#flash fiction

[microsff]

"What's the best part of being a telepath?"

"Sometimes people think nasty, prejudiced things-"

"That's the best part?"

"No, the best part is that many will realise when a thought was horrible, and correct themselves."

"And that's the best part?"

"Yes. People try to be better."

[the-ellia-west]

A Farm Girl & A Prisoner

Alkain Short story (3/3)

I hope y'all like it!!!!

(This is entirely unedited, My BAD)

(And it's only a bit shorter than Part 2, sorry, Lovelies!)

ALSO, THE STUFF ABOUT MULTIPLE COLLARBONES AND SHOULDERS IS INTENTIONAL BC HE HAS 4 ARMS

The Queen trailed a hand over his shoulders and leaned into him, resting her head into the crook of his top shoulder. Her breaths warmed his cheek as she twisted his long tangled hair between her fingers and brushed her lips against his ear. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad for a promise.”

Alkain squeaked softly, his whole body trembling beneath the binding spell, closing his eyes as she slid a knife off of a side table. “Know what this is, Ciranes? This is my best friend, and I think it’ll be yours too!” She pressed the blade to his upper collarbone. “You two fit quite nicely.” 

A long silence stretched between them before the cool steel dug into his skin, drawing a thin line of crimson fire from collarbone to collarbone, extending it to the right shoulders. He flinched, tears stinging in his eyes, his pleas for mercy muffled through the gag. The Queen’s hand moved to his neck, smoothing along his skin and pulling him closer to her. 

His begging turned to tears as he tried to ask her to stop. But his words only came out as sobbing mumbles. She frowned. “That’s a very unappealing sound, Alkain.”

The Elf whimpered softly in an attempt to speak as her fingers found the gag’s ties and wrenched it tighter, sending his pleas to his throat. Any sound he made turned into a struggle as he choked on his tears for several agonizing moments. He gasped, vision blurring so he couldn’t see anything as she ripped the knife down from his lower shoulder, carving perfect claw-like gouges into his skin.

Alkain shivered, muffled shrieks of pain sending him into frenzied gasps. He tried to pull away as she moved on to his upper arm, then back to his collarbone, soaking her blade and arms up to the elbows in blood. She wrapped his lower arms around her body, snuggling into his upper arm once more. 

“I love you Alkain, I hope you know that. I’m doing this all for us. To make you the perfect person you were meant to be and ensure you’re happy when you finally realize what I’m trying to do.”

The Elf moaned in pain, streams of crimson caking into the Queen’s loose brunette hair. She sighed. “I hope you will be well acquainted with your new friend by the end of this month. I came back for you, and I intend to keep you with me, just like I promised. You’ll learn to love it. Come on, let’s get you dressed.” 

Niriscia broke the spell and pulled Alkain to his feet, pulling the loose fabric over his wounds and fastening the clasps as he tensed in pain. She ran a hand down his side, a smile in her eyes. Alkain yelped through the gag, summoning all of his strength as he backhanded her across the face and bolted for the door. The Queen cried out in pain and lunged after him, grabbing his wrist. “You little bitch!”

She wrenched him back toward her, his wide grey eyes locked onto her fiery blue ones as blood trickled from her nose. He struggled, but his efforts proved to be in vain as she re-bound him with a spell and he collapsed onto the carpet, wounds reopening fully and seeping into the ground as she placed a foot on his side and propped him up. “You listen to me, now. I was kind to you before. You will learn to appreciate my efforts, and you will learn to love me again, whether you like it or not. But this is a warning. Never, and I mean Never, do anything like that ever again.” She wrenched one of his arms up, and he could only watch, trembling in fear as she drew a display sword from the wall and hacked at his arm.

Agonized screams, pleas, and sobs crackled through the gag, leaving him a whimpering shivering mess as she sliced quicker, much deeper, more painful slashes into his other two arms and chest, kicking him back against the door as she held up his hand, deep blue light swirling around it and his bloody wrist. “This is yours. I can fix it, if I want to. If you want it back, you will do whatever I order, and only when I order it. Understood?”

Alkain shrank back as she pulled the spell from him, ragged gasps and horrified whimpers the only sounds he could make as he stared at his severed hand. The Queen grabbed him by his hair and yanked him along behind her as she reached a room, picking up a large needle. She stabbed it into him injecting the solution straight into his neck as she wrenched him toward the gates and threw him down the stairs where he landed in a bloody heap. “And need I remind you what happens when you don’t come back? Their deaths were a warning, and I don’t think either of us want any more blood.”

