#microstory

[timidxtempted]

Too loud.

It's a constant cacophony. There is so much going on, it's hard to focus on anything that needs attention. It's too fast, or too slow, or too much, or too little; it's too light, it's too dark, it's too sharp, it's too abrasive. It's un-ending, it's overwhelming, it's so raw and it hurts and it's numb and unyielding and it's all over everything and it's nowhere. It's all at the same time and time is not relevant.

It's too loud.

It's too loud.

It's. Too. Loud.

There.

In her head.

She hides it well. The ceaseless noise.

She dons her daily masks and she fixes her face and she doesn't look anyone in the eyes because it's not safe.

Because it adds to the noise.

She spins her rings and she hums her tunes and she organizes the chaos outside her head

so. fucking. well.

while she hides the mess inside.

It's too loud.

It's too loud.

It's too loud.

All she'd ever known was too fucking loud.

Imagine her shock when he showed her she had a mute button.

#ask game #microstory #thanks for the ask! #i wrote a thing

[iheartgarrus]

N7 Month Day 1: Space

(AO3 Link - My goal for these prompts is microstory fills, but length may vary. Enjoy some Shakarian fluff for Day 1!)

Garrus was extremely considerate of Shepard’s space.

Maybe… a little too considerate.

And to be fair, she was a little less than forthright with her desires. She’d never had the “moving in together” conversation before.

“You can leave some things here if you want,” she tried to hint, and he hesitantly moved a single change of clothes and toiletries kit into the bedside drawer. He still never presumed to come up and spend the night unless invited.

One evening, halfway through climbing into bed, he froze. “Did… you buy a turian pillow?”

“You should’ve told me these existed,” she replied casually. “I’d have gotten one months ago.”

Quietly, he thanked her, and they went to bed. But she must’ve done something right, because he stopped waiting for her to ask him up after that.

#mass effect #shakarian #n7month #n7 month 2022 #fanfic #microstory #my work

[littleferallamb]

No. Death wasn't beautiful. It wasn't divine or poetical or anything like that. Death was Death. It was the end of life, the fall to the oblivion and to darkness. It was never beautiful. It was scary. Once you are dead, there is nothing. There's no Heaven, no Hell, no light, no darkness, no here and there, no up or down or left or right. There is no poetry, no blood, no honor, no redemption. No pain, no hapiness, no peace. Just nothing, just death.

And I couldn't understand it until it was too late, because, above of all, there is nothing before that eternal nothingness. Death came, and no light was there to warn me about it.

⊱ ────── Versión en Castellano ───── ⊰

No. La muerte no es linda. No era divina ni poética, ni nada por el estilo. La muerte era muerte. Era el fin de la vida, el descenso al olvido y a la oscuridad. Nunca fue nada bello. Era aterradora. Una vez que mueres, no hay nada. No hay Cielo ni infierno. No hay luz, ni oscuridad, ni aquí, ni allá, ni arriba o abajo o izquierda o derecha. No hay poesía, no hay sangre, no hay honor, no hay redención, no hay paz. Solo el vacío, la nada... Y la muerte.

Y no lo entendí hasta que fue muy tarde, porque, sobre todo, no hay nada antes de esa nada eterna. La muerte vino, y no había ninguna luz para advertirme sobre ella.

★∻∹⋰⋰ ☆∻∹⋰⋰ ★∻∹⋰⋰ ☆∻∹⋰⋰★∻∹⋰⋰

𝐺.𝑃 𝑀𝑖𝑙𝑜

#random thoughts #poetry #poetas en español #poems on tumblr #microstory #microrelato #muerte #death #bilingual #original #dark academia #writing #escrituras #poesía

[neondreams2145]

He took a drag off his cigarette and looked loningy out the window.

"Is it everything you imagined it'd be?" She whispered softly from the bed next to him.

He looked around the room. It was beautiful, best that Soma Corp money could buy. So much more than a gutter rat like him deserved. He racked his brain thinking about it. This was it: the money, the tech, the respect. It was everything he'd ever wanted. People like him died for this. He had literally killed for this. So why did it all feel so hollow? Why did this room feel as far away from reality as it was from the ground?

"No, he whispered. I fucking hate this city"

"But it loves you, that's why you keep coming back." She said with only the slightest bit of scorn in her voice.

He looked across the room at the hardware on the table. His body armor and rifle and her deck and trodes stared at him the way he stared at the city. In a few hours, none of this would matter, and nothing would probably ever matter again.

"Whether it loves me or not, I'm gonna burn it all down." He said taking his last drag.

