#writing flash fiction

[em-dash-press]

What Is Flash Fiction?

You don’t have to write novel-length manuscripts to be a professional or hobby writer. You can also learn to conquer the world of flash fiction. Check out this quick guide to learn everything you need to know about the genre.

What Is Flash Fiction?

Flash fiction is a literature genre of short fictional stories. They can range from a few words to a few pages.

Although you’ll see word counts thrown around by well-meaning writers, the recommended length of a flash fiction story is typically set by the publisher printing them or the contest accepting them.

History of Flash Fiction

People have been telling stories likely since the beginning of time. We’ve seen them etched on cave walls and tablets across thousands of years.

There’s also a long history of verbal flash fiction. Cultures passed down their mythologies and lore by telling the same short stories to each new generation. 

A Western view of history might say that short stories began with Aesop’s fables in the 4th century BCE. However, Vishnu Sharma wrote the Panchatantra around 200 BCE. 

Since then, writers like Kate Chopin, Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah, Xiao Hong, and more have made history with their short stories. It’s a genre full of potential but it’s often overlooked by those who believe the pinnacle of writing to be publishing novels.

Characteristics of Flash Fiction

The Page or Word Count

This factor changes depending on the publisher’s preferences. A team making a small chapbook for an indie press might say their flash fiction submissions can only be 500 words maximum. A creative writing magazine could have more pages for story submissions, so their flash fiction guidelines have a 2,000-word maximum.

Publishers can also change their preferences with each publication. A quarterly short story journal may need more page space for advertisers, so they require shorter stories for their fall edition than they did for their summer print.

Always check the guidelines to ensure you’re within the word count for any submission request you find. It’ll be alongside other guidelines like the accepted genres.

Standard Plot Points

Flash fiction is just like longer fiction — it almost always has a beginning, an inciting incident, a middle, and an end. Unless you’re writing for an experimental submission, try working these into your extra short stories. (Experimental calls for submissions may accept a paragraph or a sentence that tells a story without necessarily having all of these things.)

A Strong Sense of Place

Novels get the luxury of plot progression. You can let your characters introduce themselves to your reader gradually. As the plot unfolds, your readers will get more invested. They know there’s a great depth of story about to come.

Flash fiction has to snap the reader’s attention to your work. They’re reading it because it’s a faster form of literature. Your story needs a strong sense of place to ground it, so make your world-building vivid from the start.

You can rely on the traditional five senses to describe your initial scene and use the next few paragraphs or pages to bring the limited world to life through your character’s experiences.

Specific Word Choice

Flash fiction writers have less space to get their point across. The eventual editing that follows is going to be much sharper. Ensure that every sentence serves a purpose and you stand behind every word. If you’re unsure what you meant by something, it’s a waste of valuable page space.

Typically Fast Pacing

Most readers expect a faster story with flash fiction. They know they’re going to get a satisfying experience for 10 to 30 minutes of their time. Ensure your pacing is quick, regardless of how many traditional plot points your story actually has.

A traditional novel-length or even short story manuscript might throw in a scene for just character development or just plot. Flash fiction combines both. Give every scene a purpose to make your extra short stories successful.

Limited Character Rosters

Unfortunately for character readers, flash fiction also presents less time to get to know tons of people. However, many novels become hits with a primary core cast of three to five characters, so the number you choose for your flash fiction really depends on your story.

Introduce your characters within your pacing instead of setting up scenes to meet them outside of your plot. This goes back to giving every scene a purpose to speed up your pacing. If your reader only needs to feel engaged with one or two characters to understand what you’re telling them through your story, it’ll be a greater success compared to flash fiction that leaves many characters undeveloped.

Examples of Flash Fiction

6 Words: “For sale: baby shoes, never worn” by Ernest Hemingway (Supposedly)

Although we’re not sure who actually wrote this famous flash story, Ernest Hemingway often gets the credit. It tells a story by letting the reader fill in the gaps. It tells you what the story is about—a baby and the loss of it—but you get to imagine why. It makes the story effective because many people have experienced loss (of their babies or otherwise) and can relate to the guttural emptiness behind the fictional ad.

681 Words: “Girl” by Jamaica Kincaid

This non-traditional flash fiction appears in creative writing classes because it’s a unique take on the genre. It uses a stream-of-consciousness approach to talk about girlhood and the complex relationship between a girl and her mom. Layered in between the stitched-together sentences are positive aspects of that same concept. I highly recommend reading it to transform how you think about story formatting.

1,159 Words: “Riddle” by Ogbewe Amadin

In less than 1,200 words, Amadin tells a story about how there are complex layers between the concepts of good and evil. The twist ending leaves readers questioning how they feel about the story’s message. It doesn’t always take a novel-length manuscript to keep readers thinking about your work long after they finish the last page.

How to Write Flash Fiction

1. Develop Your Characters

Character development is about more than their physical appearance or quirky traits. What do your characters care about? What are their relationships with each other?

Most importantly, know why each character matters. They each have to lend something to your theme or plot progression.

2. Make Everything Feel Real

You don’t need 100,000 words to make a fictional world come to life. You can use tools like vivid imagery, symbolism, the five senses, and even your characters’ relationships to help the reader sink into your story.

You’ll know you need to work on this element of your flash fiction if it reads more like dry narration than an in-depth experience.

