#FlashFictionFriday

[darkhorse-javert]

It hurts me, to see Dr Watson like this. Oh there are no unwarranted scenes in public, he does not break down and keen as he stands beside me at the graveside. But his stiffness, shoulders back head stiff on his neck, tucked in. His soldier days bracing him against the world. Against this loss tearing at him from the inside out.

It hurts to lie to him, to pretend that this empty grave ought to be occupied, to wear the full-black of mourning, when I know my brother is alive - in Italyat the moment. It's for the best... it is. Anyone with any sense would be watching known associates to confirm if Sherlock's death is a clever fake. And Moriarty's senior men are not stupid, or else we would have them by now.

If Dr Watson believes, the world will believe. And so I must stand next to him, watching him hold himself together outwardly, when he can only be keening inside.

I recall the sight of him, that evening when he all but stumbled into my lodgings, days worth of stubble and the dust of travel still on him. He had, I deduced, come straight from the station, from Boat-train and Continent, whithout a care for himself

"Mr Holmes..." He rasped out the words to me,"I regret..." Words or greif choked him for a second, his hands clenching tight on his doffed hat "Your brother, Sherlock is dead." I give him all credit, he stood steady as he says it, although his face be drawn with exhaustion, eyes and cheeks marked with the echo of many tears he had shed quietly on the journey.

So different from the warm eyed, beaming fellow I had met alongside my brother at the Diogenes Club; had seen with Sherlock in their rooms.

"Moriarty?" I enquired, phrasing the question to not need a verbal answer. He managed a rough nod only.

'Take Care of Watson,' had been one of my brother's few edicts before he left. Perhaps we are, but looking at him now - standing by what he believes to be my brother's last and lasting memorial, I wonder.

Sherlock, do you know what you do? Can I not let him know somehow?

@flashfictionfridayofficial

[seekers-who-are-lovers]

His Favourite: Fragments

Written once again for @flashfictionfridayofficial using the prompt #FFF260 fear is a sickness as prompt. There could be spoilers if you haven’t seen the 13th episode.

—

Fandom: Yatagarasu: The Raven Does Not Choose Its Master

Characters: Wakamiya/Nazukihiko/Crown Prince/Golden Raven/Kin’u, Yukiya, Hamayu/Sakura-hime/Sakura, mentions of Sumio, Lady Azusa, Lord Genya

Word count: 1090

—

“IF you want to die, then you can do that all by yourself. I will not stand here idle for your assassins to kill you.”

Yukiya then poised to leave the courtyard, nudged his horse, and flew away.

“We will meet again. I know it,” Wakamiya said shortly before the boy’s departure feeling so sure of himself.

“In your dreams, maybe. I am not planning to come back here at all,” the boy faced his master as if forgetting something. “Of course, everything will be different if you decide to give up your claim to the throne. Let your brother Lord Natsuka rule for they want him. Then I promise I will be yours forever… to serve you.”

Wakamiya’s breath hitched for a second.

Yukiya never thought of it much: the longer he stayed with his young master, the easier it was to love him.

But when he thought of the downside of serving Wakamiya, he never longed to be a part of a farce they called the imperial court with so many schemers wanting to get ahead of each other by stomping everyone’s feet.

Yet, deep inside, the Crown Prince only had to say the word and Yukiya would fold at once.

“I know it because I am a kin’u. One day I will ask for you and you will come back to me.”

Yukiya gaped at Wakamiya as if he grew horns over his head. He stood there not moving but focused his eyes on the prince. The whole time Sumio was only waiting for his cue after His Highness stopped him earlier from interrupting the boy’s tirade.

“I am saying this because I worry about you. I do not want you to die.” Pain etched on Yukiya’s face.

A kumquat flew in the air. Yukiya caught the candied fruit with his right hand and looked grumpily at his now former young master. Wakamiya in turn fixed his gaze on the boy longer than he had intended to do until he vanished from his sight. A final goodbye at the moment.

~~

“Sit down, Your Highness! You make me more than scared than I should be,” Hamayu poured sake on her cup and downed it at once eyeing at her husband.