#cyberpunk #cyberpunk aesthetic #cybercore #netrunner #spilled ink #microfiction #microstory

[mountinez]

I’m so so late to the party so idek if your still taking requests😭😭 if you’re not it’s okay just ignore this

I’m a Neymessi girlie but I would love lichantony too if you’d rather write them🫶🏾

41. Comfort food

hi, meb! <3

i'm deeply sorry for the delay in answering this ask and writing your lil fic, but i did my best and i hope i can pay you for the delay with this. also thank you for giving me the option to write for lichantony, since i confess they are the football ship i've been writing for the most. i hope you like it! it is basically settled somewhere after the barcelona game. 🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

Licha drags him away from the group, and wastes no time trapping him between his body and a concrete wall. One can still hear belated cheers, but he's focused on the sound of his own heartbeat against Antony's as he hugs him in relief. There was something about that game that could change everything. They couldn't send Antony away, it was like imagining half of his own body being ripped from him.

Antony feels a little suffocated. Maybe Licha shouldn't be squeezing him like that. They're both a little sweaty, but that's okay. There's a slight sense of attachment and intimacy that doesn't allow anything to get awkward. It's just the two of them as if the universe were made just for them. Thinking about it that way, they should be kissing, but the comfort in that hug was absurdly necessary.

Licha breathes softly,  with his face still resting on Antony's shoulder. Bringing his face even closer to Antony's, he lets the next kiss land on the tip of the Brazilian's nose. Antony frowns, but soon after lets a silly smile escape his lips. Licha smiles affectionately, seeing him having so much fun with something so simple. "Trust me. I'm not going anywhere." Antony’s words are slurred, but clear enough for Licha to hear and enough to calm his restlessness.

He is looking at Antony as if he sees his comfort food in front of him. That look has possessiveness and desire, but it's also full of affection. Licha lets his eyelids rest and lets out a low sigh. He is finally at peace and approaches to kiss Antony, this time on the lips. The kiss makes his wet lips slide across Antony's face until they reach the infamous dove tattoo. Then they go to Antony’s throat and then to his ear. Licha takes the earlobe between his teeth and gently bites the skin, feeling the soft metal of Antony’s earring against his lips. “Is it a pinky promise?” The whisper makes Antony shiver. Soon, he pulls away for a second just to look into Licha's eyes and let his thumb slide over the dimple in the Argentine's cheek. 

He was not the kind to keep promises, but this one is different. Belonging together, yes, this seems right.

about this ask game

#mebs <3 #lichantony #microstory #my fics #small fics #manchester united #lisandro martinez #antony santos #sorry for the mistakes D:

[ktheqw]

Building into the grief_of_the_elm_tree Feeling the buzz as the animals flee from sight Standing under the sky for a little longer

Beginnings and endings come together a joyous rapture thunders through flesh and bone in the distance, lightning hits the old tree

An explosion of wood sensations of gooseflesh and clarity Another tree hit closer

Fleeing for home

#grief of the elm tree #candkwords #gippsland poets #original poetry #poetry story #poets and poetry #poetry of tumblr #vss365 #storm #lightning strike #exploding tree #storm buzz #poemsbyme #microstory

[spaceclassifiedsection]

For Sale: 1972 Apollo Moon Buggy. 16.5 Miles. Minimal Rust Damage, Good Tires. Silver-Zinc Potassium Hydroxide Batteries, Non-Rechargeable, Some Dust On Radiator. All Original Upholstery. Would Make Good Weekend Driver. κ-α-ρ-148996

#classified ads #for sale #cars #moon buggy #moon landing #microfiction #sci fi #science fiction #humor #microstory #flash fiction

[sekwar]

The fly that landed in my alphabet soup now buzzes in anagrams.

#sekwar says a thing #poetry #microstory #i need some soup now

[cassieuncaged]

30. harsh whisper xx

microstory beneath the cut!

A calloused hand tightens around her throat, squeezing as his stubble tickles a pointed ear.

"Now, darling. Tell me who you belong to?" His voice is a harsh whisper before the base of her skull is pushed roughly against the wall.

"You, Enver." Ilwyn spits through gritted teeth. "It's always been you."

#thanks stella! #drabbles #microstory #based on an upcoming au

[spenpritcharderotica]

Lush Stories are running their Halloween themed story competition - a 100 word micro-#erotica piece containing the word ‘pumpkin’.

Here’s my submission, ‘Flicker’:

The candlelight burned bright behind the empty eyes of the hollow pumpkin, its fixed grimace of a smile gleefully egging the lust-filled teenagers on.

The candlelight shone on sweat-soaked skin, gleaming off wet folds of flesh explored by eager tongues, insistent fingers, and a proud, taut cock.

The candlelight shone brightly in the darkness, a beacon in the black, bringing forth creatures of the night. Winged beasts, multi-legged crawlers, and those shaped like men.

