flashfictionfridayofficial

[flashfictionfridayofficial]

Could've Been Worse

Summary:There's a misunderstanding about Johnny's birthday present.

A/N: Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial.

A/N2: Reader is female. No other physical descriptors used.

Warnings: Implied smut, Male masturbation, Semi-public nudity. Please let me know if I missed any.

"I hope you're ready for your birthday," you coo at Johnny.

"I'm always happy to be the center of attention, you know that. Especially when it's your attention," he winks.

Chuckling, you playfully slap his chest. "I mean it, though, Johnny. Don't make any plans, okay? I'm gonna keep you busy that day."

"I'm looking forward to it," he smirks.

You don't know that he found the lingerie you'd gotten delivered last week. It's like it was tailor made for you to short circuit his brain. He knows you're planning on staying in bed with him all day. And maybe the living room and kitchen as well, he isn't picky. Just thinking of you in that skimpy getup gets him going.

The day of, he's on you from the moment he wakes up, covering you with kisses and holding you tight. He smiles at your giggles and playfulness.

"Johnny, you gotta wait," you titter. "I have a breakfast ordered for pickup from Lulu's."

"Ooo! My favorite!"

"It's the first of many gifts for your birthday," you confirm with a small kiss to his nose. "I didn't want to get it delivered because I didn't want you startled awake by the doorbell."

"That's very considerate," he admits. "Can I go with you?"

"Nope. You're gonna stay here and wait for me to get back. Then I'll get you your next present."

He gives you those puppy dog eyes you're weak for. "Please hurry. I'll miss you."

As soon as you're out the door he gets ready for your return. The lingerie box is empty so he knows you're wearing it underneath your clothes. Johnny strips down and tries to find a comfortable position on the couch that still looks seductive.

The longer he waits for your return, the harder the gets thinking about seeing you in that sexy getup. He has to stroke himself a few times to keep from going crazy.

He's fully worked up when he hears your voice on the other side of the door. He gets back in position before he realizes you're talking to someone!

The door is half open when Johnny jumps off the couch and grabs the nearest bit of fabric he can find to cover up, your favorite comfy hoodie.

You walk in with Reed and Sue but stop short in shock when you see Johnny. He's redder than you've ever seen him and...

"Is that my hoodie?!"

"HI!" he says too loudly. "I'm gonna go get dressed!" Johnny quickly turns and runs off to the bedroom, followed by the sounds of Reed and Sue laughing.

"Could be worse," Sue comments. "We could've walked in on the two of you like we did last Christmas."

You chuckle as your face heats up remembering that day.

It doesn't take long for Johnny to come back out, still a bit red in the face about the whole thing. But he's so quick to laugh about it, laugh at himself, that it isn't long before it's just another story in your history together.

Tagging: @alicedopey; @darsynia; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness; @iwudbutnah; @kmc1989; @lokislady82; @peaches1958; @ronearoundblindly; @thiquefunlover63

[flashfictionfridayofficial]

Progression

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial #310 prompt: Could Have Been Worse

WC: 160

Triggers: Mentions of Child abuse and domestic violence.

Original Work

“It could be worse.” She whispers to herself as she pulls the covers over her head and prays he won't come in that night.

“It could be worse.” She assured herself as she fights against the guilt as her parents argue.

“It could be worse.” She says to herself as her mom decided to move back with her mom and finally leave him.

“It could be worse.” She tries to believe as she feels the disgust coming from her grandma as her mom uses government assistance to feed herself and her brother.

“It has been worse.” She tells herself as she hurries home to see to her baby brother after school as her mom works.

“This is better.” She is smiling as she sleeps in peace in her small bedroom.

“So much better.” She is working herself now, putting money back for college.

“The worst is over. He won't touch him.” She cuddles her first born son to her chest.

[flashfictionfridayofficial]

Sherlock fandom.

Utter Madness

John has left him. Not left, left. Sherlock can’t even consider what that will entail. A life without John is unthinkable, unbearable, preposterous, appalling, devastating, et cetera, and so on.

No, John needs fresh air. Again.

“It could have been worse,” Sherlock calls after him when he storms out of the flat, coughing loudly.

John doesn’t need air to clear his mind, to walk off his fury, but to breathe in less infested air than 221B can offer at the moment. 

Sherlock had obviously been prepared for the outcome of the experiment and was wearing his gas mask. It had been John’s once, and it still smelled a bit of its former owner, which had distracted him from the other thing he was supposed to do. The experiment was fascinating, and Sherlock failed to warn John before he came into the kitchen after his morning shower, hence the hasty retreat to the street.

He sees John pacing in front of Speedy’s when he opens the windows to get the foul stench out of the flat. His hands are fisted in his hair, and he looks a bit like that mad professor from a film he had bullied Sherlock into watching. Something about going back in time with a Mandalorian car.

Carefully, Sherlock removes his mask and leans out of the window.

“You know that the London air is quite polluted too,” he remarks.

“Too early, Sherlock!” John hisses.

“Oh,” he says and goes to open the kitchen window as well.

The stench is fading rapidly, a fact Sherlock had calculated. He heeded his promise to John regarding no more foul-smelling experiments in the flat. Well, the long-lasting ones. Sherlock had meant to warn John, he really had.

“You are insane, and I am utterly mad to still live here,” John’s grumpy voice informs him from the doorway.

A sudden pain in his chest, makes Sherlock wince. He’s quite certain his face is even paler than normal. His hand reaches for the kitchen table to steady himself. 

“Deep breaths like John taught you.”

“Hey, hey. What’s wrong?”

John’s worried voice draws him back up to the surface. Firm hands are cupping his face and those beautiful blue eyes are scanning him for any injuries or discomforts.

“I…I just...I thought you meant…”

John sighs and leans in to place a warm kiss to his forehead.

“My darling, Sherlock. How many times do I need to reassure you? I’ll gladly do it, but this,” he waves a hand to indicate the test tubes on the table, “will never be a reason for me to move out.”

Relief washes over him and he buries his face in the crook of John’s neck to breathe in the intoxicating scent of him.

“What we are doing, what we are, it’s utter madness,” John begins. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way, do you understand?”

Sherlock hums in agreement but John is in one of his relentless moods and needs him to vocalise his understanding.

He withdraws and looks seriously at John. His right hand cradles John’s face and his voice is sincere when he recites his vows.

“Us against the rest of the world. Forever and always. I will love you until the end of time, John Hamish Watson-Holmes.”

As usual, John gets emotional when he hears those words, so Sherlock pulls him close, perhaps a bit too fiercely, but no protests are forthcoming. Instead, John melts in his arms, whispering love declarations and promises of his own.

“I will always love you, sweetheart, and I will never leave you. This is forever. I can’t live without you. You are my world, my heart.”

He sniffs, not able to prevent the tears in his eyes to well over.

“Warn me next time, yeah,” John murmurs while he wipes away Sherlock’s tears.

“I intended to,” he tells him.

“I believe you, love. You got too engrossed again, didn’t you.”

“I did. Besides, the mask smelled of you,” he admits and blushes.

“Aww, you adorable man,” John beams and kisses his lips softly.

Sherlock scoffs and rolls his eyes but it’s all in vain. They both know it’s the truth.