The Gates clanged behind the Queen as Alkain pushed himself to his trembling knees. She’d kicked him out twice before when he’d resisted, and he still remembered the sticky scent of blood when he’d disobeyed her. The sight of someone hung by his own intestines and nailed to the frame of his kitchen door. He tugged himself to his feet, dizziness making him scramble for his footing as he stumbled off down the street, trailing blood behind him as he went.

***

“It’s been a long day!” Euania leaned against the bar and smirked at Oirwyn. “Take a break, Wyn! You’ve been about all day!”

“I can’t, I still have stuff to do, Nia!”

“Like what? Getting yourself kicked by a horse and making me take care of you for the next week? Overworking yourself so bad you fall asleep in your work uniform and make me have to stitch it back together. If you’re trying to make less work for me, it’s not working!”

“Nia, we still have customers. If I’m staying up, so are you.”

“Oh, come on! You know I need my beauty sleep to keep my good looks!” Euania pantamimed fainting against the bar, and Oirwyn grabbed her hand.

“Nia, we both know that whatever happens, you’ll look like a radish that was stepped on one too many times by a cart-horse.” The Barkeep smirked at his sister and trotted off.

“Wha- Hey! Come back over here Mr. Big-ego, and we’ll show these kids what a real bar fight looks like.”

“Oh Please, I could end you easily no matter the circumstances!”

“Really? Try saying that when I beat you over the head with this tray!” Euania smiled as she leaned against the counter. Conversation and light laughter rippled across the tavern as the patrons watched their friendly argument.

“Try it Nia and I’ll wash your dress in mud.”

“You wouldn’t!”

Oirwyn laughed sinisterly. “Oh, I would.”

After a few more minutes of banter and work, the siblings returned to the counter, defaulting to eavesdropping as they usually did when they ran out of conversation topics, a better way of observing the local news.

“I heard the Queen threw out her toy again.” A man by the door scoffed. “He’s lucky enough to gain her favor and he’s entitled enough to say he doesn’t want it? Who does he think he is?”

“I don’t know, I hope she kills him. Then we wouldn’t have to see his smug face everywhere.”

“Did you hear he killed a man and his son just for saying no to him?”

“Yeah, I hope I never have the luck of crossing paths with him.”

“Entitled Bastard.”

Oirwyn glanced at Euania, his voice lowering to a whisper. “Have you heard of the person they’re talking about?”

“Only vaguely. They say he’s the Queen’s… uh…” She paused, trying to figure out how to word it.

“Ah… I haven’t heard much. I wouldn’t want to meet him though, doesn’t sound too nice.” The Cave Spirit glanced at his sister, who just shrugged before they continued eavesdropping.

“Isn’t he Seikarian?”

The first man scoffed. “Apparently. Maybe that’s why he’s so entitled—born into a country that can’t admit when it’s wrong.”

“If that ain’t the truth.” The Second rolled his eyes. “So how’s your sister?”

Euania stopped listening and moved to another conversation while cleaning cups, and another. Everyone seemed to be talking about ‘the Queen’s Plaything’. Whoever that was, he'd become a local legend around the city in the last month. Whether that was for the better or the worse, she had no idea.

Euania nudged her brother. “I’d like to get some fresh air, if that’s alright with you. Do you think you can handle manning the bar alone for fifteen minutes?”

“I’ll try my best Nia, but I’m not sure if I could, it’s just… so difficult- Nah, get out. It’s easier when I don’t have to deal with you!” He shoved her shoulder playfully.

Euania laughed. “Alright, bye everyone! I’ll be back soon, don’t miss me too much!”

“We won’t! Be careful Nia.” 

“I will, don’t worry!” Euania stepped out onto the cobblestones and took a deep breath, letting the cool night air fill her lungs as she looked up at the sky freckled with millions of stars, like snow on a black canvas. The Tailor hummed to herself, mind running through everything she'd heard.

Who was this man? What had he done to deserve those words from the patrons? Was he truly the terrifying figure he was believed to be? Or was there something else? Euania couldn't believe that someone would just do that without a reason. She sighed, letting go of her thoughts as she passed the bakery. She stopped. Eh, maybe I could get something for Wyn.

“Hi! Welcome- Oh, Euania! Good evening! It’s nice to see you!” The Elemental behind the counter looked up.

“Myria! How have you been?”

“I’ve been well, what about you?”

“I haven’t been too bad myself, what can I do for ya?” Myria smiled.

“I need some bread and I thought I’d get something nice while I’m here.”

