Fan Fiction
Trollhunters: The Descent into Ragnarök
Ashka stretched amongst her pillows and blankets, looking up still in disbelief. “I can’t believe this is still all real”, she sighed. “It’s all fake love.”, a voice hissed from somewhere. Ashka looked around, “Huh?”. No response. Suddenly the silence was broken by the cries of Logi toddling over to her. “Alright, I’ll pick you up. You can sleep with me once you get bigger, I don’t want to squish you in my sleep.”, she said as she picked him up to hold him. A vibrating sound came from her desk spooked her as it was just her phone. “Oh, it’s just Jim.”, she said.
By The Bobcat Witch4 years ago in Fiction
Green Light
The writer sat on that grand porch in Great Neck looking over the Manhasset Bay to the opposing shore. Directly across from him in that vast darkness, the shadows and light of the half-moon played with the writer's eyesight. His grasp around the glass of gin in his right hand tightened in an attempt to stave off the trembling that had begun. When this failed, he downed the drink in its entirety and regretted the act immediately. He was foolish, sitting out here in the dark in his cups again. The tainted gin was the true source of the spooks and specters his eyes tried to pick out in the darkness. He had all but convinced himself that this was true. Offering a silent toast to the phantoms of his mind with a chuckle as he finished the contents of his drink.
By Elevynn ThaMuse4 years ago in Fiction
A Journey To the Other Side
I heard a blast that shifted me into an alternate universe. My Grandma Beth was there to greet me. A bright light surrounded us. She reached out and grabbed my hand. I touched her hand and my body felt warm and light. Kind of like the feeling you get when riding on a rollercoaster. Grams passed away three years ago; leaving the family in shambles. Was I dead? How; what happened? “I love you baby but it’s not your time.” My body jerked back and I was laying in a green lit operating room with bright lights in my face. Surrounded by doctors and nurses, I could not move. While laying there, I was left with my thoughts; wondering what happened to me. When I came to, my body felt like a ton of bricks had fell on me. The doctors asked me for my name and age; questions I could not answer. It took one year for me to completely heal. My mother took care of me. I watched her cry everyday, as I struggled to recover. First; my speech came back. Then I struggled through several months of physical therapy. The strength it took to recover, gave me a sense of enlightenment. Rewind to the beginning. Apparently; while catching the subway, I was attacked and robbed by a mob of young kids. One hit me in the head with a bat and the others proceeded to kick me. My consciousness was lost and I was left to die. We had a sketch drawn of my attackers when my memory came back. However; they were never caught.
By Brittany Fuller4 years ago in Fiction
Nuptials
"You are a very good cook, as well as being a very beautiful woman," Saeon praised Ines after he had eaten more than she could in three days. Ines managed to mumble a soft thank you as she sat at her desk looking at her journal. She was fumbling and nervous now that he had finished eating. What was next? Would he be as bad as Wizard? Would he leave her alone and go on back to his duty in New City? She hoped that it would be the latter. She had no plan but this one at least couldn't sense her. He seemed to be a normal man. Very muscular body and young. Even younger than Wizard had been. If he tried anything she could at least hide from him in her mountain. He stood up. Ines stood up as well. He picked up his dishes he had used and put them in the sink. Well, at least he didn't regard her as a servant. "Woman, you seem to be real jumpy," he walked over to where she stood, frozen. "I hope you don't think that I would harm you. I'll do the dishes and then maybe we can talk a while before we bed." Ines rushed over to the sink and opened up the dishwasher saying, "No, I got it. Maybe you'd like to watch a movie. It won't take me long to clean the kitchen." "Woman. come here," he commanded, expecting her to obey. He needed to calm her down. She was as nervous as a mouse in a cage waiting for what it's fate would be. As she walked over to where he stood, she never lifted her head. When she stood about three steps in front of him, she stopped. "Look at me," he said as he put both his hands on her arms. She lifted her head as he stepped closer to her and there she met his gaze. His eyes and his touch calmed her. He was affected. His eyes were like green lights transmitting his will into her mind through her eyes. He pulled her to him and kissed her gently, pulling her deeper into his will. "Where do we wash and bed, " he asked, softly. She led him into her bedroom.