It could certainly be worse; Sherlock thinks and pulls John in for a proper snog.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[flashfictionfridayofficial]

employee motivation

[on ao3]

fandom: original work (ocverse - warcrimes au) rating: m cw: threats wc: 589 prompt: #fff310 could have been worse for @flashfictionfridayofficial

---

"…all in all, we got lucky that the explosion didn't trigger the decontamination process. This could have ended way worse." Bell nods towards the screen showing the technical details he has just explained. "As soon as we have that security system deactivated, we can get to work on the door, and hopefully end this day without any further casualties."

Dr. Voloshin looks at the rest of the team. "Everyone clear on their task? Any last questions?" All she gets are a few quiet murmurs and head shakes, and she disbands the meeting. "Then get to work, please. Dismissed."

Everybody starts to clear out of her office, and Bell is already mentally running through his to-do list, when his boss holds him back.

"Mr. Bell - a word please?"

"Sir?"

Voloshin is standing at her desk, her back toward him, and waits until everyone else has left before speaking. "Ms. Callahan is a valued member of this team."

Bell frowns, confused as to where she is going with this. "I am aware, Sir."

She turns around, mustering him with that typical stern expression of hers, and takes a step toward him. "You are confident in your plan?"

"Yes, Sir, very much. I mean, the risk is minimal. We'll have her out of there in no time."

Due to an unfortunate malfunction, there was an explosion in one of the labs, killing a lab tech, and now Fia Callahan, the team's administrator, is still trapped inside. Bell just presented his proposal on how to get her out in one piece. The tricky part is not triggering one of the many systems that are in place to prevent anything from escaping a lab that has sealed itself. But of course it can be done.

Voloshin gets closer, and instinctively he takes a step back, almost bumping into the wall. After two years of working for her, she still intimidates the hell out of him.

"Good," she states nonchalantly. "Because if anything happens to her, you will die a very slow, and very painful, death." She looks up at him from those cold gray eyes. "Are we clear?"

Bell needs a moment to process her words. Yes, he has seen her threaten people before, but usually she's so subtle with it that you are always left wondering if you're imagining things. But to have her state it so openly - that sure is something else. He has no doubt she means it. Voloshin doesn't joke around. And the way she said it so casually… definitely sends shivers down his spine. Holy shit.

He wasn't aware she even cares about Fia, at all. Sure, there are some rumors about these two, but Bell assumed it must be the usual gossip. It just seems so outlandish - Fia, sweet and easygoing, who gets along with everybody, and Dr. Death? Talk about strange couples.

Stumped, Bell straightens his back and nods. "Yes, Sir. Crystal clear."

"Glad to hear." Voloshin walks back to her desk, then she looks at him, eyebrow raised. "Well, get to work, please, Mr. Bell."

"Yes, Sir," he scrambles. "On it, Sir."

Leaving her office, still completely flabbergasted - did his boss seriously threaten to kill him just now? - Bell almost runs into Reyes.

"You okay, man?"

"What? Yeah." He takes a deep breath and pulls himself together. "Yeah, all good."

Reyes looks at him, seemingly unconvinced, then nods towards Voloshin's office. "What did she want?"

"Oh, nothing," Bell waves it off. "Come on, let's get Fia out of that damn lab."

[flashfictionfridayofficial]

Gory Love

A sequel to this little Bride of Loki fic for @flashfictionfridayofficial's prompt of "It Could Be Worse". Warnings for mentions of gore, although it's not really described, and a knife.

-_-

"It could have been worse."

"You are actively pushing your organs back into your body."

"Yes, this is the fifth or sixth time you've said that."

"Why are you being so calm about this?!"

Siv's shoulders tensed, and Kari, despite himself and his panic over the molten blood staining and burning everywhere and the horrifying sight of organs meeting the air, tensed up too. He hated making her upset. Not because he feared her anger, but her tears made him ache, especially when he failed to protect her, leading to this moment in the bathroom.

And the weirdness of this, of such a sign that she wasn't quite properly human anymore, would make Siv cry.

"I'm sorry," he said, kneeling next to her. Her jaw was slightly trembling, but the rest of her face was stone cold with focus. "How can I help?"

After a moment, Siv breathed out. "I need a knife," she said. "I need you to either hold my organs in place or cut my skin. It's healing a bit too fast. Like you said, I don't want to know what would happen if it heals before I can get everything in."

That...that was fine. She still trusted him. Either with holding the most important parts of her body in place or cutting her open.

It was a quiet gesture of love, one he returned by pulling out his whittling knife. It wasn't as good as a scalpel would be, but it would do the job.

He focused on Siv's soft smile as he cut her open.

[flashfictionfridayofficial]

Truth and Lies

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial #309 prompt Two truths, One lie

WC: 547

Fandom: Outlander

CW: Rape mention

Canon Compliant

AO3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66523432

She has to recall what she was taught. It is important to tell just enough of the truth to satisfy her interrogator without saying too much.

“So Mistress Beauchamp, how did you come to be where my brother’s men found you?” 

“I was on the way to board a ship to France, to visit my late ( well he hasn't yet been born) husband ‘s family.”

“I see, and how did you come to be so, ah, undressed?”

Right, to them her proper dress would be considered like a nightgown or shift.

“Well, that would be the result of my unfortunate run-in with the English captain.” If Murtagh hadn't shown up, that would be true enough. The horrid man’s intentions were quite clear.

“Hmm, the captain in question does have a bad reputation but a rapist? Why would he rape a woman for no good reason?”

Her eyes go up. “Is there ever a good reason for rape?”

Caught in the misspeak, the Laird flushes. “Forgive me. I misspoke. 

“Of course. I appreciate your hospitality and the rescue,” for whether he believes it or not, Frank’s relation would have surely raped her, had Murtagh not knocked him out, “but I really want to get home.” That was also the absolute truth.

Twenty plus years later

“I can't stand to leave you.” Tears fill her eyes as she looks at her daughter.

“Mama, you must. He needs to know about me. You,” she pulls her breath in, trying to increase her courage, “you need him. You have given me so much. I will be okay.” She wants it to be true.

“Bree!” She holds her child tight. 

“Mama, if you don't go, I will,” Claire stares at her, shocked, “I mean it. He has a right to know I exist. That your sacrifice was worth it.”

Twenty years early 

“I can't! Jamie, I can't. You are my home!” 

“You must. This home is lost. This baby,” her eyes grow huge as he places his hand over where their latest child lies, “is all that is left of me. You must keep it safe.”

“You kept track, in the midst of all this,” the battles and the one upcoming, “you kept track?”

He grins even as his eyes fill with tears. “Aye. So, you see, you must go. Back home, to Frank, to safety. To the only other man who will keep you and the baby safe.”

Her head is shaking, even as she knows he is right. “How can I leave you?” 

“I will find you even if it takes two hundred years. I promise.” 

Twenty years later

That voice. She would know it anywhere. His back is turned to her. Still, she knows those shoulders, the shape of his back.

“It is me. Claire.” 

He turns slowly, his wife, his blue eyes grow ever larger as he stares at her. His mouth moves but he is unable to get any words out. 

She watches as he falls, amazingly graceful for a man of his size. 

She hurries over to him, kneeling and cradling his head in her lap. His eyes flutter open. 

“You're really here.” He whispers. 

“So are you. I thought you were dead.” 

“Almost.”

“Only twenty years, though it felt like two hundred.” 

“Aye, it did.”