3. Weave an Ever-Present Theme

Your story has to stay focused on why you’re writing it. That’s also known as your theme. If you ask yourself what each plot point does for the purpose of your theme, your flash fiction will become more to the point and purposeful.

4. Edit With Different Eyes

When it comes to publishing flash fiction, everything is about getting to the right word count for submission. Make sure you polish your grammar (a general spell-check tool is helpful in addition to software like Grammarly). You don’t want to waste your limited word count on things that don’t advance your plot or theme.

Common Mistakes to Avoid When Writing Flash Fiction

1. Not Writing With Theme In Mind

It’s easy to start a new story when you’re excited about a character, concept, or scene. It’s much harder to write a great story if you finish it and submit it for publication without identifying its theme.

Always match your flash fiction to at least one overarching theme. Without it, your story will feel aimless. It’s not good for flash fiction or any other type of creative writing.

2. Not Including a Twist

Stories always need at least one twist. That includes a super short flash fiction manuscript. Whether the twist is emotional, physical, or circumstantial, it should make the reader feel something because they’re already connected with and care about your characters.

3. Not Remembering Your Audience

Consider your potential audience’s demographics. You can also consider the potential publisher’s demographics if you have a specific contest or submission call in mind.

How will your audience best receive or learn from your theme? Is it something they’ll better understand through a shocking plot twist or do they need emotional development?

The audience’s age range and general reading interests play a big role in these decisions. It’s a good thing to reflect on before writing any type of story.

-----

Anyone can study flash fiction from an academic perspective with guides like this one. Break the genre apart to understand how it works, what makes it successful, and why readers like it. You’ll develop these skills in your creative practice to get started with your own short stories.

FAQs About Flash Fiction

What Is Flash Fiction?

Flash fiction is a short creative writing genre that includes stories between six and 2,000 words.

What Are the Flash Fiction Genres?

Writers can create stories of any subgenre when writing a flash fiction manuscript. If you want to write science fiction, fantasy, romance, or any other type of story, you can make it within a flash fiction format.

Who Publishes Flash Fiction?

Publishers calling for flash fiction may want shorter stories for various editions of their magazines, newsletters, journals, or contests. You can find groups publishing flash fiction by browsing incredible databases like Chill Subs or collecting submission calls through independent Google searches.

What Is the Rule for Flash Fiction?

Don’t go over your word count limit! Check the publisher’s requested word count and write within that framing. If you have a pre-written story you’d like to submit, you’ll need to make a copy and edit it down to the correct word count.

If you like what you see, please consider using the tip feature on my posts! I run this site for free, but will always appreciate the financial support. 💙

#flash fiction #what is flash fiction #writeblr #writing advice #writing flash fiction #writing tips #creative writing #writers of tumblr #writing community #writing #writing inspiration #writing help #writing resources

[strangelittlestories]

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.

---

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

[plushipaws]

“Dragon, I am not sure that I am a prince.”

“Of course not, you are my beloved pet.” “No, I mean… gender-wise.”

“Oh. Are you a princess?”

“No, I don’t think so.” “Alright, dear. Then, what are you?” “I think- well I’m not sure I am allowed.”

“You can be anything you want to be, my darling.”

“Well- and please don’t laugh- I think I’d like to be a dragon. … Like you.”

The dragon purred and wrapped its long neck around the smaller being and nuzzled its nose on their head. “Then a dragon you are, my love.”

“But I’m worried I’m not qualified to be a dragon. I don’t have scales or wings.”

“Dragons come in all sorts of kinds. Many are scaleless or wingless.”

“And I’m rather small and weak for a dragon…” They sighed. “I mean, I am already fairly small and weak for a human.”

The dragon studied the being who was now a smaller dragon for a long time before speaking rather gently. “I am rather small and weak for a dragon too you know… It is something I never told you, and you couldn’t know because you have none other to compare me to.” “What? But you’re so big and strong! You fly ten miles a day to hunt for us and you defend me from nosey knights who try to ‘rescue’ me!”

The dragon nodded. “Yes, but other dragons can fly for a thousand miles a day and hunt for an army, and they could fight off an army too. After fighting a single knight I become quite tired… This is why I live alone in this cave, away from other dragons. They harass me for my weakness, and try to push me to do more… they say what I am is not enough.” With this, the dragon lowered it’s head, seeming to feel ashamed. 

The smaller, human shaped dragon kissed the larger one on the snout. “Well, you are certainly enough for me. You might not be able to fight or feed an army, but your hunts keep us both full and your claws keep us both safe. And I always look forward to curling up under your wings at the end of the day. You don’t have to be alone anymore.” They frowned, their brow furrowing. “It makes me angry how you were treated.”

“It makes me angry how you were treated! That is what drew me to rescue you. I could see your society was treating you the same as mine was… Pushing you to do too much when you were tired, not appreciating you for who you are… but I appreciate you. You always know how to make me laugh, and all your little faces are so cute. I always look forward to feeling you press against my sides at the end of the day.” It nuzzled them. “You are dragon enough for me, better than any other dragon I have met. You are enough.”

The smaller dragon nodded. “We are our own sort of dragons. And that is enough.”

#otherkin #trans #disability #chronic fatigue #flash fiction #dragonkin #fantasy #my art #my writing #xenogender

[the-modern-typewriter]

"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

[whereserpentswalk]

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

[flame-343]

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

[graceofagodswrath]

Menstrual Cycles and Aliens

“I apologize, but Williams is doing what?”