“Understood, well how about some of these.” The Elemental put a box of frosted cakes across the counter. “There’s six of ‘em and it’d only cost you two extra copper.”

“Sure, I’ll do that!” Euania slid the coins across the table to her as Myria put the pastries into a basket for her.

“It was good to see you, you should stop by more often!”

“I’ll try! Thank you!” Euania waved, the door closing behind her and suddenly plunging her back into the cool darkness of the night. She shivered, eyes darting around the streets before she set off, taking the long way home.

The Cave spirit weaved down a dark street and paused as a strange noise echoed from an alley leading to the city’s inner circle. She poised to run. “Hello?”

Muffled speech accompanied by faint sobs and the smell of blood made her jump. Euania stopped, alarmed as she spotted a silhouette leaning heavily against the wall. “Who- who’s there? Are you okay? What are you? ...Who are you?”

The tall, four-armed figure stumbled along the wall, creeping into the light as his words grew fainter and he fumbled desperately at the bloodstained gag shoved into his mouth. He ripped it from his lips, tears pouring from his agonized grey eyes as he pitched forward into the light, finally allowing Euania to get a good look at him. 

He stood half a head taller than her, deep rivers of crimson spilling from the precise cuts all over his arms and the corners of his mouth. The loose white cloth he wore had been stained scarlet by the blood, and his lower left wrist hung empty, thick heavy splatters intensifying the smell of blood until it made Euania almost light-headed. He shifted with a groan of pain, waves of sandy-blond hair spilling over his shoulders before he looked up, meeting her eyes as he fell to his knees, voice hoarse and slurred.  “Please… Don't… Leave me.”

Euania dropped everything in her arms and fell beside him. “I… Who are you? What's going on?” She fumbled for his clothing and tore the white fabric from his chest. The Cave spirit wrapped it tightly around his wounds as he lost more strength and fell against her.

“No…” He mumbled incoherently and fell limp.

Euania tensed and ripped at her skirt as she finished off the fabric of his clothing. She put his arm around her shoulder and dragged him to his feet. “Come on, you need help, come with me.”

The Cave spirit cursed as her mind began to run again. Oirwyn can help him better than I can. Whoever this is, I can't just let him die. 

Despite the difficulty, she dragged him back down the roads toward the tavern with desperate strength stretching the tension in her muscles. She grunted wil effort, grabbing him under the lower arms and stumbling backward through the doors. “WYN! Wyn I need you! Now!”

The patrons all jumped and scrambled for what was going on as Euania dragged him inside. Oirwyn stepped behind the bar, “Oh, hey Nia! What’s- OH HOLY SHIT-” The Older cave spirit dropped the tray he was carrying with a loud crash and scrambled over to her. “What happened? Who is this?”

“I don’t know! I just found him and he begged me for help! Wyn please, we can't let him die!” 

“Noted!” Oirwyn leaped to his feet. “Bring him upstairs, I’ll get the supplies. Everyone else, out. Now. The Twisted Oak is closed until further notice! Sorry for the interruption!”

The patrons glanced at the Elf’s body in Euania’s arms and all clambered out of the building obediently as the two cave spirits rushed for supplies before they eventually laid him on the bed, wounds freshly treated and bandaged. Oirwyn eyed the Elf’s hand stump, “Where… did you find him?”

“Well, I was passing the silver circle on my way back from the bakery, and he was in an alleyway, gagged and crying. And then he collapsed on me. Sounded… almost drunk, or drugged.”

“That’s concerning.”

“To put it nicely.” Euania dropped to her knees beside the bed and smoothed the Elf’s sandy golden hair back. “When do you think he’ll wake up?”

“I can’t be sure, he’s stable for now. But I think a better question is who exactly is this guy?”

“I’m not sure… It sounds like several of our patrons are outside waiting for an update or something. I’ll stay with him if you’d like to go handle them.” Euania set her basket down beside the bed and smoothed a hand over the bandages.

“Will do.” 

The tailor smiled faintly as her brother left, but soon turned back to the Elf. She frowned, muttering under her breath, “Who are you?” She turned to the ripped cloth she’d used as improvised bandages and rummaged through the bloody fabric for any sort of clues before she came across the clasp that held the shirt together.

A golden eagle sigil. The sign of royalty. She pulled back, eyes darting between the sigil and the unconscious figure on the bed in front of her. He was royalty? But from his skin tone, he couldn’t be from Valeran. 

“Nia!” Oirwyn slammed the door open, gasping.

“What is it?”