[flashfictionfridayofficial]

FlashFictionFriday 6.13.25

wc: 1000 prompt: @flashfictionfridayofficial two truths one lie notes: attached to HOTN

“I’ll pay you back,” Evangeline promises, stabbing her fork into a pile of scrambled eggs, ignoring the whisps of steam as she shovels a good bit into her mouth. She winces as the eggs burn her mouth, but her grumbling stomach wins out and she chews as quickly as possible before swallowing. When she reaches for her juice, she looks up and meets Anthony’s gaze, who looks back at her with faint amusement. “Sorry.”

He huffs out a laugh, slouching against the upholstered bench, and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. It’s the least I can do.” One hand loosely holds his own glass, ice gently tapping against the glass as he rotates it in small circles, and she looks down at his empty side of the table.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” she asks, scooting her plate towards the middle. It feels weird to be the only one eating and the fact he paid for the food is making guilt creep up her stomach.

Anthony offers a small smile and pushes her plate back with the tips of his fingers. “I’m fine, really. It’s not like I need food,” he reminds her. When she doesn’t pull the plate back to her, he nudges it again. “Please, eat.”

Evangeline bites at the inside of her cheek, glancing around the sparsely filled diner, and takes the plate with a sigh. “You can eat food, though, right?” she asks as she picks up a piece of toast. “Or can you not? There’s conflicting information in the archives.”

He motions with his hand, kind of shrugging, and straightens up. “It depends on the vampire,” he answers, watching as she takes a bite. “Some can, some can’t, and some won’t.”

“And you?”

“I can. I don’t do it very often, but I get. . .a craving every once in a while.”

She hums, plucking a piece of bacon off the plate, and her head tilts in consideration. “You know, I don’t know all that much about you,” she states, raising an eyebrow at him. “Considering your position.”

“Coming from the woman who just told me her name —” he glances down at his watch “—four hours ago.”

“Yeah, but I’m not a bigwig vampire lord,” she teases with a grin, wiping her fingers clean with a napkin. “Should I call you Lord DuPont?”

The flat, unamused look on his face makes her laugh and she takes another sip of her drink.

“I’ll have you know I voted no on that,” he says dryly, “I thought it was pretentious.”

“Really? What did you want?”

“Councilman would’ve been fine.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Still a bit pretentious.”

“Not as much. Besides, you all co-opted it didn’t you?”

“To be fair, I think it’s kind of dying out. Only my Safta uses it and only on special occasions.”

The mention of her grandmother causes a barely noticeable reaction, a quick press of his lips, the flex of his fingers on his glass, but she curses herself all the same. Dammit. She eats some more eggs as if that would keep her from putting her foot back in her mouth.

“Anyway,” Evangeline says, trying to keep her breezy tone. She doesn’t want to ruin the fun. “Do you like games?”

Anthony raises an eyebrow at her, face relaxing, before propping his elbows onto the table. “Depends on the game.”

“Well we’ve established that I don’t know much about you,” she says with a wry grin, “And you don’t know much about me. Let’s make a game out of it. Two truths and a lie.”

“And what would stop you from telling all lies?” Anthony asks, leaning forward.

She rolls her eyes. “I should be asking you that,” she tells him, “After all, you’re the one that can hear heartbeats. But if it makes you feel better —” she holds up one hand and crosses her heart with the other “— there. Happy?”

Anthony’s lips quirk up and he looks her up and down. “Lucky for you, the sounds of your digestion are currently drowning out that heartbeat of yours. Plus, I’m not a cheater.”

Her mouth drop open just a bit — stupid embarrassment warming her face at the idea he can hear all the gurgling and god knows what else going on — and she winces. “Sorry,” she apologizes, and her face heats up even more when he laughs.

He shrugs and holds out his hands, palms up. “It’s all body noises, Evangeline, no big deal. You get used to after awhile. And you don’t need to keep apologizing.”

Anthony makes a sound, like he’s considering his options, as he settles back in his seat. “I’ll go first,” he offers and counts them off, “One: I met Napoleon Bonaparte just before the Battle of Waterloo. Two: I have an original copy of the First Folio. Three: I’ve pet a tiger.”

Now it’s Evangeline who sits forward, staring Anthony down, as she thinks over the choices. He’s old enough, she thinks to herself, and, unbelievably, the tiger sounds too mundane to be a lie. “It has to be two,” she says finally, “There’s no fucking way you have an original copy.” Back in undergrad, she had the chance to see one at the Folger’s Library and that shit was kept under lock and key. No way some dude in New York just has a copy.

When Anthony’s response is only a widening grin, she curses and takes another drink. “Seriously?” she asks incredulously, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Yes,” he answers with a grin, smug satisfaction rolling off him. “In my private collection. I was in Balkans towards the end of Napoleon’s campaign. The tiger had belonged to an old acquaintance of mine.” Anthony holds out a hand. “Your turn.”

How the hell is she supposed to keep up with that? “Um,” she says, thinking it over, “Hm. Okay, one: I did my first solo hunt when I was fourteen. Two: I went to Greece for a summer back in college. Three: I have a favor from the Fae Queen.”

Anthony studies her for one long moment, a furrow in his brow, before he tilts his head. “Three. She hasn’t given favors in decades.”

Man, they’re both shit at this. “Decade and a half,” she replies, victoriously taking a bite out of another piece of bacon. She gestures in his direction with it. “I was thirteen my first hunt.”

His eyebrows raise at that. “Really? Thirteen?” he asks, “That is. . .surprising. Jocasta doesn’t seem like the type to start them young.”

Evangeline shrugs, surprised at the casual use of Safta’s name, and pushes her plate away. “Needs must and all that.”

She offers another smile. “Your turn.”

[flashfictionfridayofficial]

✨FFF 309 Masterlist

Thank you for all your wonderful entries last week! We loved reading all of them ^^ (If we missed your entry, please let us know)

Consider checking out your fellow writers’ pieces, give out those likes and reblogs. The new prompt is alreay posted and running for the following 13 hours <3

Bonding by @explosiontheory

Candidly Spoken by @lisbeth-kk

two truths and a lie by @lizardperson

two truths & one lie by @starlightfireflies

Cat and Mice by @elycwinters

In This Eclipse, A Prophecy Bound by @aalinaaaaaa

Sleight of Hand (and Twist of Fate) by @polizwrites

The Old Wager by @thyladyofathousand-n-onehobbies

Two Truths and a Lie by @longandshortstories

Thou Shalt Not Lie by @your-reluctant-optimist

Two Truths, One Lie by @fluffytheocelot

A war can last too long by @it-s-blue-ink

Set Up of a Game by @writingamongther0ses

Icebreakers by @scatteriskity

Thou Shalt Not Lie by @anonymousdandelion

Two Truths, One Lie by @asher-writes

Know Me Too Well by @cocoamoonmalfoy

puzzling games by @drowning-in-cacophony

The Interrogation by @acewriter

You, Me, & The Unmentioned Makes Three by @hd-literature

Two Truths, and a  Lie by @nyamadermont

Best Guesses by @baubeautyandthegeeknt

The Flower by @frozenwolftemplar

Well, this is New by @ruvastuon

Two Truths, One Lie by @bad-at-names-and-faces

cycles by @bi-focal12

Talking to Strangers by @houndsofcorduff

Born to Serve by @mmaricarmen23

Two Truths, One Lie by @betweenthetimeandsound

align my heart, my body, my mind by @ineedaplacetostay

Life or Death (Chapter 4) by @tsarisfanfiction

Medical History by @zorilleerrant

Truth and lie by @colection-of-chaos

Every happiness by @firawren

Bees And Their Honey by @ark-inkweavin

[flashfictionfridayofficial]

Bees And Their Honey

written for Flash Fiction Friday 309, event hosted by @flashfictionfridayofficial

WIP ✵ Revolve

Trigger Warnings ✵ None

Rating ✵ Teen & Up

Wordcount ✵ 831

Aleji nearly startles out of their sleepy haze as their thoughts close in and circle back on numbers and symbols. They line up under their eyelids, muddled and twisting but there.