The candlelight flickered and danced in the pumpkin head. It caught the frantic stare of wild-eyed fear. It glistened off the knife as it fell.

#halloween #halloweenerotica #microerotica #microstory #100 words #pumpkin

[timidxtempted]

39. accursed 🖋️🩶

Accursed.

She was so fucked.

She knew that she shouldn't just...touch stuff. He'd told her that at least a million times in the months since she'd started investigating supposedly "haunted" places with him.

But it looked so pretty. And soft. And nothing that pretty and soft could be dangerous.

So, she touched.

And now, she was fucked.

Because he was going to say, "I told you so" and that would make her flush with embarasment, but also because she knew with absoute certaintly that he was right.

FUCK.

......................

He watched her try to free herself, and he couldn't help but smirk.

He'd told her a million times that she couldn't just go around touching things in places like this.

She'd be mad as hell if he reminded her of that. But it might be worth it. He hid in the shadows a while longer and watched her try to free herself.

Then he found himself thinking of all the things he wanted to do to her instead.

She looked so pretty, and soft.

Nothing that pretty and soft could be dangerous, he thought to himself, feeling his cock stir.

FUCK.

#ask game #microstory #thank you! #i wrote a thing

[antholozities]

You weave your way through the trees. The wind crashes over your head like waves on the beach, the beach you were just at, the beach you went to with your family for a couple of days a couple of weeks ago. You're not there anymore. Now you're here, and the wind crashes through the leaves far above your head.

You run your fingers along the trunk of a ponderosa pine. You know it's a ponderosa pine because you learned how to identify different trees at a summer camp several years back. The bark is flakey, layered, and you try to wedge your fingernails into the crevices strewn about its surface. Like a bug trying to burrow. Crows call in the distance. The wind crashes above your head.

The crows, you wonder, performing a mental double-take. They've been following you for quite a while now. Not just out here - no, you've spied them around your neighborhood and on your yard and on your windowsill and in the corners of your harried vision. That's crows for you, you suppose. Curious, knowledgeable things.

You and the crows have that much in common. They call your name from somewhere in the middle distance. The wind crashes somewhere far above your head.

You're curious. It was curiosity that made you poke around at the piles of seaweed on the beach. Curiosity motivated you to look at the tree infographic they gave you at camp with careful scrutiny, letting your eyes roam and your gears whir until you knew exactly what ponderosa pine bark looked like. Curiosity drives you now, and every step you take seems to make a unique noise crunching through the blanket of grass and twigs, and the wind crashes far above your head. Curiosity drives you.

You can't decide which voice to listen to - that of the wind or that of the crows.

#original writing #horror #unsettling #microstory #inspiration #story inspo #pnw #possessed by the put words on paper demons again #cryptidcore #koshak engages in creativity

[iheartgarrus]

N7 Month Day 6: Exaltation

(AO3 Link - Today I bring you some feels-y hurt/comfort-y Shakarian with a wee bit of steaminess. [It's quite mild but under a cut to be safe.])

The idolization started sometime after Akuze.

Shepard couldn't wrap her head around it - what had she done aside from getting lucky? Fifty good marines were dead. Maybe she'd be some kind of hero if she had saved anyone, but merely surviving wasn't an achievement.

And people kept talking to her about it. How did it cross no one's mind that she might not want to be reminded of the worst day of her life?

It turned into full-on hero worship after the Battle of the Citadel. That or calling her crazy for insisting on the reality of the Reapers; there was really no in-between.

She'd joined the Alliance because she didn't have anywhere else to go. All of this was never the plan.

Then, during the Reaper War, when all of her ignored warnings were proven to be warranted, it became outright exaltation. 'You're the only one who can save us, Shepard.' She heard variations of that multiple times a week. What the fuck was she supposed to do with that?

Exaltation. Worship. Reverence. She was sick of it. Except...

Garrus gave it new meaning.

Before him, she had never felt cherished for who she was, rather than what she could do. But in the sanctuary of their cabin, he showed her what she meant to him with every touch - every taste, breath, and thrust. He had an innate sense for when she needed to be reminded that she - Viola, not Commander Shepard - was nothing less than his universe.

'Because I need you.'

It was his brand of worship that empowered her to endure everyone else's without breaking. So the truth that only she knew was that if the galaxy would be doomed without her, it would absolutely be doomed without Garrus Vakarian.