Kate sighed, brown eyes rolling at Ka’oolai’s stiff confusion. “Bleeding Niagara Falls out of her uterus. She’s gonna need a couple days.”

“Katy.” Jasmine hissed. “That is not how you explain this shit to people.”

Kate’s lips thinned in exasperation. “It makes them listen! God knows how many times I had to describe it so graphically to get all the men in my family to understand that you can’t just ‘suck it up!’”

The three sat in the dining lounge, a room on the transport ship meant for relaxation for workers on their breaks. Ka’looai, the ship’s second-in-command, had inquired about Pilot William’s ask for absence. Kate Blanche, the engineer and second roommate to De’maya, had answered in her usually blunt way. Luckily, The third roommate and Quartermaster of the ship, Jasmine Lativos, had been there to cushion Ka’looai’s immediate confusion.

Ka’looai held up their four hands to the two humans, insectoid limbs the notable deep, iridescent purple of their native race, Yamogai. They resembled a mix of a beetle and praying mantis, tall with hard, spiny exoskeletons. They displayed a variety of colors like humans (tho more vibrant), but the most common was purple.

“I apologize… I do not understand. Does Pilot Williams have an open wound? Do they need to go to the medibay?” Ka’looai’s voice sounded like the vibrating of beating wings, so they had to pronunciate other languages precisely in order to be understood. So they spoke slowly and with a deliberate concentration. This voice also gave way to an accent that made them pronounce certain letters like ‘v’s. There was a running joke with humans that Yamogai were related to Germans, as their accents were similar when speaking English.

Jasmine shook her head. “No. She’s experiencing a part of her menstrual cycle, the human female reproductive cycle.” Ka’looai cocked their head, so Jasmine continued. “Every month, we expel the inside lining of our uterus, the organ that develops a human fetus if the female is pregnant. If a female isn’t pregnant, our uterus removes the old lining of tissue and blood and gets rid of it from our body to create a new lining in case she does become pregnant. It’s the same muscle contractions as childbirth, though at a smaller fraction. This process can be extremely painful for some, if not most people, and De’maya is one of them. So she just needs some time off to deal with and recover from this experience.”

Ka’looai stared for a moment, mantis-like eyes seeming to stare through the humans souls. “I… see. I will inform the captain, then. Is there anything else we must know about this… event? I assume you two experience it as well as you said every human female does?”

Kate shrugged, long brown braid shifting in her shoulders. “Mine isn’t so bad usually. I’m one of the lucky ones. I get irritable and the occasional back pains, but I don’t need time off recuperate necessarily.”

“Irritable?”

Jasmine smiled, more of grimace for those experienced in reading human expressions. “Annoyed. Aggressive. The process increases the amount of estrogen and testosterone in our bodies, hormones that can heavily influence our emotional states. So we can be a bit…” Jasmine paused to think. “Intense.”

“Ah.” Ka’looai’s antennae twitched emphatically. “That is why I sensed the rise in strange pheromones. So this increase of chemicals affects you physically, emotionally, and mentally. I see why Pilot Williams asked for an absence then. Will the two of you require the same?”

Jasmine made an expression that Ka’looai could not understands. She bared her teeth while narrowing here eyes and scrunching her nose, dark skin wrinkling. Her hands rolled synchronously back and forth, a gesture the Yamogai recognized as a sign for uncertainty. “My cycle is more chaotic. Many factors can influence the way it is, and I tend to be influenced heavily by those.” She gestured at the other human. “Whereas Kate’s average is light and less painful, and De’maya’s average is heavy and extreme pain, mine can be either depending on my situation. If I’m stressed and haven’t taken care of myself, it’s usually pretty painful. If the opposite, I can usually function pain free. It depends.”

“What do you mean by light and heavy?”

“That refers to the amount of blood and tissue we expel. Light is very little, medium is a bit more, heavy means a lot. Some people have more lining than others. The heavier the flow can also increase the amount of pain.”

“Is this process different for every human?”

Both women nodded.

“And you still work through such obstacles?”

“Pretty much.” Jasmine confirmed.

“Interesting.” Ka’looai hummed, the sound vibrating the air rhythmically. “So human females expel a large amount of their own blood and tissue every month simply for not reproducing. And it is incredibly painful, yet some of you still function through it. No wonder females are in higher demand than males. You are a hardy species.” Their laugh sounded like the erratic buzzing of fly multiplied by ten. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

“Oh, there’s a shit ton if you wanna properly educate yourself on human reproduction.” Kate waved a scarred, oil darkened hand. “But Jaz gave you the basics. Hah, you may know and understand it better than the average human male.” Kate chuckled dryly and Jasmine huffed. “But that’s a debate hole that can be saved for another time.”

“If you want to learn more, read some human biology books, and we can answer any questions you have.” Said Jasmine. “Make sure they’re recent ones tho, the outdated ones are full of a lot of misinformation.”

“I see. I will do so. Human biology continues to fascinate. I have always found learning about other races to be rather intriguing, and humans never disappoint.”

“Yeup.” Kate leaned back and threw her arms behind her head. “Just don’t start making jokes about us leaving puddles and shit everywhere, or not being trusted behind the wheel.” Her eyes narrowed and she bared her teeth in a not-friendly-smile. “I will commit some “transgressions,” if so.”

