cured their cancers or chronic diseases...

It was now a month after the total solar eclipse, the world kept struggling along with the same day to day toil and troubles despite what was being dubbed as some kind of quiet mass hysteria dream state? Some innocuous piece of general information reported that hospitals were seeing decreased numbers of people being admitted for all causes.

Another month passed and people were bored of the dream talk now. Yeah we all have the same dreams, yeah it's the only dreams anyone even has anymore, so what?

Death rate of all causes was falling?

Now 3 months into DreamGate

(as it was being called)

Doctors of all types and specialties talking about a massive drop in patient attendance and appointments. Psychologists and therapists report the opposite...

[wylanzahn]

The Two Princes of the Forest

Written down by Rhederon Eastfall

Commissioned by Lord Vubralm of House Calvern

The 15th day of Alystigon of the year 432 E.I.

Once upon a time, in the old lands of Fyrthia, a forest they say, unlike any other,

For the lands, twisted and wicked from the ancientest spirits,

Whose forests are dark and foreboding and hold long-forgotten secrets,

For long, long ago, when there was no crown of Ochoreon nor Daghland,

When lands had yet to know of a Fire Queen nor of Incaedia,

When the sun and moon both held the sky,

They say the celeste up above were as purple as an indigo dye…

There was a kingdom whose name we ought and could not these days pronounce,

And in this kingdom, ‘twas ruled by a mighty sovereign,

Kind and caring to all, as was his tongue, which oft was recorded to have spoken soften,

For this mighty sovereign had two heirs, twins of a most miraculous nature,

His eldest was as kind as his elder, described as sweet, soft, and tender,

However, to the dismay of his father, his younger was truly crueler,

After becoming a ward of his grandfather,

This old man, whom the children called their grandsire,

Was a wicked man who oft’ spoke like fire,

But thus the things were and would be, up until the fall of the king, like an old and dying tree,

Dead was this sovereign, and his realm should pass to his twin sons,

The grandfather, barred by his son-in-law from the regency of office,

Would corrupt the mind of his grandson to think himself better befit for such a high-ranking role,

This is where we stand: two sons in grief, a grandsire in plotting…

And a beast knock, knock, knocking at the door.

Upon the manor gates arrived a fowl and hideous thing, a thing of unseen magicks,

When accepted at the door, the lowly servants cowered and screamed at the things ugliness,

The youngest prince, soldiers behind him, beheld the best but was too scared himself,

The lordling through tight clutched teeth told the thing to leave him be,

But the only thing the lordling heard in return was…

“Princeling, Princeling, shall you give me no quarter?

“For have you forgot the ways of old?

“One does not simply turn away a guest,

“Unless of course, you wish to make your life any shorter.”

The young prince turned away, soldiers still at the ready,

But they had thought better than attacking such a magick and wild a thing,

So after a minute or two of the most intense starring the elder prince appeared,

The beast’s wicked jaws twisted up in a smile,

Seeing a new and fresh face, he repeated his rhyme,

“Princeling, Princeling, shall you give me no quarter?

“For have you forgot the ways of old?

“One does not simply turn away a guest,

“Unless of course, you wish to make your life any shorter.”

The older of the princes thought and contemplated,

He cleared his throat, and his men awaited,

The princeling accepted the beast into his home, even to the dismay of his servants,

The beast smiled his wicked smile, thanked him, and entered,

Thus did two young princes haven a beast for a guest.

The grandsire took aside his favorite son,

Beckoning him come to his lair far from the righteous light of the sun,

He bemoaned and complained to his grandson,

“This thing, this beast, this fae abomination, this ghoulish king,

“He dare threaten us at our gates and daren’t listen to the true master of this house,

“And yet he pulled up the old rites as if we were the ones tempting fate,

“You my heir, the one true king of your father before you,

“You must take this dagger and smite the beast and your sniveling older brother.”