#mass effect #n7month #n7 month 2022 #shakarian #angst #fanfic #microstory #my work #steamy #just a little

[littleferallamb]

1: Ascensor

Pronto subiría por el ascensor. Estaría atrapada en una pequeña cápsula, encerrada por unas grandes puertas de metal. Eran pesadas, frías y grises. Todo en el interior del ascensor tenía un aspecto extraño. Le gustaba. Le resultaba relajante el tono verdoso de la iluminación, el gran espejo y ese dibujo de un pescado a fibrón sobre la pared. Le gustaba que era todo tan silencioso que aunque no tuviese sus auriculares puestos y el volúmen estuviese bajito, podía escuchar su música. El ascensor era su parte favorita de volver a casa luego de la escuela, porque una vez que abría la puerta, todo cambiaba, como si entrase a otra realidad.

Abrió la puerta del ascensor y ni bien puso un pie en él, sintió como su cabeza se vaciaba y quedaba en blanco. No había nada, solo ella, flotando en algún lugar del espacio, protegida por madera y metal.

Podía escuchar el leve sonido del ascensor en una mezcla con la música de sus auriculares que colgaban en su cuello.

Su mente estaba flotando. Se sentía tan ligera. Sin preocupaciones, tristezas, ni pensamiento alguno. Se sentía segura y tranquila, y la inundaba un cosquilleo en todo su cuerpo que la incitaba a dormir. Apenas llegase a su piso, se tiraría en la cama.

Si hubiese podido, dormiría allí mismo. Nunca saldría de ahí. Era todo tan vacío y silencioso que le daba paz, suscitaba un deseo de arte, de naturaleza.

Se olvidó completamente de sus profesores y sus nuevos compañeros, de los exámenes y las tareas. Y quería quedarse allí para siempre, para mo pensar en ello nunca más.

Pero vivía en el segundo piso y el recorrido no duraba más que dos segundos. Cuando abrió la puerta verde, la realidad la golpeó como un frío y violento viento invernal y toda esa paz, silencio y vacío en su mente se volvió a llenar con gritos, angustias, fechas límites y todas las cosas que por alguna razón, cuando no deberían, nos importan.

#microstory #historia corta #random thoughts

[houseofreflectingshadows]

we need a revolution

to combat all this hate

we're standing at ground zero

between now and too late

~Storm©RMW

#poetry #microstory #mywords #photo art

[unwellsetting]

𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐬:

¹²/³/²⁰²²

regional gothic: Arabian southwestern.

we stared at each other over the eggs and cheese, i was trying to communicate to him “are you seeing this? please tell me you’re.”, but his eyes told me one thing “ keep eating. don’t look around.”, his face is different, softer as if he was looking at me from under the water, it’s unnerving, my bare feet are swinging under the table, kicking him, he didn’t react. 

then i sneezed once, twice, and a feather lashed in my mouth, my parents wings, white, prodigious, heavy and overwhelming flooded the kitchen, my mother wing were weighing brother's head down, and still he was eating, his face an ugly dough, she was reading her morning prayers, her fingers flicking the rosary beads, her eyes bitterly cold wastelands.

 father's wings almost knocks me down, the feathers are falling in my tea, cramping us around the table, choking us, the table edge is digging between my ribs, i can feel them under us breathing, i gulp the tea with the wet sinking feathers so he doesn’t talk to me, he’s listening to the radio, damned thing, so loud the back of my skull burn, the day of judgment's lecture, when mountains walk, the moon falls and the sun burns out, and god calls forth the bones from the graves, his favorite subject. i turn to the calendar, it's still early until the day of reckoning, it's Tuesday, i kick brother again.

we fall under the table and crawl under the back breaking feathers, i latch to his shirt when i lose sight of him, until he drags me out by the hem of my gown.

we stand in front of the bathroom mirror, I'm standing on the toilet, we pluck feathers out of our hair, clothes, ears, noses, under our nails and throw the bundle of softness in the trash, we brush our teeth, and i run to my room, i wear my school uniform and my white socks with a bow, run down and i wait for him by the door.

when he descended the stairs, his wings were clawing the ceiling. i looked around then back at them looming above his head, he swung the door and pushed me lightly and yelled sharply baring his teeth over the howls of the nonbelievers hellish devastations, “we’re leaving.”

then without looking at me he muttered gravely:” I'll shear them.”

.

i ran to the school’s bathroom and pull up my shirt and turned to stare at my back in the foggy mirror, i wiped my sweating eyes, my lips chewed like spitted berries, but my back, there was no feathers, no lashing wings, no lumps.

i turned around me as if now the wings will blow out inside the door to splinters, sprawling from under the green tiles, burgeoning in the toilets and storming in the sinks.

when I'm out of the bathroom. i cough, retch and heave, i groan and bend over, and reach into my throat to pulls out a white feather.

#weird fiction #weird horror #regional gothic #rural gothic #eldritch horror #? #domestic horror #unreality #original writing #original work #writing #my wriitng #angels #religious imagery #gothic #short story #microstory