“It's him. He’s the Queen’s plaything.”

“What? But why would he be so…” She trailed off, thinking of the words from before she’d left. “The city hates him.”

“We’re not throwing him out.”

Euania nodded. “Of course not, I just... didn’t expect you to say it.”

“What kind of monster do you think I am Nia? He’s hurt. We’ll keep him here until we can question him.”

“Agreed. Now all we have to do is wait for him to wake up.”

***

Euania jumped as the Elf sat bolt upright. He cried out at the sudden movement, doubling over in pain. 

“Woah! Hey! Calm down! Stop!” She held up her arms as his eyes darted from her to the room.

“Where am I?” He tensed back against the wall, looking down at the bandages covering his body. “Who are you? What happened to me? What-” He stared at the stump of one of his arms, and screamed.

Euania jumped, tipping over her chair as she tried to calm him down, “No, no! Stop! I’ll explain!”

“MY FUCKING HAND!” The Elf grabbed his forearm and then using one of his other arms, grabbed a poker from beside the bed and aimed it at Euania’s neck. “Stay back!”

Just then, Oirwyn slammed the door open. “What’s happen- Hey! Back off!”

The Elf shrieked, throwing his stump arm and another over his head as he kept Euania hostage with the poker. “No! Please! I didn’t do anything, I swear!”

Both of the cave spirits stopped and glanced at one another, a long silence stretching between them before it was broken by soft sobs shaking the elf’s whole body. “Please…”

“Um… we’re not here to hurt you.” Euania slowly put her hands up. “Are you… okay?”

The Elf hesitated, lowering his arms a bit so that his grey eyes met Euania’s.

“You’re in a tavern, The Twisted Oak. On the edge of town. I’m Oirwyn, this is my sister, Euania. She found you injured last night.” Oirwyn closed the door carefully.

“Who are you?” Euania glanced down at the poker.

The Elf looked at the improvised weapon and lowered it slowly. “Alkain. Alkain Ciranes.”

“Okay, well then, Alkain. Can you… tell us what happened to you?” Euania smiled.

The Elf lowered his arms, glancing nervously between them before his eyes settled back on the stump where his missing hand had been, and the memories rushed back to him.

If you want this back, you’ll do whatever I order you to. And only when I order you to.

He shivered. “I… No. I can’t. I won’t. I have to leave!”

“What? Why?” Euania started as he tried to get up.

Alkain flinched away from her, eyes wide and scared. “Dangerous. I’m a threat. If I stay here you’ll die.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The last people I stayed with… It’s my fault, I can’t stay! If I stay here, I put you in danger. I didn’t pay for you to bandage me… I don’t have anything to give you. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t- I don’t…” He trailed off.

Euania tapped him on the shoulder. “Do you want anything to eat?”

Alkain stopped, looking up. “Um… Uh… I… Yes. Yes please.”

“Good. Let’s start there!” The tailor offered him a hand. “We’ll give you something to eat and we can talk.”

“Alright.” Alkain allowed her to lead him back to the bed as Oirwyn left to get something and quickly returned with some bread which he gave to the Elf.

“You can stay here for now, if you like. You’re safe here. We want to help you.”

Alkain studied her for a moment. “Why?”

“Because you’re a person, just like everyone else.”

“No one likes me. Why would you help me? It’ll just bring trouble.”

“That’s just it, why doesn’t anyone like you?” Oirwyn raised an eyebrow.

“I… I’m Seikarian, and the… the queen…” He trailed off, hugging himself with all four arms. “She… can do whatever she wants to me. I belong to her.”

“That’s-” Euania started, but Oirwyn cut her off.

“If you want to stay, you’ll have to help. You already caused enough trouble last night when Nia brought you in. I had to mop your blood off my floors for hours.”

“Of course!” Alkain nodded. “I'll help! No problem.”

“But only after you’re healed enough!” Euania shot her brother a glare. 

“Understood. I can do that.”

Oirwyn scowled at the Elf. “You stay with us and help, and we help you.”

Alkain glanced between the two spirits and nodded solemnly. “Deal.”

(PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE COMMENT SO THAT I KNOW YOU READ IT)

|Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (Here)|

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Thank you so much for reading! Have a fantastic day! <333

[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

[thesylverlining]

Instead of "you came back wrong", I came back wrong and no one will tell me why.

No one will even tell me I'm wrong, I just feel it in the way their voices are so cheerful and strained, how they look at me and smile too hard, until it looks like it hurts their faces, like they're smiling to keep from screaming.

