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Literature
Bed Dweller (Sanji x Reader) [Flashfic]
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Finally, it was time to call it quits for the long day on the sea. Anchored in calm waters; with Usopp on watch in the eagle's nest, the rest of the crew headed for bed.
In your living quarters, you stripped your dirty clothes off and changed into clean sleepwear. You were ready to have a nice long date with your bed, until you noticed you weren't alone.
"What are you doing in my bed Sanji." You weren't even mad that he most likely watched you get undressed.
"Well, I know you worked hard today, I just thought you'd be more comfortable if I slept with you, my dear.” He said in his usual, flirtatious tone. “But your body still looks so lovely~!" He grinned with hearts in his eyes, before he patted the empty bed space.
"There's barely any room." You huffed, ignoring his last words.
"That's fine, the closer you are to me the better~"
"Sometimes, I wonder why I put
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Literature
Captain Sushi (Levi Ackerman x Reader) Crack/Flash
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It was a little strange, being rung at an ungodly hour in the late night; it was past midnight and Captain Levi Ackerman wanted you to report IMMEDIATELY to his office. Why? Why you asked, over and over again in your head. Over the phone, he sounded a bit strange, as if his words were slurred.. but you ignored it, thinking nothing of it as you walked fast-paced down the corridor in your night gown.
Standing outside Levi’s office, you heard a slight hiccup from the other side of the door and the sound of glass hitting wood rather hard. You brought your hand to the door and softly hit your knuckle against the wooden door, only to hear Levi give a stern outburst.
“Get in huur!”
“Get in ..huur..” You repeated in your mind, this was very strange. Upon opening the door, Levi laid on his desk, NAKED, propped up on his elbow and his legs spre
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Literature
Hunger
The fox had been hungering for quite some time: its fur was growing thin, a dull blanket over starving ribs, and it walked with the careful steps of one who has but little strength to spare. It limped as it walked, for its left forepaw had been hurt some time before by the trap of a hunter. It had escaped the trap with its life intact: but now it hungered, and could no longer hunt.
Today it had caught a carrion scent on the breeze, sweetish, cloying: the smell of rot. It was a hope, and the fox was limping towards it as quickly as its meager strength would allow. Surely it could find something to scavenge from a kill so old.
But as it followed the scent, and at last slipped through a line of dense bushes into a clearing, it found not a wasting cadaver, not the remnants of some other creature's hunt, but a camp – a man's camp – with a greasy fire and a row of iron cages with thick bars. The man himself sat beside the fire, whittling from a piece of bone. His skin and tattere
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Literature
Message Undeliverable
I am the goddess of the Sticky Note.
I long thrived on all of the words humanity would generously pour into me. I feasted on their cursive, their block letters, their chicken scratch. Penmanship came in many flavors – each one a fresh treat, each one an act of devotion. Each message as unique as the human hand that scrawled it in their haste.
People never seemed to feel that they had enough time. But I had all of time to enjoy their scribblings.
Messages to themselves. Messages to each other. Messages meant for the void. So many fleeting moments I enjoyed along with my loyal followers – soaking in their ink and their graphite and their adorably-named permanent markers.
Then the laptops came. The cellphones. The tablets.
My source of worship dried up. Why bother with paper? Digital would not crumple. It would not be destroyed in the wash, forgotten in some back pocket. It would not end up at the bottom of some messenger bag, smeared and torn.
One by one I lost them. Oh, the
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Literature
FFM 3: The Great Process
Silence spun out on the grassy hill, and the boy analyzed his grandfather for some sign of a reaction.  Cholas granted the boy a bemused half-smile, chewing on the mouthpiece of his pipe.
"It's horrible, isn't it?" Tian finally blurted.  "You're not gonna tell my mom are you?"
Cholas chuckled softly.  "Calm down, boy.  Calm down.  It's only horrible if you act upon it." He glanced down to see if it helped.  It didn't. "Look, what you're feeling is perfectly natural for boys your age.  Grown men get the same impulses, but we're used to it, we don't let it torture us."
"But—"
"No, no.  Listen for a second, child.  It's just a part of nature.  Like honey spiders gathering pollen in their great nets, or hawkflies snatching them away to feed their maggots.  It's all a part of the great process:  life, death, reproduction."
"But my own sister?"
Again, that throaty chuc
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Literature
Johannes and Margarethe
It would be easy enough to flee. The only bond that ties Margarethe to the blind old woman is her love for her brother. But he is all she has left, now, and she will not leave him.
Johannes sits in a cage of bones, eating canned mandarins and jars of sour cherries, awaiting his death. Margarethe visits him there when the old woman is out. “I’ll save you,” she says. “I’ll find a way – somewhere we can flee to, somewhere she can’t follow. I’ll steal the key from her.” The cage is held together with steel cables and padlocks and barbed wire. There is no escaping from it.
“You know what she’s planning,” says Johannes, and Margarethe knows. Fresh meat is hard to come by. If they run, she will try to follow.
“Why is she waiting, do you think?”