Ka’looai’s antennae twitched. “Understood.”

~~~~~~

I’m currently going through this month’s rounds, and felt like distracting myself. Finally had the motivation to write and of course it was during a shitty time of my life. Needed me some alien feels that understand my woes better than my own family. I know this prompt has been done a lot, but I wanted to give my own take on it.

#humans are crazy #humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are weird #humans are deathworlders #my writing #writing #flash fiction #my fiction #menstrual cramps #menstrual problems #menstrual pain #menstruation cycle #periods #period cramps

[old-fashioned-lover-boy]

Lucifer Morningstar x gn! reader

Show: Hazbin Hotel

Genre: fluff / flash fic

Words count: 291

The soft light coming from a lamp in the living room was the only thing that dimly lit the room. It was night but obviously Lucifer wasn't sleeping.

He was playing his violin. 

He was playing his violin and he was so good at it, you almost forgot how good of a musician he was. 

The melody coming from the instrument was filling the house and you were drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

He was alternating simple melodies to complicated and quick compositions. It was truly hypnotic to listen to.

You decide to remain at the door to listen to him finish the piece and when he did you walked in while clapping your hands together. 

When he heard that he flinched visibly and turned around quickly. When he saw it was you his face flushed red in embarrassment.

"Oh [Name]. You scared me, darling" - he spoke quite softly as he always did with you.

A equally soft giggle left your lips - "I'm sorry Luci, I didn't mean to. Though you deserved an applause...that was truly great" - you spoke as a smile lingered on your face. 

Suddenly he pulled you close to him by grabbing your hips and gave you a sweet kiss. 

He loved to kiss you at the most random moments, he did that more often that you could get used to. 

"I'm happy you liked that because I've been working on it for you" - he said proud.

You grinned widely - "Oh really? I'm honored" 

He smiled back at you before kissing you again, longer than earlier. 

How you loved those private, intimate moments with him... you always wished they could last forever because everything always seemed perfect when it came to you two. 

#lucifer morningstar #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel fandom #short story #flash fiction #x reader #x gn reader #x male reader #my writing #fluff #relationship #violin

[zylev-blog]

Excerpt from a fic I’m thinking about writing. Danny is the god of space, Clockwork is the god of time, with Danny being his biological son. Danny can see through time, but it’s limited, so Clockwork still sends him out to fix time

———-

“Barry Allen.”

Barry turned, completely unprepared for the being that stood in front of him. Brilliant white hair that moved without a breeze, light blue skin with the smattering of freckles across his face, vivid, neon green eyes, sharp, pointed ears, and brilliant white teeth that had fangs. The being wore royal blue robes that covered from his neck to his feet, and were free of any logo. On the beings shoulders sat a cape of a vivid black, darker than any fabric Barry had ever seen before. On the inside of the cape were stars and galaxies, along with planets that moved around the cape. Barry didn’t know if the cape was a projection of the galaxy or if it was it’s own seperate galaxy housed inside a cape.

“You have messed with the fabric of time.” The being continued.

The man was around Barry’s age, perhaps early to mid twenties. He stood several inches taller than Barry, who stood at 6”1.

“I—“ He found his mouth as dry as cotton. The being, whoever he was, radiated power unlike anything Barry had ever seen before in his life.

Barry was terrified.

“I’m sorry.” Barry said lamely.

The being tilted his head just slightly, looking at Barry as if he were an animal. “Everything is as it should be, Barry Allen,” The being continued, “However, the fabric of time will become unraveled if we do not correct your anomaly before it solidifies.”

Barry had no idea what the fuck that meant. The confusion must have shown on his face, as the being continued to speak.

“Time is like a river,” the being said, “if you throw a pebble in the stream it will change the surface of the water until the ripples dissipate. We are riding the current, but the ripples through time are becoming more unstable.”

“How do we fix it?” Barry asked.

“Simple. I reset the timeline to the original course.”

Barry frowned. “My mother would go back to being dead though, wouldn’t she?”

“Yes.”

Barry’s eyes narrowed. He knew he didn’t have his metahuman abilities and would likely be killed by this alien if he challenged the man, but he did it anyways. “No.”

Much to Barry’s surprise, the being smiled. “I knew you were going to say that.”

It seemed as if the being was messing with him now. Barry didn’t know what to think of that.

“I don’t want to lose my mom.” Barry said, sadness creeping into his voice.

“Your life has been altered by another being who should not be altering the time stream.” The being responded.

Wait, what?

“I will spare your mother if you assist me in catching this man.”

“Yes!” He agreed immediately. “I’ll do whatever it takes. Just save my mom.”

“Be careful what you wish for, Barry Allen.” The being warned. The being turned to leave, but was stopped by Barry.

“Wait. How do I contact you? And what do I call you?” Barry asked.

“I will contact you when the timeline resets.” The being said, pulling a medallion in the shape of a gear out of thin air and handing it to Barry. “Call me Phantom.”

“What’s this for?” Barry questioned.

“Place it around your moms neck. It will save her from being wrote out of existence.” Phantom replied, then dissappeared into a bright beam of light.

#barry allen #dp dc crossover #dp x dc prompt #dp x dc writing prompt #the flash #flash fiction #flashpoint #danny phantom #ghost king danny #danny is ghost king #Danny is a god #dp x dc fanfic #dp x dc #dp x dc au #dp x dc crossover

[jpitha]

It's just a walk for you?

Here's my entry for this week's @flashfictionfridayofficial

I'll always hire humans on my crew, I'll tell you why.