Wakamiya circled the open hearth in the middle of the vast room of the study, unmoored, confused, and agitated. He should not have given his permission in the first place. Guards were watching the Sunrise Palace preventing him to leave. Even Sumio threatened to break his leg if he tried to escape from his chamber. There was a coup happening in the Northern Territory and His Serene Lord Genya and his entire family were in the middle of it. The rebels took hostage of his grandson, Lord Kiei, and his wife and their two children ages 4 and 7. Yukiya was rumoured to be imprisoned somewhere outside of the city when he, despite Wakamiya’s protestations, returned to visit his family in Taruhi then decided to join his grandfather’s force to quell the uprising. When Sumio came back to report what happened, he was devastated. He knew that it would come to this. Years ago, he had a premonition. Yukiya graduated at the top of the class from Keisoin Academy and there were plans to celebrate it at the palace, a special ceremony only for him. But as days and hours went by the idea of postponing it was imminent. The young man’s hardships began now.

“Would you let me suffer here too, Hamayu?” The Crown Prince asked his spouse, his face and no doubt, his heart, was in anguish as well. The Golden Raven was supposed to be above it all, but fear was a sickness of the heart.

She stared at him with her huge blue eyes that reminded him of the young man he should have welcomed in a few days but would not be able to. Sighing, she touched his thin, yet strong, shoulders. The Sakura-hime had not seen her husband so down that it broke her heart seeing him like this. He claimed that he did not have feelings, or that his love for all Yatagarasu was equal, but it was clear that as the soul of the youngest son of the head family, he had. And it was clear who his favourite was.

“Go ahead, Nazukihiko, I will manage it from here,” Hamayu squeezed his hands and kissed his lips signalling her assent.

That afternoon a handsome young lady was seen leaving the Sunrise Palace with her dainty feet as if she were floating then vanished into thin air.

~~

When Wakamiya found Yukiya, he was unconscious. The face bloodied and swollen from the beatings, the young man’s long reddish-brown hair laid out on the dirty ground was sticky both from trickles of blood and dust that accumulated from days of torture and non-washing. The prison was long abandoned, but the smell of fear and deprivation lingered in the air.

No doubt the Yamauchi army’s higher-ups interfering with the negotiations between the rebels and the camp from Lord Genya helped. It was a dispute that should not happen in the first place. Fate had it that the families from Taruhi Village were spared. Thank the mountain god.

In a separate building of the governor’s mansion Yukiya recuperated. Lady Azusa, his mother, was overjoyed and thanked the prince for the young man’s salvation.

~~

“Am I not disturbing you?” A familiar voice, albeit fuller, addressed Wakamiya catching him by surprise. “The Sakura and Sumio let me enter without fanfare. I hope it is all right. How long has it been? Three years?” There was still bandage on his head, but his body, now fully grown, remained intact. The young man’s crooked smile always got the prince every time, the mischief and the cunning when Yukiya first entered the service under him.

Nostalgia be damned.

“Yukiya!” Wakamiya stood there as if frozen, but his happiness was palpable.

Yukiya stepped toward him. Without saying a word, he went down to his knees, half-closed his eyes, bowed his head, and began to speak.

“Please welcome me again as your servant. I promise to serve you and Yamauchi with loyalty, respect, and love for all eternity until the day I breathe my last. I am ready.”

At the end of Yukiya’s speech, Wakamiya’s right hand hovered on the young man’s head then exhaled.

“I accept.”

And the course of the history of Yamauchi had changed forever with the Prince and his favourite vassal.

tbc

[a-forbidden-detective]

Nothing but heart

—

This is for @flashfictionfridayofficial : A Form of Distraction #FFF228

and @fluffbruary : Duvet.

Fandom: Kamonohashi Ron no kindan suiri/Ron Kamonohashi’s Forbidden Deductions

(Beware of possible spoilers)

Oh, how things had changed.

Ron’s momentary attention was focused on the ceiling’s pattern. Working out the intricate mud-coloured woodwork that turned pitch black in the middle of each square that had been the choice of his grandparents when they used to live here suddenly fascinated him in spite of knowing this place since his childhood. Bless their hearts for that. The lone ceiling fan was installed a year before his mother decided to embark on traveling the world. Living in England for most of his life, she saw to it that he never broke contact with them, insisting that he returned to Japan every summer vacation.