“Fattening me up, probably. She keeps feeling my finger, seeing how thin it is.” He scoffs. “I always show her a bone – there are enough of them
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Journal
TOP FIVE SURVIVAL TIPS FOR WRITING CHALLENGES
It's July!
That means it's both Camp NaNoWriMo and Flash Fiction Month! Huzzah! I, personally, am hoping to complete a revision on a past NaNo novel. We all have goals, and there are lots of ways to go about achieving them. But when it comes to first drafts with deadlines, there are some things you might want to consider, or remember, or just paste on a wall above your desk. Because it's HARD to keep up. There are totally points at which you want to quit, and points where you have no idea what is supposed to happen next, where you feel like you've run out of ideas. BUT. You signed up for this. And I'm holding you to it!
So. Here you go. Pinky's Top Five Survival Tips for Writing Challenges!
1. First drafts suck. 

They suck a lot. All of them. Whether you're Nooby McNoobwriter or Stephen King. So give yourself permission to suck. It's okay. You can fix it later.
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Literature
FFM 23: The Lady in Black
   She knows.
   The thought had crept in quietly and festered in the back of my head like a corpse.  When I finally noticed it there, I managed to write it off as paranoia for a time, but at some point it had transformed into a certainty.
   I had been so careful, too.  I deleted my text messages, encrypted my emails, and changed my Facebook password weekly, just in case.  I never took calls while we were having family time, and I had developed a list of fool-proof excuses over the years to explain my long nights, or the occasional odd scent of perfume or cloves.  I had never intended to hurt her.  The world is a screwed up place sometimes.  
   Things had been fine for the first few years, during the dating and courting.  I was allowed to be aloof back then.  And then, after the wedding, we soared on the warm winds of love for a long while, and nothing could come between us.  It wasn’t until Lisa got pregnant that I met my Lady in Black.  Sabella.  So innocent at fi
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Literature
Official FFM Prompt Bank 2012
Flash Fiction Month is back again, and we need your help.
Our menagerie of mischievous monkeys has escaped, taking with them the last few vials of distilled imagination that we had saved from last year. Without them, there can be no original stories during Flash Fiction Month 2012.
What does this mean for you?  Only your original, non-copyright infringing prompts can fuel the magic needed to create thirty-one original stories.
Just like in previous years, the best prompts will be featured, with credit, to motivate all your fellow Flash Fiction Month 2012 participants. So leave your wittiest, wackiest and wildest ideas in the comments below.
Be careful, it's a zoo out there.
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Literature
Songbird and Statue
In days before the dawn of time, two gods struggled for control over all that was. One was named Order, who strove above all for stillness and perfection. The other was named Chaos, who strove above all for motion and change. When Order set the spheres upon their paths, Chaos sent out comets to knock them astray. When Order called land out from the water, Chaos tore it asunder. These gods fought ceaselessly, yet they had formed from the void as twins and each was as strong as the other.
     “This battle is futile,” said Order one day, after countless aeons of struggle. “We must settle our differences by some other means.”
    “For once we are in agreement,” Chaos conceded. “But what do you propose?”
    Ten millennia passed while Order considered its challenge.
    “We should each of us set a great work upon the mortal plane. To these works shall our fa
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Literature
When It Stopped
The rain went on for years. When it stopped at last, he walked in the sunlight, and his heart broke to see that she remained in the shadows.
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Some Small Consolation by CorvoRidente Some Small Consolation :iconcorvoridente:CorvoRidente 113 16
Literature
The Source and Her Shadow
There was once a man named Altair who was forced to walk down every road.
He was cursed as a boy to do so, and while the curse granted him immortality, it also compelled his compliance.
When he arrived at dead ends, or found himself in dark alleys ending with brick walls, he would simply turn right around and continue walking. He was always drawn towards the roads that he had yet to travel on.
His immortal feet never tired, neither did they become sore, but after many years his heart did. He stayed so briefly in each new place that he never bothered to remember the faces of the townsfolk, but he did memorize the names of every street and lane. He always had to keep moving on, so any attempts at friendship merely ended with the strain of leaving. His shoulders sank as his sandaled feet shuffled him onwards.
One day, he was travelling down an empty road that led far into the countryside. The map he had built in his mind over the years told him that this was the last road. After this ther
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Literature
The Chase
        Run.
         Cold, damp air seeps through skin to bone. Soil stained soles pound along a winding, barely-there path among the trees. Trees. A laughable word for behemoths that, at the smallest, is four times as wide around as she is. Swaths of leaves shape a dark green expanse, blocking out nearly all of the sky. The light that does find a way down is weak, pinpricks suffocating in the umbrage. This is a true weald, dark and deep.
        Run.
         She wishes she could deviate from the path; delve into the endless shadow and hide. A ruinous wish. Thin strings threaded with countless trinkets crisscross all empty spaces. This is old magic, learned from the spiders to catch those that stray. One step, one trip, one stumble off of the path is certain death.
         Run.
         The wind kicks up, sending a song si
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Literature
immortal
For a moment, I lost years.