A couple of cycles back, we were out past the Heights and the reactor failed. Some kind of overload, the engineers were chattering about it worried and finally pulled the lever and ejected it. It stopped us from being destroyed outright, but we had minimal power. Only what we could collect with our solar collectors, really. Lights, minimal environmental, things like that.

As luck would have it, we were stranded in a system with a "habitable" planet. It was much too heavy and chilly for most every sapient that I knew. Our human navigator loved it. Said it looked a lot like home. He also pointed out that it had a Community climate beacon on the surface, and that we could probably sent out a distress call from it.

Let me tell you, without a reactor, an atmospheric landing is not something you want to attempt. Still, we made it to the surface alive and mostly intact. The issue was we were still 150 kilometers from the beacon. We had no ground vehicle and it seemed like we were going to perish so close to rescue.

After lamenting our plight the human looked up in surprise. "Why are you so sad? It's only 150km. How much food and water do we have?"

"Only 4 days!"

"Oh? That's easy then. We'll just walk to it."

I looked at him like he had five heads. Nobody can walk 150km in 4 days. Still, he seemed determined to give it a try, and I had no other ideas. I told him that he could kill himself however he wanted and if he wanted to die of exposure on a strange planet it far be it from me to stop him.

He got up and rummaged around in the cargo hold and after about two demi-cycles came out with a repulse-litter and some kind of harness he made out of cargo straps. "Come on, it's big enough for everyone." and he gestured to the litter. He had even set up cushions!

By now, the crew had followed me to the cargo hold. "You can't pull this, its too big" were the majority of comments.

"Nah, it'll be fine, I've got the repulse-jets dialed in just right. It will be like wearing a light backpack. Come on, do you want to die for sure here or have a chance of survival? Look how far we've come! All we have to do is go 150 kilometers more and we can be saved!"

I put it to a vote. Of the 8 of us, 6 including the human decided to let him try and drag us to safety.

Early the next morning - ships time - we all climbed aboard. I have to say, he put the effort in. It really was comfortable to sit on the litter.

We set off.

Friends, I want to impress upon you how... easy he made it looked. demi-cycle after demi-cycle he pulled us, walking with that easy lope that all humans use when they're under gravity close to what they evolved under. He even started singing! Nobody knew the words - he said it was an old language that wasn't in the translators - but he was enjoying himself.

It was a sight to see. It really was like he was out for a fun walk around.

After the second day, someone finally got up the courage to ask him why he could do it.

"Do what, the walk? Oh, walking is not hard for humans. We evolved as persistence hunters. Our ancient ancestors would pick an animal and just jog after it until it died."

"What? What if you got tired?"

He grinned and showed his teeth. "The animal would tire first. As long as we kept the jog light and easy-" he gestured "-like we're doing it now, a human can keep it up a long time."

On the third day he kept it up. We'd pass him water and a ration bar when he asked, and occasionally he'd stop to nap for a few demi-cycles but honestly not that much. Most of the crew slept while he hauled to conserve energy. The planet was a good deal colder than what we preferred. He didn't mind though, wore a light jacket. He said that the exercise kept him warm.

Sure enough, on the morning of the 4th day, we made it to the climate beacon and our engineer was able to send out a distress call. We were picked up not even one day later, all thanks to our human navigator who hauled us all to safety.

So yeah, I will always hire a human on my crew.

#humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #flash fiction friday #humans are space oddities #humans are space capybaras #sci fi writing #humans are persistence hunters #writing #scifi writing #humans and aliens

[flashfictionfridayofficial]

✨ There's no denying! It's Flash Fiction Friday and it's time for writing!

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We always do our very best to keep the prompt’s genre open, entertaining, positive and encouraging.

Write between 100-1000 words. It can be any genre, in any text format and 18+ is fine by us, just please tag accordingly.

Use this Friday’s theme in your text. Any way you see fit.

Post on your tumblr blog and remember to tag us at @flashfictionfridayofficial​!! So we’ll see it, read it and reblog it!!

Deadline is 24 hours after the prompt has been issued (12 pm CET).

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Go check them out and consider supporting your fellow FFF writers with some likes and reblogs!

✨ And now, the new prompt!

[#FFF241 Hour of Denial]

Denial can be so many things. Whether it is a part of grief, a bold lie or rejection - we want to hear about it! It is the time when we want to hear "it can't be", "it wasn't me" and all that fuels your creative thoughts! Tell us aobut that time, that hour when your character will accept anything but the truth! Get writing and let us know!

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The Collective <3

#flash fiction friday #writeblr #writeblr event #writing prompt #writing community #steal the banner! #fff241 #hour of denial

[paimonial-rage]

expectations - kaveh

[random writing event] | requested by @andromeda-nova-writing

Kaveh scratched his head as he pondered your question. Though you often asked him many random things, this one caught him off guard. If he had to be honest, it was an odd question considering the point in your relationship. He didn’t fully know how to answer. But judging from that expectant look in your eyes, there definitely was a right answer and a wrong one.

“I mean… I’d make you a bed and feed you everyday… I’d take care of you and make sure you’re never in want,” he began, a bit proud of his answer that no matter what happened, he’d take care of you–

“You mean you wouldn’t make me a house?” You asked weakly, horror evident on your face.

He frowned in thought. Well, perhaps he could–

“After all of that, and you’d force me to live the rest of my days in a house with your roommate?”

A sharp bark of laughter erupted from his chest.