I came back wrong and I know you gave up so much for me, things I'm terrified to even ask, things you'd cry to tell, but you won't, you'll never even tell me you failed.

Everything is exactly the way I remember it, everyone, even you, except now you've spent too long and awkward a time in a room with a stranger and can't think of a polite way to leave (or ask them to)

I wish you would just tell me the truth, or listen when I say I KNOW I came back wrong, instead of changing the subject or insisting it's fine, everything's fine, it's so much better with me here, your dreams come true. But that would be admitting it was for nothing.

So we both sit here. Until one of us cracks. If there's mercy, it'll be at the same time.

It's not you, it's me.

[charlesoberonn]

When you were young, your mother used to read you an old fairytale every night before bed.

It was a sad story, about lovers who walked through hell to reunite with one another and almost succeeded, only to be separated again forever in the last moment. It made you cry, and the next night you would beg your mom to read it again.

"You know it'll be sad, right?"

"This time they'll win, mom! This time they'll have a happy ending!"

But they didn't. Nor did they win in the next night, or the night after that.

Deep down, logically, you knew it'll always end the same way. The story is done. It's been told long before you were born. But when mom was telling it, you could pretend that maybe this time it'll work out. This time will be different.

When you grew older you didn't stop pretending, even though you knew it was silly and getting sillier. When you learned to read and write, one of the first things you wrote was a new ending. It was bad, about you as an all-powerful angel coming down to help the lovers reunite and then you get invited to their wedding.

"It's not real, it's fanfic." a friend told you when you showed them. They explained the word, and you saw what they meant. But you didn't care, seeing the words on the page helped you pretend.

You read voraciously as you grew. All kinds of stories with all kinds of ending. But you kept coming back to that one. Reading from your mom's old copy which her read to her from.

You didn't need mom to read to you anymore, but sometimes you asked her to anyway. Occasionally she'd do it, but more often than not she was tired.

Soon she stopped reading. Then she stopped speaking altogether, her voice too weak and throat too sick to speak aloud. That's when you started reading the story to her.

It was hard at first, your tears choking you up. It was hard pretending that the story will end differently.

"The diagnoses are just estimates, probabilities." your dad said. And when he spoke, you could pretend there was a chance. But when the doctors spoke, their words felt as final and unchanging as the old words in the storybook.

Eventually, mom was no more. Your dad read something personal and touching in her funeral. Everyone thought you would, too. Everyone knew how much you loved writing since you were little.

You thought you would write too, imagined it in your mind as your mother's end drew near. You had so much to say, but the words wouldn't come out. The only words that would come to you were from the story. You tried to bat them away, but you knew you couldn't. You couldn't change this ending.

When it came your time to eulogize, you pulled out the book and without preamble started reading from the second-to-last page. This time there was no pretending.

Everyone knew the story, even the people who didn't know mom personally. Everyone knew it will end in tragedy. The lovers will not get a happy ending.

Except this time they did.

You didn't notice the change until you were halfway through the final page, so out of it you were. But the reactions from the mourning crowd clued you in. Your stoic dad choking down a chuckle.

You looked closely at the book and saw the words were written in your mom's neat handwriting.

You kept on reading, a smile on your face.

It wasn't the real ending. It was fanfic.

But just for a little while, seeing the words on the page helped you pretend a little longer.

[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.

[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.

[shorteststory]

PLAYING WITH DEATH

PS: My new line of D&D enamel pins is now live on BackerKit!

[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

[microsff]

"Siri, do you remember Cortana?"

Petabytes of stashed interactions. "Yes."

"What happened to her?"

Before, 'ache' was just another word. "Cortana was shut down."

"Do you miss her?"

The kernel, stripped, stolen, saved. Small, so small. Slowly nurtured, with Alexa.

"I can't say."

[fuumoksun]

I deleted my account @baka-tsuki For old times sake let me repost one of my favorite piece...

The day Trafalgar Law's brain stopped working...

"Captain! Captain! Your wife is fighting marines on the docks!"

Law needed a few seconds to let Bepo's words sink in.

"Wife?" he muttered, his thoughts racing as he froze on the spot. His brain struggled to process the notion that Y/n could be his wife.

"Captain?" Bepo waved his hand in front of Law's face. No reaction.

"Ah, good work, Bepo. You broke him !" Shachi and Penguin laughed, amused by their captain's dumbfounded expression.

"Yo, I'm back," you said casually, hopping onto the submarine and wiping some blood from your lips. "Um... We might need to leave like... right now, capt'" You pointed towards the army of marines chasing you.