Aleji breathes slowly, tries to fix them to their mind. But the symbols don't stick. They fade, like teasing lights. They curse under their breath. The bad is warm, Luz's skin soft against their own. But the array…

With careful gentleness, Aleji tries to ease out of the bed. It's but a futile attempt. Luz stirs, her hold on their arm just this side of tight. Green and gold eyes meet theirs from under heavy eyelids. ‹«Honeybee?»›

‹«Everything's okay, angel.»› They press a kiss to her cheek. ‹«You can sleep.»›

Luz's hold on their arm loosens, and they slide away. They carelessly grab a robe off the back of the chair to stave off the chill of the room and light a barely-bright red floating light, but still wince. Still mentally holding onto the array, they pat at the desk. Their glasses are nowhere to be found ‹«Where…»›

Soft footsteps make them turn around, just in time for Luz to press glasses over their nose and a kiss on their forehead. ‹«Nightstand, Ale, that's where,»› she says, mirth sewn into the edges of stifled tiredness. ‹«What's going on?»›

‹«Think I hit a breakthrough.»› They reach up and press a kiss to her lips. ‹«You should rest. You've got a busy day ahead of you.»›

‹«Don't I know it,»› she sighs, and they can feel her gaze on them as they sit at the desk. But she doesn't go back to bed. Instead her steps grow closer still, accompanied by the rustle of her robe.

Aleji looks up from barely touched paper, only to find her leaning towards the the light and turning it from red to bright gold. ‹«Can you move over a bit? I wanna cuddle.»›

Aleji huffs a laugh but pushes the chair back. She doesn't waste time laying across them, her head on their shoulder so close they can feel her soft breaths on their neck. It's like a lithany over their skin, same as her fingertips tracing the edges of their tattoos and patches of Void, leaving a buzzing trail on their arms and chest. It marks the time as Aleji goes through the pages, as ink marrs the paper, as ideas spill over the desk until they can do nothing but huff and rub their fingers over the pen.

‹«Hit a snag?»› Luz asks, barely a whisper over their skin.

‹«A big one,»› they say, staring over arrays overlapped and scribbled over. They're not the barely-working shambles they started from, but something's still off. Something's still missing.

Lips press to their cheek, soft and gentle. ‹«You'll get there.»›

Aleji's gaze drops to the winding wooden bracelets clinging to her wrists. ‹«But how long will it take?»›

‹«Hey,»› she scolds, twisting their head to press a kiss to their lips. ‹«I trust you. Do you trust me?»›

‹«With my soul.»›

‹«Then trust yourself too,»› she says, her touch gentle over their skin.

They sigh, and kiss her back. ‹«I'll get you out of here.»›

‹«That's the spirit,»› Luz smiles, her eyes bright.

Aleji smiles back and presses their lips to hers again. ‹«And I'll take you to look at the falling stars. Make our wishes together.»›

‹«I'd love that,»› Luz sighs into the kiss. ‹«Tell me about the sky again?»›

‹«It's like the ceiling of the Grand Hall, but a milion times bigger,»› they start, pulling Luz closer to them and trailing kisses over her cheeks, over her neck, down her shoulders. ‹«And it's never the same color. It's always changing. And at night it's as blue as the Luminary.»›

‹«I don't believe that,»› she laughs.

‹«It's true, I swear to it.»›

Luz shakes her head, amusement in her eyes as she trails unsharpened claws through their hair. ‹«You've lied to me before, Ale.»›

‹«When have I ever done that?»› they ask, fighting to keep the laughter out of their voice.

‹«I don't know, just earlier when I asked for the last time you slept?›» she says, her eyes twinkling like stars.

Aleji shakes their head. ‹«Well I swear to you now, it's just as blue. But it doesn't have the glowmosses. Instead it has the stars, and they're so far away they look like tiny dots as bright as your hair.»›

‹«It sounds beautiful,»› she sighs, leaning her head on their shoulder again.

Aleji presses a kiss to her forehead. ‹«It is.»›

Luz hums, light and cheerful. ‹«More beautiful than me?»›

‹«Way more.»›

Luz laughs and pushes them away. ‹«Well now we've got to get you to bed, 'cause you're clearly talking nonsense.»›

‹«Am I now?»› they laugh, trying to press another kiss to Luz's cheek.

She evades him though, and presses her own to their lips. ‹«Bed, Ale.»›

‹«Yes, my queen,» they laugh. The poke to the stomach they get is entirely on them.

❊

✵ Revolve Taglist ✵ @corinneglass @aalinaaaaaa @write-with-will @mymomsaysbobcipher @writeintrees @firesidefantasy @inspirationallybored

[flashfictionfridayofficial]

Medical History

@flashfictionfridayofficial

“Huh,” the doctor says.

I hate it when they say huh.

They scan me again, more thoroughly this time. It itches against my insides and I try not to squirm; not everyone can be used to treating necromancers. I wish I knew what all the nodding meant. I wish I knew what all the numbers meant.

“How long has this been happening?” the doctor asks, very sympathetically. I feel like they might actually hand me a lollipop if we’d stepped into the other office, the one with all the ducks on the walls.

“First time,” I say, keeping my hands folded primly in my lap. They nod again, staring at me – me, not the chart – without moving. “Probably the first time.”

“Probably,” they say, frowning. I feel like half of what doctors do these days is repeat everything you say back to you and then charge you for it. I say these days. I probably mean here more than now, but still.

“I have nightmares,” I explain, relaxing slightly as the cold metal finally starts to warm up under my legs. “Chronic. Incurable.”

“But you never fell out of bed before,” they confirm, and I don’t know what they want me to say there. What, ever? Or recently? Not that I’m mentioning I didn’t exist a month ago. It seems like a lot to go into when I’m going to have to explain all of it just to get a well that doesn’t sound like it matters out of it. So I shake my head.

The doctor steps out for a minute, not that they’ve explained why, and I’m stuck with just David awkwardly patting my arm and telling me everything will be alright. I pat his hand to try to get him to shut up, but it only slows him down. He doesn’t seem to understand he’s not needed here. I didn’t want to leave him in the lobby while he’s this anxious, though.

Someone else steps in, introducing themselves brightly, and I have to cover all the preliminaries yet again, although at least they don’t give me more paperwork. I’m wondering whether the other doctor just fucked off to lunch or something, or why I’m doing this all over again, when a glow lights up the room, and, ah.

Healer. Something magical broke, and it’s subtle enough I can’t even feel where it is. Fantastic. Couldn’t have been a better outcome, yay for me. The magic presses against the side of my head, but at least they know what they’re doing, and I can’t feel any of it scrabbling around in there. Of course, I can’t feel any of it healing, either.

“Have you had any recent accidents?” they ask. I stare blankly. Hard to answer that question in any amount of depth without knowing why it’s relevant, but I’m not exactly about to lie to a healer when they’re in the middle of ritual. I don’t need to be whacked with a ruler. “This must be recent. A siphon like this would’ve caused an incident much sooner if you’d had it for more than a month or two.”