“I thought you were talking about– Are you serious!? I can’t even afford a house on my own! You’re expecting me to make a full sized house for you? Me and what money!? What would you even do with–”

You scoffed in sheer disbelief.

“What would I do with a house? What kind of dumb question is that, Kaveh? I’d live in it, duh! What? Are you saying I don’t deserve a house?”

He burst to his feet and slammed his hands to the table.

“I didn’t say that! It’s just–”

But you didn’t bother to hear anything he had to say.

“I’d live in it and eat all the tons of expensive food you buy for me!” You announced stubbornly with an upturned nose and a cross of your arms.

“‘Tons’ of expensive food? How much money do you think I make?” He demanded.

“Well yeah. I need to eat! What would you give me otherwise?”

He paused in thought.

“I… I don’t know. An apple a day?”

Your eyes blew open wide in horror.

“A single apple? What do you think I am, Kaveh, a horse!? I can’t believe you! What kind of boyfriend are you?” You accused, hurt evident in your eyes. “I mean that’s the bare minimum I’d do for you if you got turned into a worm!!”

He sunk into his seat. Was this what it meant to be in a relationship? Was this what it meant to take care of someone? Was he in over his head? He thought this was supposed to be a light-hearted conversation. Not only did he reveal himself to be a bad boyfriend, but judging by the way you were doing your best to hide that smile creeping to your lips, he obviously hurt you too–

Wait.

“You… You wouldn’t do those things at all!” He exclaimed incredulously.

You burst into a fit of laughter, wiping the tear that gathered at the corner of your eye. But upon seeing the frustration in his expression, you did your best to calm down. With a sway of your hips, you stood and made your way behind him. And with those talented fingers of yours, you gently began to massage away the stress in his shoulders.

“Okay, maybe I wouldn’t. But I would make you a nice soft comfy bed with the best and richest dirt in Sumeru. And I’d give you a nice juicy apple every day plucked straight from the highest tree in all of Mondstadt. You’d be living the best life a worm could live.”

He grumbled, doing his best to hold onto his irritation and losing.

“Oh but if I do that, you accuse me of treating you like a horse.”

You laughed.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #kaveh #kaveh x reader #my writing #writing event #request #andromeda-nova-writing #i’m not super happy with the execution but this is supposed to be flash fiction #thank you for the request! #sorry this is a dumb one

[strangelittlestories]

When the adventurers reached the next town, they were horrified to find the inhabitants gathered by the river in order to dunk a witch.

The party drew their weapons, summoned their magicks (both divine and profane) and demanded the townspeople cease at once.

The people of the town who were not actively holding the witch underwater formed a quick circle to elect a spokesperson. That spokesperson stepped forward with palms outstretched and begged the visitors to stay their righteous wrath! The scene unfolding was not what they thought.

How exactly, inquired the party Paladin, did we manage to misinterpret the fact that you are currently dipping a witch in and out of a body of water? Because, oh gosh, if this is a humorous misunderstanding, then it is a *doozy*.

The spokesperson conceded that, yes, the people were currently in the act of dunking the witch in the river and then pulling her out again, before pushing her back in again. However! They were not doing this as any kind of test or punishment, but simply allowing the witch’s magic to diffuse into the water. This would ensure bountiful fishing and also make it nicer for the local water spirits.

But, the Rogue interjected, does the witch not have any strong feelings about this?

I should say she does, replied the spokesperson, she thinks it’s a marvellous time!

At this point the witch - in the act of being lifted out of the river - did indeed give out a screech of delight and proceed to scamper up the bank, before cannonballing back into the water with an almighty splash.

The party Wizard admitted this did look like fun and asked if she could have a go.

Well, remarked the Paladin as the group relaxed by the water to watch the frolicking, I’ve never seen a magic user used as a mystic tea bag before. Truly, these local traditions have a unique kind of magic to them…

Indeed, added the Rogue, you could say the place is quite literally *steeped* in it.

And this is how a strange little anarchist commune of a town founded the world’s first water park.

#writing #microfiction #short story #flash fiction #fantasy #water park #witches #puns #well kinda puns #feghoot #a weird one

[the-modern-typewriter]

"You've no idea what it's like," the villain - the sidekick's ex hero - whispered. Their grip was harsh on the sidekick's arm. "If you're a hero and you lose a fight..."

"You die?"

"They kill you."

"Yeah, villains are like that! It's why I can't believe you-"

"No." The villain's eyes were dark, tormented. "The heroes. The organisation. If you lose a fight, they will kill you."

"...what?" It had to be a joke. The villain did not look like they were joking.

"You're safe if you're just a sidekick, but..."

"But you lost a fight," the sidekick said, dry mouthed, unable to believe they were even considering it.

"But I lost a fight," the villain said. "Which means they expect you to replace me."

#heroes and villains #flash fiction #an idea #heroes #villains #writing

[whereserpentswalk]

People don't realize how liminal it is to be a time traveler. How you don't ever really feel like you're in the time you are. Even when you're in your own time, everything is off, your coat was something you bought in interwar France, the book you're reading on the train is from a bookstore you had to visit in Victorian London, even your necklace was given to you by a Neolithic shaman, from a culture the rest of the world can never know. You find yourself acting strange even when in the present, much less in the past you have to work in.

You remember meeting a eunuch in 10th century China, and having him be one of the only people smart and observant enough to realize you were from a diffrent time. You could talk honestly with him, though still you couldn't reveal too much about your time. And it was still so strange hearing him talk casually about work and mention plotting assassinations. You're not allowed to but you still visit him sometimes.