By Nelly Black4 years ago in Fiction
Anemoia
They corral them all up in this classroom silence, low murmurs and the occasional hushed chiding breaking up the sentence of monotony that their individual afflictions have earned them. They wallow in their labels as though they are comfort blankets that swaddle them gently and keep them safe. No one here is any different from the other. They’ve all been fucked over, fucked up, or just plain fucked by someone they once loved, and while most of the guilty parties are running free, these poor bastards pay for the cost of someone else’s sins every single day.
By Kai K Colby4 years ago in Fiction
THE GREEN LIGHT INCIDENT
I'm writing a story that I promised myself that I would never share with anyone. However, I think that you and I are friends, so I’m going to share it with you. You must promise not to tell anyone. I don’t want to get in trouble with the authorities. I’m the Chronicler and I collect and tell stories from people I meet and from predicaments that I have personally experienced.
By Fabian Ellis4 years ago in Fiction
Scorned Pt. 13
Potomac General – Penelope, Fran and Dave paced the waiting room floor. Derek had been rushed back to the hospital for examination and testing for pain that he’d been hiding for the last few weeks. The doctors had given them several scenarios; some good and some not so good. They wanted to be hopeful, but hope had often been the enemy in their line of work.
By Cynthia Fields4 years ago in Fiction
Sleeping With Your Basketball
Dribbling my basketball up Main Street in Thomaston, Maine, heading to the academy yard to shoot around, I had to stop several times to catch my breath, and to yank the towel from my back pocket and wipe the sweat from my face and forehead. No kids around to make up teams, or even one to play HORSE with, but it didn’t stop me. I was, in my mind, the most valuable player on my team of one. Today I would be shirts instead of skins, because my 74 years old belly would scare small children and disapproving adults. Even the squirrels stood up on their haunches, to see what this ballooning blob of bloated blubber was up to on such a hot day. Thinking “no varmint ever called me Porky”, I started with a layup from the left side and it hit the bottom of the rim and came back at me quickly. Still got those cat-like reflexes Porky, I said under my breath, and dropped back a few feet and popped one in from halfway to the foul line. The sound was music to my ears, swish, nothing but net or on this day nothing but chain, either way, there’s a shot of dopamine to my brain that makes me want to do a Fred Astaire (with a dribble in the middle) across the court and do a quick turnaround jumper, swish, another surge of dopamine (also known as the happy hormone or the feel-good hormone). I can go about ten minutes non-stop, but this pesky COPD, blocks my air supply and so, before I get to my panic mode, I stop. This day I was prepared, I had my over one shoulder back pack, and it contained 4 bottles of Poland Springs (what else I’m in Maine), some bug spray, though any “squitos” today would drown or slide right off my Adonis/Buddha body, toothpicks (don’t know why), my cell phone and little notebook, which I use to keep track of how long of what I did and what it was, to be converted to calories lost, when I get home to my laptop and its My Fitness Window, and to jot down thoughts that come to me while doing, well, anything, the idea being to find the perfect alignment of words and phrases that would make me famous someday, hopefully not posthumously, and pushing for the run on sentence record. The best item out of my back pack cost 34.99, a telescoping portable stool, which I’m sitting on now. From previous experience, I know that 10 minutes of constant shooting around, with no stopping, can burn approximately 90 calories, so I make a note. I’m going to try for 60 minutes today, at least that’s what my head says. Taking 2 puffs on my Proventil (Albuterol Sulfate), and grunting while standing, round two, coming up, and I dribble left-handed to the right side of the foul line and quickly hoist up the kind of shot you use as the shot clock runs out, and boink off the front of the rim, and the ball goes, of course, running down the school yard toward Route 1. Ah, a good chance to try my sprinting technique, and makes the best use of this second ten-minute vignette. On the way back to the court, I dribble, and almost send the ball back to the road, trying to do a behind the back move that was so easy, years ago. Seems there was a lot less to go around then.
By David X. Sheehan4 years ago in Fiction
The Water Affected
He knew that he couldn't help the man. He knew that the man couldn't survive this. Maybe he would just tell him the truth so that he could make peace with whatever or whoever he believed in that might give him comfort. Stone was ruthless. That's why he was sent on this mission. That's why Stone had to die. He would kill just to build his ego and put fear into his gang. The would never disobey him. Even though Stone was dead now, his last victim would be breathing his last in just a few minutes. Such a horrible way to die.
By Nelly Black5 years ago in Fiction