There was a faint rustling movement on his right, he glanced at the brown hair that belonged to a young man next to him, the police detective Totomaru Isshiki covered in his blue duvet. He didn’t forget that he was there. Not at all. He was aware that Toto stayed.

Ron turned around and gathered the sleeping man in his arms. Who would have thought that after five years practically living like a hermit another person, a warm body was next to him, willing to be with him? Toto moaned, but his eyes were still closed. Exhaustion took him over after the revelation and danger of the Auberge case. The police officer suffered minor burns, a scratch on his left cheek marred his almost perfect face. And him? Ron thought he would die, and the case was his last deduction. Toto, the ever loyal, came back for him. Lying on the floor of a burning luxury hotel, the brown-haired man told him to get his shit together. But there was no way out, the fire engulfed the whole building. That was the moment they decided to die together. Toto stayed and the rescue team arrived like in a dream.

Apologies, Toto, you don’t know how happy you’ve made me.

What Ron didn’t realise was that in those days of voluntary isolation, he was utterly convinced that he would live and die alone. As a result, his own mother gave him an ultimatum, reckless and selfish, she’d only visit him if one of them was on the verge of sickness or death.

He glanced at Toto’s sleeping face, surprised that the man, only three years older than him and a stranger from a year ago, had become his no. 1 supporter, his wall to lean on.

Toto hugged him back, placed his head on Ron’s neck.

This is a great distraction for tomorrow there is no turning back.

He needed strength to fight the opponent, who finally had shown his fangs ready to strike. Now that Toto was included on the equation, he must think and act double time.

Ron closed his eyes and joined his partner, peaceful for now.

~ fin ~

* pics are from “Derail”

[e-lisard]

Foiled attack

Characters: Mai, Motonari, Hiroyoshi

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

CW: Mai just killed someone

WC: 231

A/N: I'm in like chapter 2 or 3 of Motonari's route but this prompt made me think of a scenario like this so uh. Yeah.

Mai stares at her hands in horror, watching the blood flow over them. Above her, all light has left the man's eyes as his full weight drops on her.

She-

She just killed someone.

She just killed someone and now she's stuck beneath his corpse.

"Merda!" She can hear Motonari curse right before the body is yanked off of her, and she shudders. She just killed one of his men. What is he going to do to her? Will he kill her for it?

There is a weird look in his eyes as his hands hover over her, before he turns to the side. "Hiroyoshi!" he calls, and near immediately the old man is there. Mai doesn't follow the rest of the conversation they have as she spots the man who had attacked her, the knife she had barely managed to grab lodged in his heart.

Hands are on her, and then Hiroyoshi is helping her up, turning her away from her attacker, pulling her close.

"I- he-" Mai trips over her words, trying to explain why she had done it, hoping it's enough for Motonari to spare her.

"Shh, it's alright, Princess," Hiroyoshi tries to soothe her. "You don't have to worry about it. We'll take care of everything."

"But-"

"It's okay." He leads her away, one hand slowly rubbing over her back. "Let's get you cleaned up, alright, Princess?"

---

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General taglist: @simkarta333 @sparrow-orion-writes

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[bakerstreetbasilisk]

DIFFICULT DAYS

Fandom: Sherlock (TV)

Relationship: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade

Warnings: Mild language, Mentions of child death

Written for prompt FFF270: Lights And Sirens of Flash Fiction Friday by @flashfictionfridayofficial

One would think having spent more than a half of their life in the police force, a person would be desensitized to most of the life’s horrors by now. But for Greg, when some cases tend to hit a little too close to home, things start getting personal.

He’s been standing in the drizzling rain for hours now. SOCO are at work in the scene and if he’s very lucky, he’d be able to wrap everything up in a couple of hours, but he has a sinking feeling it’s not one of those days. Running on a dangerous combination of coffee, adrenaline and pure willpower of which the former two are rapidly waning, the lights are actually getting a little too bright and the sirens are getting a little too loud.