Oh, great. There’s a leak in my magic.

It probably would’ve always been there, though.

I sigh. Sidestepping my medical history wasn’t ever going to be an option, I guess, it’s just a matter of which one. “I used to have a pacemaker. Until recently.”

“Pacemaker,” they say. Great. They’re doing the same thing as the doctor.

“Yeah. I had a serious injury as a teenager.” Then, before they can say something about reconstructing hearts or what have you, I clarify, “it severely damaged my spine and there wasn’t a lot that could be done after that was dealt with.”

They stare at me some more, tracing a thin line of heat down my back, and I shiver. “They did an excellent job with the reconstruction. This was incredibly painstaking,” and yes, I know, I’m aware of how hard it tried to counteract any problems, it’s just that, apparently, no one ever felt the need to tell us there was a siphon down the crack in my spine. If they knew. If it wasn’t the outcome of one too few materials or the moonlight hitting the wrong way. Some intentional design flaw to keep us under control.

“So, what now?” I ask, looking forward to weeks or months or a lifetime of taking some barely studied pill in the hopes that I don’t have another seizure in my sleep.

They shrug. “If the pacemaker worked before, there’s every chance we could simply reapply one and it would even out the flow again. Would you like me to do that?” I sigh again, but they’re right, and it’s probably the easiest solution. Definitely the one that will get me out of here fastest. So I nod, and lean back while they smear cream against my chest, and wait.

I clench my eyes shut. If I don’t look, I don’t have to contend with the physics of their hand sliding through my torso, and instead get to just feel the tickle of fingers against my heart, and the terrifying knowledge that if I move the wrong way while they’re not expecting it, I’m going to need another ambulance called.

They sketch a sigil gently between beats, and slide away again, and I breathe. A slight reprieve before they retrieve it from wherever they’re stored and stick their hand through skin and bone and muscle again. I don’t bother to open my eyes.

I know I’m supposed to breathe while it happens. I know that makes it easier. I also know most people don’t, so it hardly matters anyway, but I’m relieved when they press down just hard enough to pinch. A little more force than it needs to stick, but honestly, better than having both hands scrabbling around there readjusting.

I breathe again.

They hand me a fucking orange juice.

I mean, it’s fine. Orange juice is fine. I’m willing to drink it. It’s taking all my energy not to glare at the healer, but hey, they’re used to it. I risk a glance at David instead, and he’s gone the sort of ash gray usually reserved for black and white film. I suppress a smile. Well, he learned something today.

“Is it okay if I heal your head now?” the healer asks, gently, and I almost roll my eyes. It’s what I’m here for in the first place, isn’t it? But the glow of my scalp stitching back together is a lot less invasive after the point of comparison.

[flashfictionfridayofficial]

Life or Death (Chapter 4)

Fandom: Dragon Orb Rating: Teen Genre: Angst/Friendship Characters: Nolita, Barnabas, Firestorm, Pell Adding more onto this story again, courtesy of the next @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt #309: Two Truths. One Lie! This is my first time playing with Nolita pov and I'm not quite sure I got her down right but I'll just have to practice more until I do, because the contradiction of a dragon rider who's terrified of dragons (including her own!) and heights is fascinating to me. Especially when day dragons and their riders are stereotyped as the 'brave' ones... <<< Chapter 3

No-one was happy.  Nolita could tell, watching her fellow humans closely as she desperately tried to ignore that they were surrounded by dragons in a scene straight from her worst nightmares.  Shadow's bulk hid a lot of them from view, including Firestorm, although Nolita was uncomfortably aware that she didn't need to see her own dragon to know where he was at any given time, but not being able to see them didn't mean Nolita wasn't hyper-aware of their presence.

It had been easier to ignore while Pell was unconscious.  Fire had been her only conversation partner, which had been terrifying, but with the older boy dying she'd had something else to focus on.  Getting on Firestorm's back had been much easier when Pell was already tied to the saddle, looking worse by the day.

Now, Pell was fine again, if a bit younger and trying not to trip over his own trouser hems, and Nolita's mind focused subconsciously on the rest of their companions instead.

Elian was not yet used to his decrease in size, either, but despite being more drastic than Pell's he seemed to be working with it more comfortably.  There was tension across his shoulders and his eyes kept flicking to the night dragon host ahead of them.

Nolita was determinedly not thinking about the second host of dragons.  If she did, she knew no encouragement would get her to stick with the plans being made around her.

Kira was angry.  Her arms were crossed and her back was rigid as her remaining eye glared at Pell.  That, at least, was normal behaviour.  She hadn't stopped Elian, but Nolita thought that if Pell's life had been in the Racafian girl's hands, she wouldn't have chosen to save him.  Nolita suspected she also didn't like the plan of Pell and Shadow facing down Segun and Widewing, but Nolita remembered the night dragon leader and his dragon well.  The idea of facing him directly made her feel ill.  At least Pell had the confidence, even if it was difficult to see it right then as he grumbled about his too-big clothes and retreated to his saddlebags to try and do something about them, ignoring everyone else, and Shadow was massive and terrifying enough.

Barnabas and the otherworlder had walked away, talking about fighting and distractions and trying to find a strategy for distracting the night dragons thoroughly.  On their first meeting, Nolita liked Barnabas well enough despite the horrors he posed for her, but Pell's injuries had shown her a side to the day dragon leader she wasn't so sure about.

Sable liked to play games.  Nolita barely remembered half of them now but one she did.  in North Cemaria they called it for what it was: Two truths.  One lie.  It was simple to play and Nolita had always been very good at it.  She hadn't expected to end up inadvertently using the same tricks she used to win it against unhappy dragonriders.

"I've never seen a day dragon carry a night dragon rider before," Barnabas had said when they'd arrived at the day dragon enclave., Pell tied to her saddle and unconscious, and a desperation running through all of them because nothing Firestorm had done had helped and neither of them knew what to do.  He hadn't lied, then, but Nolita had already got the feeling from Fire that him carrying Pell was unusual, the same way him healing Pell on occasion before had been unusual.  He’d always done it anyway, though, because it was the right thing to do – no matter how annoying Pell could be.

"If Firestorm can't help him, none of our enclave can," on the other hand, hadn't felt right, and Fire had agreed with her.  Surely there were older, more powerful healers around?  Surely dragons working together could do more than one alone?  Neither of them had been in a position to protest, when their mission was to get the day dragons to agree to cause the diversion Elian and Kira desperately needed to get the last two orbs to the Oracle, but it had felt wrong to dismiss all possibilities of healing Pell so quickly.

Nolita still didn’t remember how she had persuaded Barnabas to agree to lead the day dragons to the Oracle’s cave.  He’d had misgivings but he’d relented, somehow, and Nolita had experienced one of the worst things in her life: flying in convoy with fifty other dragons.  The thought of it made her hands itch, and she quickly fished out her water bottle and soap again, turning it three times in her palms.

Firestorm had stayed at the back of the convoy, next to Shadow, whose injuries he couldn’t help either.  Nolita wondered if she was supposed to be less terrified of a night dragon than her own enclave – Shadow was still absolutely terrifying, but she was a known terror.

Then they’d arrived, they’d met up with Elian – who looked a lot younger – and Kira, and Nolita began to feel as though things might be okay.