You remember that the few times you were allowed to tell someone everything it was tragic. You knew a young woman who lived in Pompeii, who you had gotten close to, a few days before she would inevitably die. On your last day there you looked into her eyes, knowing soon they'd be stone and ash, that the beauty of her hair would be washed away by burning magma. And you hugged her, and told her that you wanted her to be safe, and told her she was wonderful and that you wanted her to be comfortable and happy. And you let her tongue know the joy of 21st century chocolate, and her eyes see the beauty of animation, knowing she deserved to have those joys, knowing it wouldn't matter soon. And you hugged her the last time, and told her she deserved happiness. And when you left without taking her it was like you were killing her yourself.

You want to take home everyone you're attached to. There's a college student you befriended in eighteen fifties Boston. And you can't help but see him try to solve problems you know humanity is centuries away from solving. And you just want to tell him. And it's not just that, the way he talked about the books and plays he likes, his sense of humor. There's so many people you want him to meet.

You feel the same way about a young woman you met on a viking age longship. She tells stories to her fellow warriors and traders, stories that will never fully get written down, stories that she tells so uniquely and so well. She has so many great ideas. You want so dearly to take her to somewhere she can share her stories, or where she can take classes with other writers, where she can be somewhere safe instead of being out at sea. She'll talk about wanting to be able to do something, or meet people, and you know you're so close to being able to take her, but you never can, unless she accidently finds out way too much then you can't.

You remember the longship that you met that young storyteller on. You were there before, two years ago for you, ten years later for the people on it. The young woman who told you stories wasn't there ten years later, you had been told why then but you only realize now, her uncle, who ran the ship, had been one of the first people to convert to Christianity in his nation. He killed her, either for not converting or for sleeping with women, you're not sure, but he killed her, and bragged about it when you met him ten years later.

You talk to the storyteller on the longship, ask her about the myths you're there to ask her about, the myths that she loves to tell. You look into her eyes knowing it's probably less then a year until her uncle takes her life. You ask her if you think that those who die of murder go to Valhalla. She tells you she hopes not, she doesn't see Valhalla as a gift but as a duty, she hopes for herself to go to Hel, where she wouldn't have to fight anymore. You slip and admit you're talking about her, telling her that you hope that's where she goes when she's killed. You hope to yourself you'll be forced to take her to the twenty first century, you're tempted even to make it worse, you want to have ruined her enough to be able to save her.

#196 #my thougts #worldbuilding #writing #my worldbuilding #my writing #urban fantasy #ancient history #history #short fiction #short story #original fiction #flash fiction #viking #viking age #norse mythology #ancient rome #pompeii #science fantasy #science fiction #sci fi #scifi #queer #queer history

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Length of Years: A Rapunzel Retelling

The woman in the tower brushed her hair. It had long ago turned white, and had grown to cover most of the floor in her little stone room. She braided it with lightning speed, her gnarled fingers confidently completing the familiar task.

Her gaze wandered through the chamber filled with the works of a lifetime. Tapestries she'd woven. Books she'd read and written. Dresses she'd designed. Plants she'd carefully tended until flowering vines framed her one window to the outside world. Evidence of arts she'd mastered, skills she'd developed--once sources of pride and joy, and now simply the remains of an empty life.

Now that her mother was dead, what did she have to live for? She'd sacrificed her life out of loyalty to the woman who'd given her everything; she'd never dreamed that someday she'd be the one left alone. This tower room had been her world; now that world seemed pathetically small. A dismal showing for so many decades.

She sang to banish the thoughts--song was her only weapon in her war against the hostile silence. The song was a light ditty from her younger years, about a bird in a cage, flying free. She'd sang that song often, once upon a time, to an awestruck audience. The only visitor this tower had ever held.

Unbidden, he appeared before her mind's eye. Young. Strong. Dark-haired. Square-jawed. With scarred hands and a dimpled chin and laughing eyes. He'd come to see her, day after day, and filled her world with a joy she'd never before known.

He'd asked her to leave with him; she'd refused, for Mother's sake, again and again, until he'd spoken so abusively against Mother that she grew offended for her sake, and told him to leave and never return. He'd obeyed her wishes, as he always had, and now she had nothing left of him but memory and regret.

She sang all the stronger as the memory turned to sorrow. She'd had her chance and thrown it away. Time had devoured any hope she'd ever had. What was the use of wishing otherwise? She was, and would be, now and forever, alone.

Even the song couldn't change that, so she stopped singing.

And in the silence, she heard a voice.

"Rapunzel! Rapunzel!"

An illusion. A hallucination. A phantom voice conjured by an abundance of memory and solitude and a lack of anything else.

The voice persisted. "Let down your hair!"

The voice was weaker than the one she remembered. Graveled. Worn. Aged.

But beneath it all, a familiar tone that brought her mind back to a time when she was fair-skinned, golden-haired, slender, willowy and oh-so-young.

She raced to the window with a speed she hadn't been capable of in years. Her joints creaked as she leaned far out the window, clinging tightly to the ledge to maintain her delicate balance as she looked down.

At a man in well-worn travel clothes marked with the royal coat of arms.