He can feel himself starting to lose focus, when out of nowhere he senses a presence behind him. A tight grip on his arm steadies him, subtly guiding him to lean back.

Greg sighs. He knows who it is. He’d always know who it is. This is all he needs right now too; the quiet support of the man who had vowed to love him no matter what.

“Will you please allow yourself to sit down for a moment?” A soft voice whispers in his ear.

Greg doesn’t turn back. He’s been at this for almost two weeks, trying to find a loose end, because if he has to tell one more parent that their child has been found dead, he doesn’t know what he’d do.

It’s over now, though. They’ve found the bastard holed up in one of his ex’s shoe-box flat. The anger that had kept Greg going until the arrest was made is slowly turning into nausea, becoming stronger every second. 

Still, he has to make it to the end of this.

“You know I can’t,” Greg says. The hand on his arm slowly moves to his back, rubbing gentle circles. Greg can almost feel the warmth through the layers of fabric.

“Hm,” comes the reply. It sounds final enough for Greg to turn around.

Mycroft looks impeccable, despite the late hour but his worried gaze seems to show how exhausted he really is. He’s been following this case very closely on top of his busy schedule and Greg can’t believe he’d forgotten that.

“Go home, love,” Greg says. “It won’t take long.”

Mycroft gives him that very specific, very familiar look that says, I won’t stop you from doing your job, but you can’t stop me from worrying about you. And Greg is overwhelmed with love and relief that he can’t bring himself to say anything else.

“Go,” Mycroft says. “Finish what you have to do. I’ll wait here.”  

And just like that, he’s gone.

Greg closes his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath. He feels stronger somehow. When he opens his eyes, everything’s clearer.

Just a few more things to wrap up, he tells himself as he calls his team to finish off.

Whatever happens afterwards, there’s someone he can rely on.  

[cherrybombfangirlwrites]

Blood Red, Lavender's Blue

Thank you for the prompt @flashfictionfridayofficial ! I worked on General Cinderella with Tris and Kaye because I really need to work on them more, and this prompt helped me finally write out the scene I've been daydreaming for them. The Princess Tournament for the prince's hand in marriage is well under way, with it being down to the last few fighters, and Kaye's parents (the King and Queen) along with the rest of the kingdom are eager for blood and death. Tris's fight in the arena doesn't go the way the crowd and Kaye's parents want it to. Violets will be involved towards the end of the snippet, don't worry ;)

Wordcount: 948

Warnings: mentions of blood, fantasy typical violence, Kaye's parents being terrible

Fractured Stars Falling, Book 1: General Cinderella - Character, Dynamic, and Plot Exploration - Kaye's POV

The opponent struck first, swinging the heavy, spiked iron ball in a wide arc. It missed Tris by a mere hair, one of the iron spikes grazing her armor and sending sparks flying.

Tris rolled out of the way, adjusting her grip on her sword as the crowd roared excitedly. She charged at her opponent before the spiked iron ball could come back around, swinging her sword in a gleaming arc.

Her opponent jumped back to avoid the sword, the movement briefly stopping the movement of the spiked iron ball as it dropped to the dirt. They rolled, attempting to kick Tris’s foot out from under her, as they yanked on the chain and brought the spiked iron ball closer to them.

Tris charged with her sword raised, dropping to the dirt and sliding under the chain.

The crowd was loving this, cheering gleefully and chanting for blood and death. Kaye’s parents were also enjoying this, leaning back in their thrones and watching Tris with great interest.

Kaye wished he could snatch the wine goblets out of both their hands and pour it all over them.

Tris dodged under the chain again as her opponent swung the spiked iron ball around, but was just a little too late for the second time the ball came around, and it smashed into her shoulder, throwing Tris back into the wall with a crash.

She rolled out of the way before her opponent could close the gap, shortening the length of the chain so they could use the weapon at a closer range.

Tris dodged under the next pass of the chain, charging with her sword raised. She managed to land a hit, the blade drawing blood as a clean slice was taken out of her opponent’s leg.