Then Barnabas had been unimpressed about Elian healing Pell with the dawn orb, and she realised the older rider wasn't as good as she'd thought he was.  Nolita didn't like Pell all that much, and knew he didn't like her, but he’d been hurt protecting her and it had always been clear to her that the only way they'd save the Oracle was by working together.  Leaving one of their own to die...  Something told her that that would've ended in something worse, even if she couldn't identify what.

Nolita had tried not to think too hard about what came later, after the Oracle was saved, but she'd suspected she and Fire would end up living in the day dragon enclave, at opposite ends of the volcano when she could manage it.

But if Barnabas was willing to let Pell die just because he was a night dragon rider...  Nolita thought she didn't want to live with people like that.

[flashfictionfridayofficial]

Amy time! Happy Amy time even! Yay? Thanks to @flashfictionfridayofficial for the opportunity to get more into Amy’s head :)

[Image ID: black text reading “FFF309 Two Truths, One Lie” on a gradient white to teal background.

End ID]

align my heart, my body, my mind

word count: 478

Content Warnings: implied sexual content, but not explicit

—

Laura’s like an octopus in her sleep, plastered over Amy, limbs in every direction. She snores too, but she never admits it. Loves talking about being clingy though, says it’s because Amy has such great tits. Even after the…

Laura curls tighter, not a nightmare clutch, Amy knows what Laura’s like when she has one of those, the localized storms Amy has to dissipate before they end up with water damage. And it’s Amy’s place, not Laura’s high rise and not Laura’s credit that takes the hit whenever there has to be repairs.

No, this is a demand for warmth, usually after she kicked the covers off. Laura would do it as easily when they fell asleep on stakeouts as she did in their own beds. She was even like that when they were kids.

“It’s always something,” Amy sighs, but dutifully pulls up the covers.

“Love you,” she thinks Laura mutters into her shoulder. “Stay.”

Amy sighs again, harder, an ache building in her chest like an oncoming storm. She…

Laura kisses her shoulder, her neck, one of those octopus hands wandering along her side in the dark.

“You’re awake now?” Amy teases, but she doesn’t quite move. Sometimes it’s…it would be…

Laura and her impossible, unmanaged strength turns Amy’s head to kiss her and…

Headache, a headache bursts through Amy’s skull, nausea clawing up her throat, she’s gonna be sick. Laura, more than one, more than one, screams. It isn’t right, it isn’t right, where is she…she…

She falls and it’s cold. It’s cold and snowing and Amy is on the ground.

She goes for her cover first, mask, goggles, gear. All still in place. And it’s not the ground, it’s a rooftop. It’s always a rooftop for some reason.

Laura, wearing her white cloak and void mask, groans next to her.

“That illusion fucker?” Laura spits as color comes back into Amy’s vision, little sparks of lightning arcing at Laura’s fingertips.

“Yeah,” Amy says, forcing herself up. It still hurts and Laura’s fingers, warm and impossibly strong, are still aching along her chin.

Laura holds out a gloved hand, silent demand, never a question, to be helped up. “Hero-villain teamup so we can kick Houdini’s ass?”

She shouldn’t encourage Laura’s violence, the way Laura thinks she can get away with anything because she has the strength to do it. She really shouldn’t. She can feel Laura’s head on her shoulder better than the snowfall around them. “Sure.”

“He set me up with a nightmare and let my own fucking head make the rest,” Laura says, shaking pins and needles out of her legs when she’s back on her feet. They must have been out for a while. It’s going to be a mess to clean up. “What about you? Fever dreams, hot guys? Hot girls? Hot both?”

“No, same as you. …just a nightmare.”

[flashfictionfridayofficial]

--prompt from @flashfictionfridayofficial

There was nothing significant about the deal. It was a matter of shuffling papers and writing signatures on them; the ink darker than what the client would be expected. Years of practice on pencils, mechanical pencils, and gel pens led to holding a fountain pen on the woman's delicate hands. Against the light, it stoke like a thunderbolt, with the tip glimmering under the natural lighting. A slight of hand could manipulate everything.

Beauty was in the eye of the beholder, or as she liked to view without her glasses, unfiltered. Her fingers danced around the desk with their own rhythm, something which her feet would never know how to handle. Her shoulders could tremble until she finds herself in the rhythm and the chanting, but her soul remained aloof from what she wanted.

Jealousy reigned her horse, and it would provide the honey which sweetened her life. The ivies which bound her to the other provided some roots, in that it would prevent her from searching out what eluded her. A ruby which matched the blood which coursed through her.

[flashfictionfridayofficial]

Flash Fiction Friday!

@flashfictionfridayofficial @frozenwolftemplar @backofthepencil11 @explosiontheory

Title: Born to Serve

Fandom: Carmen Sandiego (2019 Cartoon)

Words: 615

Triggers: implied death & cloning

It was loud.

Loud like thousands of little voice boxes were packed into her mind. Overpowering each other until nothing more than an enormous gibberish explodes in her ears. Her mind can’t take it, can’t cope. It’s too loud.

It doesn’t stop. A buzzing, hissing, needling little body was tugging at her, ripping her away from herself and life into this deep cavity of null existence. An empty space, a void occupied only by its other victims. Accomplices, competition, replicas, family, clones.

They are in this vast complex with her, staring at it with equal parts emptiness and overwhelming clarity. A loud, bolstering wake-up call spills out the truth right before her eyes. The truth of connection and conformity— the only truths in the life of a slave soldier.

That Carmen was nothing without the other Carmen’s.

Without the swarm of her fellow creations, courtesy of Dr Bellum’s gracious touch, who was she?

A pool of her own blood, bones and reshaped empathy. A meaningless vacuum that never turned off, never fell silent, and never caved until its body were sprawled out across the concrete. That was what it meant to be Carmen Sandiego.

The second truth: a clone belongs to its numbers. To VILE. To those moments when their meaningless and loud universe was lit up with commands, orders, and even the rare instinctive sensation that something didn’t belong. Something had to be righted.

Carmen wouldn’t want it any other way. She didn’t know any other way…

Looking around is a hall of mirrors— copies of her, figments of what Carmen Sandiego was where none dare to stray from the image. Down to the shade of monotonous grey that paints her eyes, she is paralysingly similar.

She’s a part of it, and it a part of her. It makes her, moulds her, embodies her— she doesn’t know who she is without the hive.

A lie burns on her false tongue.

An instinct twists her head from her neck, zapping to a place— a person that didn’t belong. Another human, another life, another clo-

No.

No, this clone is wrong. This one’s red flaps in the wind, eyes as blinding as the core of the sun, and with a heat the centre of the earth longs after. The world follows her, this smear of imperfection, empathy, love, and bolstering crimson.

There, standing dead in the centre of the room, braced against the red eyes infatuated by the outcast, and glaring with a light in her eyes that could just be the cure… is a lie.

A fault. A lifeline.

The robot’s eyes begin to burn. In comparison she feels empty. She feels undone, unfulfilled, inhumane, robotic…

That was the problem of the normal, she was nothing, not really. She wasn’t special, she wasn’t alive. She, and this crowd of hive are the aliens. Crafted out of horror and deciept and-

And before she can dwell on her own cyborg origin, carved from a piece of such a woman in an attempt to oppose and prevail over her… her insides cauterise this fuel, this strictness, this violence. A murder, a malice, an upholstering need to eliminate the one that does not belong. The original, the scar, the symbol of red in all that was grey.

The robots are not Carmen; it is false.

And that mattered. Because when this robot eventually collapses, metal crashing senselessly to the floor— not one will look back on it with remorse.

Because I am a lie.