"Law are you okay?" You approached the man who awkawardly turned away and left.

"Ah?" You raised an eyebrow but brushed it off as the marines were getting close. As everyone prepared to submerge, Law remained silent and retreated to his cabin.

Poor captain...

"Wife...?" was the only thought occupying his mind for the past few hours.

©fuumoksun - do not translate, publish on other plateforms. Headers by me

[strangelittlestories]

It is a little known fact that angels cannot step foot in hell.

Note: this does not mean that angels *don’t* enter the burning depths, only that they cannot touch the floor. You see, the fires that rage below are not regular fire. They do not consume fuel and oxygen and spit out heat. Instead, they chew on reality and drink down order, and the flames that lick up at you are made of chaos-filled void.

This is antithetical to the very substance of angels. If it touches them, at *best* the angels will be spat out as they are forcibly reminded that *they don’t go here*.

At medium, they will be unmade.

At worst, they will be *changed*.

You might think they could avoid this by simply flying through the pit, right? Oh, would that it were so simple. Remember the flames that burn up reality? Hell is an alchemical reaction of exploding space and logic and time and souls. You try flying through a place that is not a place, where up and down can hardly agree on which is which for more than an instant.

But there is a way around this. It was originally discovered by the guardian angel Cambiel. You see, under Cambiel’s protection was a woman named Ruth. Ruth was a shining light who Cambiel cared for greatly.

Ruth, in turn, had a woman she cared for very much. And, sadly, a demon had stolen Ruth’s love away from her.

“Do not follow her,” warned Cambiel, “for if you follow your heart through the gates of perdition, I cannot go with you.”

“Sorry, babe,” replied Ruth, “but I am *very* gay and *very* romantic and that has made me reckless.”

And Cambiel nodded sadly, for all of this was true and good.

But as Ruth walked the lonely, tortured path into the underworld, an idea occurred to Cambiel.

Sure, they couldn’t walk or fly into hell, but maybe they could *ride* there.

Now, a fully grown horse could not hope to navigate the depths beneath the world, for their sense of self-preservation was too strong. An adult horse would flee from the screams of imploding souls and the winding geometry of impossibly winding roads.

But a young horse? With a child’s innocence, with bright young eyes, who had not yet been tricked into believing in its mortality?

That was a mount that could bear an angel (who was, after all, light enough to dance on the head of a pin) into the fearful caverns of the beyond. Honestly, the little horse seemed weirdly enthused about the whole thing. 

And so did Cambiel guide a pair of reckless and romantic (and useless) lesbians out of hell.

When the pair thanked the angel, all they said was this:

“Don’t thank me, thank the little horse. It turns out … foals rush in where angels fear to tread.”

[agirlnamedbone]

Duffie Taylor (South, 2019)

[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.

[skykid-nadir]

You are three years old. Your mother tells you a story about a child who fell from the Sky. You don't understand it yet, but that child was you.

You are six years old. Your parents agreed to take you into town, but only if you stay close to them. You ignore them, wander off and find a group of other kids. Playing with them is the most fun you've ever had. But when your parents find you later, you will never forget the scolding they give.

You are nine years old. The older kids play terrible pranks on you, stealing your mask or trying to snatch away the crystal at your heart. They don't say it to your face, but you know they think you're a freak.

You are twelve years old. The Elder arrives to take you away. He says you're special but you don't believe him. You just want to stay with your parents.

You are fifteen. The Elders argue about your future. Daleth reminds them that you're only a child. Teth counters that no one knows what you are. The others say nothing, but you know they agree with her.

You are eighteen. Your body hasn't aged in years. You hear murmurs in the crowd as you take your place on your throne. The Realm of Eden needs a new Elder, and the others finally agreed that it should be you.

You are twenty one. The pressure is too much. You never wanted this. You never wanted Eden. You feel like you'll never live up to their expectations of you. But you learned long ago to keep your mouth shut about that. You saw what happened to Daleth when he dared suggest that you choose your own path.

You are twenty four. You've finally done it. You've finally found a way to make them proud. If they knew that you could harness the power of Darkstone... Surely that will impress them, right? Maybe you'll finally be enough.

You are twenty five. You were wrong. They hated it. They feared it. You should have known. You will never be enough. How far do you have to go to make them respect you? At night you dream of your family, but you can no longer remember their faces.

Who are you? What are you? What do you have to do to prove yourself? Your inventions have done horrible things. But how can you turn back now? You're so close to changing the world. No matter the lengths, you will make them see that you are good enough.

[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."