The crowd roared, chanting for more as terrible and violent thoughts filled his head- of stabbing both his siblings and spraying the blood everywhere, pushing his parents out of their box seats high over the arena and watching their bodies splatter on the ground, using a sword to slit Tris’s throat-

Kaye’s breath hitched as he quickly looked away, hugging himself and rubbing his arms in a specific pattern in an attempt to make the thoughts go away. Finally, the thoughts relented as he looked back down into the arena to see if Tris was alright.

Tris attempted to attack again, and was a second too late in evading as the spiked iron ball smashed into her and the chain wrapped around her sword arm. Her opponent yanked the chain towards them, sending Tris to the ground, and dragging her towards them as the crowd chanted for death and blood.

Tris dug her heels into the dirt, grabbing the chain with her free hand and pulling back. Taken by surprise, her opponent was pulled down towards her into the dirt as well. Tris yanked the chain again, and her armored knee connected with her opponent’s gut.

Her frosted glass, enchanted armor and matching sword gleamed in the weak sunlight as Tris rose to her feet and her opponent doubled over, gasping for air.

The crowd went wild, everyone in the stands chanting for blood as her opponent tried and failed to get back up, chanting for Tris to ‘finish the fight’ and kill her opponent like all the other fights in the arena had ended.

Tris stood there for a moment, not moving with her sword clutched in her hand.

The crowd fell silent, excitedly waiting for the blood and death.

She turned and looked up at Kaye in the box seats, having eyes only for him. Despite all the awful things around them and what had just happened, Kaye thought she looked absolutely beautiful- her huge curves complimented perfectly by the armor, her gorgeous dark brown skin having a sweaty sheen from the fight, a few tight coils of her hair peeking out from under her helmet as she lifted the visor.

The crowd and arena fell away for a brief moment, and it was just the two of them looking at each other.

Then Tris lifted her sword

and sheathed it at her side, stepping back away from her opponent.

The crowd gasped in shock, the thousands of seats around them falling silent in dumbfounded silence.

Then the thousands of the crowd erupted in outrage, demanding blood, death, and glory.

Kaye’s parents sat back in their thrones with sighs. “How disappointing…” His mother mused with fake concern, “I thought she would make it farther than this.”

His father said, directing the words at Kaye, “We thought she could be one of us.”

Kaye couldn’t stop himself from snapping back, snarling, “She will never be like you.”

His parents glared at him in disappointment and barely contained rage at his disobedience. Kaye glared back at them defiantly, before standing from his seat, and walking to the edge of the royal family box seats, leaning over the edge into the arena a little bit as he reached into his tunic for what he’d carefully hidden there.

Tris turned to Kaye, and walked over to him as the crowd continued their outraged cries and mockery, and she bowed to him with a soft smile.

His heart melted and he forgot his parents' furious glares behind him as he gently pulled the frost violets out of his tunic, and gently tossed them into the arena below.

The beautiful purple flowers with the frost-like sheen on them gently fell down, into Tris’s hands as the crowd screamed in outrage at their own prince approving of this.

He ignored them, smiling softly down at Tris as she softly smiled back, holding the violets close to her heart.

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[theglitchywriterboi]

Gifted Violets By Sparrow-Aiden

Word count: 492 || @flashfictionfridayofficial || This isn't my best work but HHHHHHH

In my family they say when you find them on your doorstep it's a sign your time is about to come.

I never believed that when I was little.

Then as a teen, we found some addressed to my mother. Within 12 hours she was dead.

But I brushed it off as a coincidence. My mother, you see, she was always superstitious. Knock on wood three times, throw salt behind you, blow cinnamon into your home on the first, etc. All these little rituals. So when it first happened I thought she stressed herself to death.

That they had just triggered an anxiety response & due to the relationship with them, she got in her own head.

Then it kept happening. Including to people outside my family - people who had no way to know of this silly superstition in my family.

My friend Mary - she had a baby. Only just brought her home when she saw them on her doorstep with her name. Unfortunately she didn't know the meaning, assuming it was just a cute gesture from a loved one. Mary was dead before morning, leaving her daughter without a mother. Mary's husband was a good man though - her daughter, Ella, grew up in a good home.