So the brother took the dagger, with glassy eyes,

Unseeing and unhearing to anything our true grandsire taught of no brother shall kill brother,

He snuck down the hall, he snuck down the stairs,

He snuck up corridors, and he snuck up the passageways,

Until upon he found the beast and his older brother enjoying comfort and laughter,

The younger brother sneered with disdain,

He thought, ‘How could my own blood laugh and fain?’

He took the dagger high above his head,

Prepared and ready to strike the monster dead…

Until the beast turned and caught the blade and said:

“Tsk tsk tsk, so pitiful really,

“For many call me a beast, but what I see is less pretty,

“Perhaps your heart shows a more authentic nature,

“From this day forth, you shall be forgotten,

“And your heart will show thy true self, which is something truly rotten.”

And as it said, the young princeling transformed, heavy, hairy, and heartless,

For it turned out to be a witch under a cloak of disguise,

For the young Prince would never know a day when his skin did not match his inner tone,

And for the elder prince, who was as wise as he was kind,

Would never have to fear to be misled again,

As truly wise witch joined mighty sovereign,

In a realm which they hoped should never be forgotten,

And some say it never truly is, so long as your heart is your guise on your outside.

[sohannabarberaesque]

Kaffe-Klatsche in Hog Waller

So just picture a scene featuring the ursine women of Hog Waller discussing things over coffee--especially on this particular instance as finds Maw Rugg taking some inherent pride in her habit of having that crackerjack son of his, Shag Rugg, diving in the nearby river thanks to regular underwater breast feedings which Shag can't help but relish ... and one particular neighbour being willing to serve as a wet-nurse to Shag on occasion when Maw Rugg needs to go into such condition as to replenish her breast milk.

Though at any rate, Maw Rugg admits that Shag can't resist that sensation of sucking on her breast in the river shallows....

[djohnhopper]

NEW: The living ghost. It started with a dark shadow. Nothing particularly unsettling about that, except that the shadow was darker, thicker, and often seemed to move with a fluidity that was all its own. A trick of the eye is an easy dismissive, but I, being who I was, knew otherwise.

I watched intently as it entered the room, a shadow crossing slowly - from the door, across the ceiling, to a point in front of me - stable and waiting. It was silent, but with menace, fuelled by an anger that had so obviously been contained for generations. It was an anger that unfolded in front of me, reached out and held me in an embrace that I could do nothing but accept, to welcome.

And then, as the embrace took control, the dark shadow's anger seeped into my being. Its anger became my anger; its pain became my pain. A scream came up from my innermost self, and I let it out with a venom that I never knew was there, could be there. I screamed in a primal wail at the injustice of it all, at the slights and wounds, at the mocking and humiliation, at the fingers that had dug into my eyes, at the fist rammed down my throat, at the rhythm that had repeated over, and over, and over.

I knew then that I had been aware of it, of all of it, always. And it dawned on me that this was no ghost, this was no spectre from beyond the veil. This was real, this was me. This was my anger, my frustration, my screams of pain - my living ghost.

More of my fiction can always be found at: https://johnhopperwriter.blogspot.com/

[thestuffedalligator]

“Are you the witch who turned eleven princes into swans?”

The old woman stared at the figure on the front step of her cottage and considered her options. It was the kind of question usually backed up by a mob with meaningful torches, and the kind of question she tried to avoid.

Coming from a single dusty, tired housewife, it should’ve held no terrors.

“You a cop?”

The housewife twisted the hem of her apron. “No,” she muttered. “I’m a swan.”

A raven croaked somewhere in the woods. Wind whispered in the autumn leaves.

Then: “I think I can guess,” the old woman said slowly. “Husband stole your swan skin and forced you to marry him?”

A nod.

“And you can’t turn back into a swan until you find your skin again.”

A nod.

“But I reckon he’s hidden it, or burned it, or keeps it locked up so you can’t touch it.”

A tiny, miserable nod.

“And then you hear that old Granny Rothbart who lives out in the woods is really a batty old witch whose father taught her how to turn princes into swans,” the old woman sighed. “And you think, ‘Hey, stuff the old skin, I can just turn into a swan again this way.’