Intention was…

Truth: existence of Carmen clones (no she isn’t just going mad)

Truth: VILE control

Lie: she’s the real Carmen.

[flashfictionfridayofficial]

@flashfictionfridayofficial

Title: cycles | Fandom: bnha | Pairing: bkdkbk | 624 words

Present day | 5 years ago | 15 years ago

“Kacchan, let’s play a game,” Izuku says, leaning forward, scarred hands bunched against his cross-legged shins. Katsuki shifts on the small bed until their knees bump, Izuku’s All Might posters grinning down at him from the walls. “Okay,” he says. It feels like falling into a memory. “What game?” – “Kacchan! Let’s play a game!” “What game, Deku?” “Let’s play heroes!” – Katsuki’s smile is mean. His arms are crossed sharply over his chest. “Deku. Let’s play a game.” – “Two truths and a lie,” Izuku says. Katsuki tries to blink away the aftertaste of something sour. He nods. – “I’ll go first.” – “I’ll go first.” – “One, I’m going to get into UA. First try.” Izuku nods, the truth in that is unmistakable. – “Okay, um…oh! I’m an alumni of UA.” A broad, wobbly smile overtakes Izuku’s face. Even in the blue half-dark, Katsuki can tell that his cheeks are pink. “Wah, it feels so cool to be able to say that out loud!” Katsuki tosses the pillow at Izuku’s face. “Too obvious, nerd. And you’ve been sayin’ that for years.” Izuku tosses it back at Katsuki, chuckling. “True.” – “Duh, we always play heroes, Deku.” “Yeah, but this time we can be heroes in space!” – “What’s two?” Katsuki asks, pillowing his cheek on his hand, attention soft. – “You’re going to make it into UA’s hero course,” Kacchan sneers. Izuku knows this is the lie, but the words- spilling from Kacchan’s bold, abrasive lips- still make his heart sing. – “Two is…I prefer curry over katsudon.” Katsuki rolls his eyes. “This is baby shit, gimme a hard one.” – “Kacchan! Wait up!” “Too bad, Deku, my spaceship’s just faster than yours!” – “And…what’s three, Kacchan?” The last truth. The punchline, presumably. But even so, Izuku wants to know. – “Wait! My spaceship’s fast, too, Kacchan!” – “Three?” Kacchan’s smirk deepens. He leans close enough that Izuku can smell the nitro sweat starting to pool in his palms. – “C'mon., what’s the last one?” Katsuki asks. – “When I get there, I’m gonna leave you in the dust.” It’s supposed to be a truth- to be Kacchan’s final, awful truth- so Izuku doesn’t know why his eyebrow twitches over this revelation in exactly the way it didn’t over the lie. Kacchan walks away after that, hands stuffed deep into his pockets, and Izuku clutches his notebook to his chest, re-ordering the game in his head. Truth. Truth. Lie. – Izuku’s smile broadens, cheek dimpling. A truth. “I love you, Kacchan.” – Two truths and a lie: Kacchan is mean. Kacchan is more than his sharpest edges. Izuku isn't desperately, hopelessly curious about Kacchan's truth. – “You…what?” Katsuki whispers, spine snapping straight. Their knees are still touching. The All Might’s on the walls of Izuku’s childhood bedroom are still watching. They’re nineteen years old, having a sleepover in a bed far too small for their war torn bodies and Izuku is offering up his truths to Katsuki like they aren’t mouthfuls of water in the desert. Katsuki’s desperate to hear it again. His face burns. His heart feels like it’s in his throat. Izuku smiles at Katsuki like he knows all of these things. He takes Katsuki’s frozen face in his hands and says it again. “I love you, Kacchan.” “But-” “No but,” Izuku says, pressing their foreheads together. “I love you.” And in the cradle of their faces Katsuki lets loose a truth of his own: “I love you, too,” he says. “I’m- I'm sorry it took me so long.” Izuku hums, gently thumbing away the mist from Katsuki’s stubborn eyes. “And the lie?” he asks. Katsuki huffs out a weak laugh. “And the lie is…I’m not gonna marry you someday.” Katsuki can feel the heat radiating from Izuku’s face, even as he says, “Too easy. I already knew that one.”

[flashfictionfridayofficial]

[FFF#309 - Two Truths, One Lie] - Icebreakers

-verse: Antikrypha Story: Paper Chasers Heads-Up: In which Tenor tries to figure out the best way to strike up conversation with Taxi, after sitting for half an hour in agonizing awkward silence.

–

Holding it together, just five seconds more. Ten seconds more.

Tick… tick… tick…

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Waited thirty seconds more.

Tick… tick… tick…

How many “thirty seconds more” had passed already? 

Tenor bit his lip, dug his fingernails into his palms, tapped his toes inside his shoes. Today, he was rediscovering the meaning of unbearable silence.

It would’ve been more bearable, he thought, if any other one of the Paper Chasers had been partnered with him. 

But nooo, he was stuck sitting here in the bushes with the most deadpan, taciturn, wet blanket of the bunch.

Not that Taxi wasn’t interesting. Far from it, actually.

There was a veil of mystery shrouding the older boy, one that drew Tenor to cracking those secrets. But enough cold glares and sharp shushes had been sent Tenor’s way that he was reluctant to pry.

However, with the way his investigative, speculative mind tended to run, Tenor had come up with all sorts of scenarios and explanations as to why Taxi wore that grim facade all the time. He knew this was just a shell. There was something beneath the surface. 

Was it a traumatic experience? A big secret? Spying for some other group? Or something more personal?

He hardly even dared to think this – for some irrational belief that somehow Taxi would know and turn his condescending gaze on Tenor’s pity – but it almost seemed as if Wassily Quintaxis, checkered enigma of the Paper Chasers, just… had no one to talk to.

Well, everyone probably avoids him because he acts like he doesn’t want anyone to talk to him. 

Tenor’s leg jogged as he contemplated Major’s recent words of advice. Sometimes it takes an outsider to recognize what someone needs, even contrary to their own idea.

Perhaps he was that person. No one else was stepping up to the task, and the window of opportunity was open right now. Within the camp, it was hard to get privacy from both the nosy and the noisy. And without a good reason to pull Taxi aside, Tenor didn’t even entertain the idea of waltzing up and setting up a one-on-one chat. 

Since they were assigned to the same stakeout, however, the timing was perfect. Tenor mustered up the courage, taking a deep breath–

“If you need to go, do it in another bush.” 

Tenor coughed, heat flaring across his face. “I-I don’t!” he hissed, trying to keep his voice down, though difficult to do in flustered indignance. “I wasn’t about to ask that.”

“Then stop jittering like you have termites in your trousers.”

He decided to go for broke. “Can I ask you something?”

“Why do you need my permission?”

“Uh- well, it… I just didn’t want to interrupt your train of thought or anything,” Tenor stammered, already cringing as the words left his mouth.

Taxi didn’t even turn his head. “Clearly that’s a lie, because you asked a question anyway.”

Tenor wrinkled his nose, then sat up straighter. “I’m going to ask you a question.”

“I’m not stopping you.”

“And I want you to answer it.”

There was a moment of silence, nowhere near as long as the last half hour, but Tenor counted the tick-tick-ticks of Taxi’s pocket watch as they dropped grain by grain onto the sand heap of his impatience. So it was a little bit of a miracle when Taxi replied, “It depends on the question.”

Fine, Tenor could work with this. Two could play this cryptic game. 