"I heard your singing," he said.

His hair was shorter than she remembered, gray and frazzled but still remarkably thick. His square jaw had grown jowls, his face had grown lines, his eyes had grown dimmer. But his smile as he gazed upon her was as bright as the one she saw in her memories each night.

With a bow that was slower but no less elegant for the passing of years, he asked, "My lady, might I ascend?"

With a joy she hadn't known she could ever possess, Rapunzel gathered up her endless white lengths of braid and let down her hair.

**

The climb took longer than Rapunzel remembered, but at last her visitor reached the window, and Philip Peregrine Bertram, prince of Whitbay, entered her chambers once more.

He bent double as he caught his breath. "Has your window always been that high?"

"It hasn't moved," Rapunzel said.

And neither have I.

Philip heard the unsaid and more valuable words. His gaze, when he stood straight and looked at her, held the compassion she'd always admired. "I heard of your mother's passing."

"It was very sudden." Mother had collapsed in the middle of a conversation, just after a climb up the tower in the rain. Rapunzel had buried her body beneath the stones of the tower's lowest level.

"My sympathies," Philip said.

He was the first to offer them, in all these weeks. Despite the hatred Rapunzel knew he had for her mother, she knew his words were genuine.

That, more than anything, brought the tears to her eyes. "Thank you."

Philip offered a handkerchief, which she took without shame. "Do you have food? Supplies?" he asked.

Rapunzel nodded, glad for the switch to more practical matters. "There are garden boxes here in the tower, and a boy comes every week with supplies."

"And you've stayed?"

She shrugged. "I had nowhere else to go."

No one else to go to.

He heard these unspoken words, too, and his face, as he sighed, seemed to age another ten years. "Rapunzel," he breathed. "I am so very sorry."

His voice held such depth of regret that she knew he apologized for far more than her mother's passing.

Despite herself, Rapunzel's words of response sounded far younger than the girl he had known. Like a child's--small, delicate, broken, plaintive. "Why did you never come back?"

"You asked me not to," Philip said. "And I had my pride. I might have returned, when my temper cooled, but then there were the wars, the diplomatic missions, the voyages, the marriage treaty, the children..." He sat wearily on her window ledge. "By the time life slowed down, I assumed you'd long ago moved on, and it would have been disloyal to seek you out. I only came to the village by chance and heard the locals speaking of the woman in the tower. Then I came to the woods and heard your song..."

He trailed off as he gestured to the room around them.

"I see," Rapunzel said, though she could barely even imagine it. An entire life full of war and travel and conflict and change happening quickly enough to obscure the passage of time, while she'd stayed here in the same set of rooms as the long, slow seconds marched lazily by.

"Did no one else ever come to the tower?" Philip asked, sounding almost desperate to hear some hint of joy from her life.

"No one," Rapunzel said simply. "Mother made certain of that."

Philip's jaw clenched, and there was a spark of the old fire in his eye, but he did not speak ill of the dead.

"I never mentioned you to her," Rapunzel said, "but she must have been suspicious--I wept so often in the weeks after our argument. She set barriers and traps in the woods after that. Spread rumors that I was mad and violent. The only outsiders who ever came were the boys who delivered supplies, and Mother always hired slow-witted lads who didn't ask questions."

"And..." Philip swallowed back some emotion. "And she was your only company?"

"She was never unkind to me," Rapunzel said, for she hadn't been, whatever her other crimes. "She made certain I never lacked anything I wanted."

"Except for freedom."

Rapunzel shook her head softly. "For a long time, I wasn't sure I wanted that. If I left, how could you find me? And by the time I believed you'd never come, I knew enough of the world to know I was safer here."

"Friendship, then."

"I did want that," Rapunzel admitted. "You don't know how much." Her fists clenched and her words quavered. "Sometimes, I thought it would break me."

Philip rose to his feet and caught her hand between his. "But it didn't," he said, with soft reassurance.

"Not yet."

"It won't," he said, with the firm compassion of age. "Not while I live." He raised her hand between their faces and looked deep into her eyes. "We've lost so many years, Rapunzel. I can't begin to atone for what you've been denied, but I can make certain that you're denied it no more. Come with me. Leave this place."

Rapunzel felt as though the tower had crumbled beneath her, leaving her no firm place to stand. It was more than she had dared to hope for, not for years and years and years. "How can I?" she whispered. "Your wife and family..."

"My wife passed nearly ten years ago. My children won't deny me the comfort of your friendship."

She gazed out the window toward a distant world glowing with a purple sunrise. "It's been too long," she said. "Too much life wasted. So little time ahead."

Philip's eyes, when she looked back at him, were as bright as those of the boy she'd once known. "Then we'd best not lose another minute."

**

Her head felt impossibly light. Her hair felt strange where it brushed against her shoulders. She secured the long, long braid to the pulley outside her window, then let down her hair one last time.

Philip secured her in the braid like a harness, and slowly lowered her to the ground. When her feet were firmly on the grass--it was so much softer than she'd imagined!--he climbed down and landed beside her.

Philip took her hand in his. "Are you ready?" he asked.

She nodded, too full of joy to speak.

"We'd best be on our way, then."

With her face toward the sunrise and her hand wrapped in his, Rapunzel strode forward and left the tower behind.

#the bookshelf progresses #fairy tale retellings #rapunzel #a flash fiction image that came to me and demanded i write it #even with so little description you'd be astonished at how long this took to write #even the easy ones are never as easy as i hope #i could edit this more but also i just need to throw it out there because i don't want to spend more time on it