“But even if that was true – which I haven’t said if it is or if it isn’t – I’d say that I can only do it to make people miserable. I’m an awful person. I can’t do it out of the goodness of my heart. I have no goodness. I can’t use magic to make you feel better. I only wish I could.”

Another pause. “If I was a witch,” she added.

The housewife chewed the inside of her cheek. Then she drew herself up and, for the first time, looked the old woman in the eyes.

“Can you do it to make my husband miserable?”

The old woman considered her options. Then she pulled the wand out from the umbrella stand by the door. It was long, and silver, and a tiny glass swan with open wings stood perched on the tip.

“I can work with that,” said the witch.

[mimimar]

the woman who holds the moon

prints available here. my cover for this month's issue of baffling magazine.

[xtrablak674]

The Un-culpable Walker

🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝

🛒🛒🛒🛒

🐀🐀🐀🐀

🦨

It couldn't have been more than fifteen seconds since I saw it that I heard the crash.💥 I felt bad because I saw it and knew it could be a problem. But was it my responsibility? The 🚴🏽‍♂️had no lights, no helmet and clearly no sense.

Who would be zipping around those park streets over twenty miles per hour in the dark. I had seen the 🪵 about two inches in diameter it probably fell from a tree above or the back of a maintenance truck. This other biker who was just about to pass me, turned about and went back and said, are you good?

I couldn't hear the response, but my guilt had abated. I see problematic situations all the time, and think we're gonna have a problem here, but its not responsibility to go and troubleshoot those problems before they happen. He fell on his ass for not being prepared, and I wasn't the least bit culpable for his lack of preparation.

[A little explanatory comma, since their most recent visit I send my nibling a daily 'rat-report' as they call it. It commemorates our time walking around the park every morning during their ten day stay. It is published five times a week, because I take the weekends off to rest and recover and also generally do not love the crowds of the weekend.

Usually these 'reports' will have comments about my observations during the daily constitution, the characters I meet, who I have all nicknamed, the clear anthropomorphism of the parks animals through my very delectable humor, and the blight and shame of the amount of unhoused humans I come across every morning.

This morning I had such a strong reaction to something that I could have prevented and this lead me to write what my nibling said was a 'short story' at less than two hundred words one of the shortest short stories ever. Since it was so short I did an audio book version just for them. And thought since I hadn't posted any new journal entries for a few days that this would make a perfect submission.]

[Photo by Brown Estate]

[bastardlybonkers]

i feel like not enough ppl are factoring in the cultural clash between laios and shuro and the many micro agressions shuro faced while being in their group. literally the name 'shuro' in itself is one

his name is toshiro 😭 lets also not forget that he has his own communication issues, in the opposite way that laios does- thats literally a factor in their argument, that his envy for laios's ability to express himself sincerely manifested as part of his distaste for him.

ig all this to say like, was their fight heart wrenching, especially when reading laios as autistic? absolutely. anybody whos ever been in laios's position knows how much it hurts to realize someone you thought was your friend doesnt actually like having you around, especially when they didnt tell you and you had no way of knowing due to not understanding their cues. but im begging yall to step back and see the nuance of this situation cause im gonna be real a lot of you are kinda just brushing over it acting like everything is toshiros fault and that hes a terrible person when in reality hes an average guy who really, really clashed with laios and it led to a very long misunderstanding due to their supremely opposite methods of communication. even laios and toshiro, after letting everything out in their fight, were able to come to an understanding and start a foundation for an actual friendship built on better communication