“How about we practice some of that talespin technique Major’s been talking about?” Tenor suggested. “You give me an answer to my question. They don’t even have to be true. I just want answers.”

At last, this earned the slightest glance in his direction. Though Taxi’s stoic expression didn’t change, the fact that he’d even turned his head two degrees to acknowledge Tenor meant that something in Tenor’s suggestion was unexpected. And perhaps respectable.

“You get three questions.” Taxi returned his gaze to the task of keeping watch. “I don’t have to look at you for you to talk, do I?”

“Probably better that way,” Tenor muttered, staring off through the leaves as he chose his questions carefully. Finally, he laced his fingers together and pressed them to his chin. 

“Who started calling you Taxi?

“How long have you had that pocket watch?

“Have you ever had an encounter with one of the apokline?”

And then the silence again. It felt different this time; a settled silence, not a strained one.

At last, he heard the intake of breath. Tenor inhaled at the same time, ready to hear what the other had to say.

“I have a cabbie license in Tsentra.

“An avalanche destroyed my childhood home.

“The crate of duct tape behind Major’s tent is mine.”

Tenor stared at Taxi, well aware his own mouth was open in bafflement. How were those related to his queries?

“I answered your questions,” Taxi pointed out.

“Now– now that’s debatable…” Tenor stammered.

“Directness was never specified. You, uncoverer of truths and untangler of lies, do with that information what you will.” He pulled his cap over his brows, a sign he was finished with conversation.

The oddest thing for Tenor was that he knew which statement was false. “It wasn’t an avalanche, was it?”

Taxi didn’t even shrug.

Anyways, that wasn’t the important thing. Even if he knew which ones were true, it would require some deep digging and wild connections to make to figure out what these were all hints for.

But he had leads. And leads were a good place for investigations to start. Just like ice breakers were a good place for connections to be made.

“You really can drive a taxi?” Tenor couldn’t resist pressing.

“No comment.”

-

961 words

It's been a while since I've accidentally gone over the word count limit, which was a pleasant surprise. I haven't written the Paper Chasers in a while, and usually it's banter between Tenor and Sylchi. But whatever chaotic duo connection those two have, it's so different with Taxi. And effortlessly hilarious. Because he really isn't trying to be funny.

Some Notes Perhaps:

apokline - fancy in-universe term for beings of the cryptid variety

Major (><), he/him, older than you - if his name looks familiar (like you've seen it in last week's entry), yes, he is one and the same. This takes place at a different time and place

Tenor (Renwick Tenori), he/him, 17 or whatever age I put him

Taxi (Wassily Quintaxis), he/him, 19. Maybe 20.

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Thou Shalt Not Lie

(TW: alcohol, I suppose? Brief mentions of Catholicism?? Implied death)

'It's just a game, Sersei.'

Dread creeps up my throat, cold and cloying; I roll my eyes, fluff my chocolate-brown hair and toss it over my shoulder, trying to play at least ten times more cool than I feel.

'Well, I don't want to play.'

Those words, at least, I can voice. It's true: I'd rather swallow broken glass than play this stupid game. I glower down at my beer bottle, regretting that it's my third- the alcohol is running warm through my stomach and fuzzing my thoughts a little at a time. It's getting harder and harder to come up with an elegant way to sidestep this situation.

I bat my eyelashes as best I can, hoping that it'll distract from how I'm folding my hands together in my lap. 'I mean, come on. Two Truths, One Lie is so juvenile.'

Ash groans. 'What would you rather we play? Spin The Bottle?'

'I've got a Monopoly board somewhere.' Jasper snips, muttering the comment in the general direction of his drink.

Honestly. If I had the opportunity to be able to say whatever I wanted, to keep my private thoughts inside and present whatever front I wanted? I'd save my quippy insults for something better than a Monopoly jab.

'Let's just play, Sers.' Albie mumbles. He, too, cannot meet my gaze, and is staring at his feet, crossed in front of him.

Some best friend he is. Supposedly, my honesty is something he's always valued about me. Supposedly, he was going to have my back tonight. Instead, he's dropped me directly in it; how am I meant to back out now, when even my best mate agrees that I'm being a wet blanket?

Of course, he has no idea why I won't play. He thinks I'm just being silly, or embarrassed, or that I can't think of any interesting truths about myself (because isn't that sort of the point of the game? Finding something genuinely true about yourself that will have the rest of the circle argue it can't possibly be real?).

No. I've got plenty of truths. I just don't want to tell these people about any of them.

(And then there's the lies)

'Fine.' I huff, moving my bottle to one side. 'Who wants to start?'

Ash looks right at me, and I'm certain that he's about to insist I go first- which is so not happening- but Albie gets there before he can.

'I'll go.' He purses his lips for a second, still looking resolutely ahead even as I try to catch his eye. 'Okay: I've never been drunk before, I'm not actually a Catholic, and... I've never finished 101 Dalmatians.'

I smile, despite it all; I know all his truths and lies. I've known Albie since we were toddlers. There's not been a single summer holiday in the past six years- since we both got phones, aged eleven and twelve respectively- that hasn't been passed glued to one another's texts.

'All right.' Ash cocks his head. 'You may be a shit Catholic-' he gestures at the beer and the general atmosphere of the room, '-But I know you are one. So that's true.'

The girl next to Albie, whose name I’ve already forgotten, stretches out her long, pale legs. 'The last one has to be the lie. It's too specific.'

'Wouldn't that make it true?' Jasper wonders.

'If it's true, that's sad, mate.'

'It is.' Albie admits sheepishly. 'The first one was the lie.'

'Communion wine.' I recall. 'Aged ten. You were grounded, like, all summer.'

That's what they get for making Albie, my secret co-conspirator, play altar boy while in any kind of proximity to me.

I instantly regret drawing attention back to myself as all eyes around the circle turn my way. My plastic smile threatens to slip, but I hike it back up.

'Your turn, then, Sersei.' Jasper opens another beer, the pop jolting straight through my sternum.

It's so ridiculous. I know he's only doing it so that he doesn't have to look my way as he says it. Jasper isn't really mean. Ash is, when he wants to be, but Jasper just goes along with it most of the time. It's all a facade, one big lie, and he gives it away by how he'll never look you in the eye while he makes his snide comments.

'I thought we were going around the circle?' I press my lips together a little, trying to disguise how wrong-footed I am, how I'm just a little breathless.

'We were. Now we want you to play next.' Ash, by contrast, stares me dead in the face, like he's willing me to talk back. 'Is that, like, a problem?'

Yes. Yes it is.

I can think of a thousand truths to tell them, but not a single lie. Of course, I could just do three truths, but then what am I supposed to say when they ask which one's the lie? What's Albie going to think? The range of things about me that he doesn't know are slim, slim pickings indeed.

Of course, there's another option.

I don't want to do it. Well, I do, but I don't, all at the same time. I'm out of time and out of ideas, though, and there is that part of me that wants to watch the world burn.

So I angle myself right towards Ash as I start to speak.

'Okay. So. I don't like telling lies.'

Already, that slimy coldness within me grows at those words. It's so close to not being true.

'I hate this stupid game.'

More true than the last, but still not entirely right. Somebody off to my left squawks, and I know my shadow must have grown long already.

'And... absolutely nothing bad happens when I lie.'

Outright false; the wings burst free, the teeth popping from my gums, and I tower over Ash all at once. He watches me, smug snark turning to terror, and I smile a dark-fanged smile.