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Literature
FFM21: The Dragon Thing
For the third time in a week, Joey woke up crying in the middle of the night.  It was a behavior that, like most children, he had left behind years prior, along with diapers and pacifiers and Elmo.  It was only in the recent months that it had started again, infrequently at first but worse with every passing week.  What made this night particularly notable was that, unlike the previous dozen occurrences, he could actually remember what he had been dreaming about.
"I was flying," he groaned into his mother's collarbone, sniffling and rubbing at his eyes.  "I was flying over the mountains.  I had these big wings, and everything looked really tiny."
"Aha," she murmured softly, smoothing his hair.  "So you were afraid of the heights?  It's just a dream, sweetheart, you don't have to worry about falling.  That happens to me sometimes, too:  a scary dream will wake me up, and sometimes it makes me want
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Journal
Flash Fiction Competition - First Round!
Prompt: 100 Words
That's right; we're starting with an easy one. Your Flash Fiction must be exactly 100 words, but can be any genre or style you like. When you've completed your flash fiction, simply comment below with a link or thumbnail to the deviation. It's that easy! :dummy:
All entries must be created/uploaded after the 1st of June 2015, and the deadline is the 7th of June (10pm PDT Time).
EDIT: Because people asked, Fanfic and Creative Non-Fiction are allowed!
Prizes!
This weeks winner will receive:
1000 points, courtesy of Moonbeam13 250 Points, courtesy of SRSmith A 3 Month Premium Membership, courtesy of SRSmith A Black and White Illustration relating to the Flash Fic from TheEvergreenShadow A Critique from LiliWrites Features from theWrittenRevolution, LiliWrites and PennedinWhite 
A Runner Up prize of 200 points will also be awarded, and everyone who participates receives Llamas and Features!
G
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Journal
Flash Fiction Competition - Second Round!
Wow, we had an absolutely fantastic turn out with our first prompt, 100 Words. Judging will commence shortly, and the winner of the first round will be announced in the following journal. But now, for this weeks prompt, which is...
Unreliable Narrator, 527.5 Words long
Now, this is going to be trickier than the last prompt. We want to see you all try to create a flash fiction with an unreliable narrator, and with 527.5 words. Why that number, you say? Because it is half way between 55 and 1000, some typical word limits of Flash Fiction. You can decide what the .5 of a word is :)
Once again, Fan Fiction and Non-Fiction are allowed, as are scripts, poems, or whatever other style you wish to write!
All entries must be created new for this contest, and the deadline is the 14th of June (10pm PDT Time).
Prizes!
This weeks winner will receive:
1000 points, courtesy of Moonbeam13 250 Points, courtesy of SRSmith A 3 Month Premium Me
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Literature
The Word She Could Not Say
Once, there lived a girl who dreamed of wings. Every night she soared up to the highest clouds and gave each one of them a hundred kisses. She danced alone on the wind, higher than the entire world, where she tried to catch every falling star. But these were only her dreams.
The girl would still wake each morning – her face tickled by long strands of her hair – and she would pat her empty shoulder blades in utter disappointment. She began to grow weary of these dreams of hers only being dreams.
On the hottest day of the summer, the girl walked into the shade of the forest near her home, where she came across a very tall tree. She thought she might like to climb to the top and she wiped the beads of sweat running down her face. The girl braced her hand on the bark. She paused to look up when the leaves above her head began to rustle.
A large orange bird landed on the lowest branch and carefully folded its wings.
“You have the most beautiful feathers in the world
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Literature
FFM 19: Corruption
   < Corrupted Data: “CaptainsNotes107.ecr” >
   < Recovery/Decryption: 12% Successful >
   < Compiling Text . . . . . . >
   < 1713h, SDQ2, July 31, 2208, Anno Domini >
Completed transcription of official reports regarding the temple on TS-014, and the recovered artifact.  Radiation interference prevents transmission to home base, but the timestamp will confirm that I did my duty in a reasonable timeframe.  Long day.  No life on TS-014, despite our best hopes and signs of a previous civilization.  Sgt. Dalassen’s scans report unidentified emanations from the artifact; Dalassen nearly contradicted me in front of the engineering crew when I ordered Lt. Gabras to bring it into the cargo... < data corrupt > ...omorrow, our Mission continues.  Despite setbacks, the Lord has blessed me with this station, and I’m proud to be the Captain of the Prester John.  
   
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Literature
Dragon Child
Dragon child, they called her, because she was slow and still and silent, because she stuttered when she spoke, because her hands fluttered like drowning birds when she could find no words for her thoughts. It was not an insult but a threat, a promise. Every seven years the dragon demanded a sacrifice, and Lily would be next to die.
She was Rowan’s sister.
The dragon made its home in the labyrinth beside the city. It had been a holy place once; its centre was a temple, once a shrine to old forgotten gods, now a cairn for those who had been sacrificed before. The dragon did not bother the people, much. Once in seven years it took what it was owed, and for the rest of its time it lay curled in its temple, grumbling and shifting in its sleep so that the very ground shivered.
The people remembered the dragonfire that once had scorched the marketplace and set their thatches alight. The eldest among them still bore the scars of that day. They gave up their weakest, their unwante
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