ok yknow what Edit: i shouldve made it even more explicit at the end of this post, i hadnt thought i would need to since i started the post with this, but i think a few too many people are missing my point so i just wanna clarify. i shouldnt have said 'really clashed' and left it at that because yeah they did, but it wasnt just their opposite methods of communication, it is also very much that toshiro was experiencing microaggressions via laios. it may have been unintentional on laios's part, but it still happened and wore him down, made it harder for him to communicate on top of both the more subtle social cues that he was raised with and his own communication difficulties. i also want to say that the fandom reaction to toshiro and the complete ignorance of this point is also racist tbh or at the very least ignorant. i understand that the anime did not cover this panel, and neither did the manga, as this was an omake, but im gonna be real with you guys. there are enough context clues within the story to clue you into this. if you didnt pick up on it thats ok, but i think this is a good lesson in picking up subtext in the stories that youre watching and/or reading. kui shouldnt have to explicitly say 'by the way laios was racist to toshiro' for this point to be understood, and at the very least, when the author portrays a character in a sympathetic light (as kui clearly does) it should make you question Why they are doing so and what makes them sympathetic, rather than youre immediate and only reaction to be 'well i hated what this guy did/said so i hate them and they suck'. idk exactly how to finish this, just. idk. question your biases and gut reactions to things you see in media and stories, and think about whether or not theres subtext that youre missing.

[microsff]

The patron

The alien came to the library again, shortly before closing time, and quickly found a book.

"May this entity borrow The Complete History of Knitting?"

They always return the book they borrow after five minutes, but the ritual of checking it out seems important to them. 

"Of course. Did you bring your card?"

I looked them up, after the first time I saw them for real. They first registered with us over ninety years ago. The senior librarian who first told me about them said I shouldn't stare, or pry.

"Whatever else they are, they are a patron, and should be treated as such," she said. "If they seek knowledge, it is our duty to help them find it."

There isn't an ancient and secret code of librarians, but that is definitely a core part of it. If such a code existed.

I scan the card and the book. "There you go," I say and hand them over. "Please return it within two weeks."

They tilt their head. "This entity will honour your terms."

"Oh! That reminds me, we have updated the terms since your last visit." I hand them the pamphlet we got from the printers last week. "It's mostly about internet usage, but I'll need you to read them and agree."

They study the pamphlet.

"These are terms this entity can abide by." They pause. "Is there no requirement to keep your existence secret?"

"Of course not," I say, "we always welcome new patrons."

They stand silent, long enough for me to realise the implications of what I have just said. 

"This entity had made an assumption, based on prior experiences on countless worlds, where knowledge is always closely guarded and costly to obtain" they say at last. "You will provide knowledge for free to all who seek it?"

In my mind, I weigh humanity's ignorance of those countless worlds of alien civilisations against the code.

"Yes," I say, "this is a library."

[vexeswriting]

I look at her and see everything that was and could have been:

I see that moment together, on the docks, and we are holding hands as we run, our feet hitting the wooden planks below us in thuds that carry through the musky air that is dredged up by the river’s light current. Her laughter echos amongst the trees, sending the birds flying in a fit of anxious chitters, and I think it startles her as she trips and it sends me plummeting into the water and rocks below,

I see us lying in bed together when she asks, “Will you?” With her hand against my cheek I tell her no, in this moment of softness in my bed with the rain knocking on my bedroom window. She turns away from me and I turn towards her to gently place my arm over her waist, craving her touch, and when she refuses to respond I ask her, “What’s wrong?” and she tells me, “If you loved me, you would,” and I move carefully and dutifully because I do love her and this if this is how she wants me to show her, I will shower her with gentleness in these soft violent acts,

I see when she is sitting in the driver’s seat of her car, looking at me with something in her eyes that I can’t, won’t, place, after I said I love her. The wind pushes through my hair and I remember how soft hers is when I rake my fingers through it. My shirt blows up, slightly, exposing the vulnerable skin of my stomach and the soft line of hair that runs down the center, and I long to feel the gentleness of her palm against it instead of the full weight of her body. She drives away from me without another word and as she leaves, the air left behind is tinted with the scent of her perfume, just as lovely as her but sticking in my throat all the same,

I imagine her jumping into the water beside me, sending a wave across my body and stretching a smile over my face. I imagine her apology for stumbling and all I say in response is, “It’s okay, we’re in this together,” and that’s all we need to say,

I imagine her being satisfied after a long kiss, where our lips had melded together for a moment until we separated and we were separate but together. I imagine her pushing my hair from my face with a smile and reassuring me and all I tell her is, “How about tomorrow?” and we lay down to sleep with her nose pressed into my neck,

I imagine her staying, her eyes relaxing and her perfume lingering because she has lingered as well. I imagine her saying it back with the same tone before closing the window of her car with a wave, and when she pulls away, it’s with a smile on her face and a second glance back.

I look at her and see my heart in her hand and my flesh between her teeth and I cry. 

[milo-the-crotonian]

Vignette #1: A Log with Teeth

‘Pon this winding, fogged riverine, where I sail on my vessel—a hewn and gutted carcass of a log—was amongst another decaying trunk of a poor God’s design. Far from the silver palm lashings, I felt—no, I thought I was in the clear: before I meandered into this uncharted ecosystem…

There was a dense, dank dread that exuded from the drooling current; my lungs heaved hefty quaffs of the foul vapours. My vision obscured, periphery anxiously keen, and veiled by a sickly green smattering across a rotting hemp canvas.

However, the display of an ill forest beyond my grasp, as I bobbed and careened my feet, was akin to a field of wildflowers, whilst ones trapped with fiends lurking in the Temple’s Walls.

I unfurled my sail further and twisted the pole to catch a breeze in the stagnant air; even if futile, I felt a brief reassurance as the canvas caught wind— although, none brushed my skin nor my hair… A breath stirred amongst mine as if the huffing and puffing of my lungs were being vacuumed into another’s!

That fiend, being the trunk, had inched with caution as its looming mass rocked the boat—revealing an impatient intention! From afar it appeared as any other stranded log, however closer inspection showed it hadn’t spun—or flipped: it was resolute in its pointed position, pining its way toward me.

The thing was here, and I recognized the threat: twisted branch-like barbs uncannily jut from pale-green, brown-splotched scales; it drifted and hummed a reverberating growl; flashing its iridescent eyes and piercing pupils—oh those Damnable Eyes!

A crocodilian, unbeknownst to the Priests southward, arose above the river bed, unraveling the stream that blanketed its scales, and released from its maw: rows of teeth, jagged as the Cliffs of Hyruthisia; a slathering tongue coated in crimson saliva, drooling onto the current; and a guttural roar of a tiger, primeval and blessed by the Outer spawn.

I couldn’t reassure myself; the illness of freezing cowardice, punished through incantation, has brought a contentness to await death. I was immovable, but I felt no relief in it, as I’ve been told I would… what churns inside my gut isn’t a fear beaten out, but an instinctual fear for the unknown— ingrained spiritually, before birth, that came with the burden of impending doom.

It lunged—

[taeetimee]

Seen

[reidiot]

don't fucking interrupt me when i'm reading my x reader fics it's rude

[plakichu]

How to light a Waterfall

There was an old Pond beyond a large Waterfall. The Pond hid behind the Waterfall, never to be seen by a single human eye because no one dared to step behind the Waterfall.

One day the Pond spoke to the Waterfall. They didn’t speak often, months passed between their conversations. The Waterfall was surprised at the Pond's sudden question.

“Why do humans always look at you, yet never notice me? I’m water like you, you have trees around you, and so do I. You flow, yet I don’t. And you have clean rocks while mine are full of moss and plants. Would humans look at me if there was no moss on my rocks?”

The Waterfall couldn’t help but sigh, its water flew a bit faster that day. It stayed silent for the rest of the day, while the Pond waited patiently.

“Because, dear Pond, they don’t deserve your beauty. Your rocks are green, mine are grey. They are overgrown with beautiful flowers that nobody has yet seen. And your water is pure and clear, while mine gets muddy while it flows. Your beauty is too much for the world, I can’t bring myself to show you to the humans.”

The Waterfall finally replied, and the Pond was left quiet, thinking about the words it had just heard. And months passed before they would speak once more, they stayed in a comfortable silence until winter came and the Waterfall froze; the Pond finally spoke up.

“You are beautiful in winter, Waterfall. I’d like to be able to hide your beauty from the humans too now. I understand now, what you said so many months ago.”

And the Waterfall started melting that day, touched by the Pond words.