I scoured the internet & found some whispers of people believing what my family does - that this is a warning of your upcoming demise. It was far more common a delivery than I had known. Some brushed it off as a part of death. Much like a death rattle or releasing your bowels when you die - just a neutral part of it. But not everyone, or even most got them. It was a fairly rare sight. That's why there were only. Whispers. My family were morticians, so I suppose that's why in our family it was far more known & spoken about.

Others thought it was a warning. So you had time to bargain with death itself for another day, another week, if you're lucky, maybe even a month.

More off the wall theories were that it was a cabal of criminal killers & that was their calling card. That made the least sense.

It was only today I learned the real reason.

When you open your front door & you see them, it's not a warning, a threat, an olive branch to bargain. It's your final gift.

You see when you find them it's like for the next 24 hours, if you live that long of course, you're under a spell. You know what the gift means, but you're physically unable to tell anyone.

When you see them, before you open your note, take a deep breath. It's okay, your friends & loved ones will be okay.

Because when you're gifted violets, it's not a punishment or a threat. It's a welcome & a promise. It's a reward for being good.

A welcome to a new world - a forever world. And a promise that whoever you're leaving behind will be okay.

[lucigoo]

What you find in the moonlight

#270 - Lights and Sirens @flashfictionfridayofficial

Pairing - Bilbo/Thorin

Warnings - n/a

Words - 920

Summary -

Thorin went for a walk, only to be captivted by the Siren song surronding him.

Well, not just any of the siren's songs, the golden haired male had captivated him unexpectedly.

Ao3 link here

Thorin Oakenshield walked along the shoreline, his heavy boots leaving imprints in the wet sand.

The sound of the waves crashing against the shore was soothing all the thoughts that were swirling in Thorin’s mind.

Or at least it was before another sound was heard over it. A captivating one.

A haunting melody drifted over the water, sweet and seductive to Thorin’s ears.

Thorin paused, his eyes narrowing as he searched for the source of the sound.

Suddenly, his breath caught in his chest.

Flickers of light were sparkling just beyond the surf, flashes of colour dancing across the water’s surface.

He stepped closer, his gaze transfixed to the light show before him.

Through the soft, silvery moonlight, the sea finally showed the figures behind the song.

Plump but graceful forms were sliding through the waves.

The lights were not magic, but the moonlight reflecting off their gleaming tails, casting a glow across the shore.

Thorin felt his eyes widen when he realised he was looking at a pod of sirens.

One siren emerged from the water, her brown scaled tail catching the moon’s light as it scattered beams of colour over the beach.

Her dark eyes gleamed predatory as she swam toward him, her voice carrying a lilting melody meant to ensnare his wandering soul.

“Oh, you're a pretty one. What’s your name, darling?” she purred, her lips curling into a smile as she emerged further out of the water, the water dripping from her silken hair over her exposed breasts. “Come closer. I have been waiting for someone like you.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow at her, his gaze resting on her without the awe she expected to see.

His lips thinned out into a scowl. He crossed his arms at her, unimpressed. “You look like you’ve spent far too much time at the bottom of a well, covered in slime.”

Lobelia’s mouth dropped open, her seductive sway faltering. “Excuse you?”

“I said you’re ugly. Absolutely not my type.” Thorin huffed, waving her away.

He had never been attracted to females in any form. A dripping wet siren trying to be seductive was no different.

He turned away from her dismissively, his attention caught by the very male looking figure perched atop a smooth rock some distance away.

As he stood there, a softer, more captivating song echoed around him.

Thorin’s heart thudded in his chest as he looked at the being, whose golden hair gleamed under the moonlight.

The merman’s tail was swaying idly out of the water. He had propped himself up on the rock he was resting on, one arm dangling into the water, the other tucked beneath him.

His eyes sparkled with mischief as he watched Thorin dismiss Lobelia, his lips curving into a teasing smile.

“Lobelia, dear, I think your efforts are wasted,” the merman’s voice purred out mockingly. “He’s not for you.”

His tail flicked playfully in the water as he spoke, creating a ripple of gold across the surface. “He’s here for me.”

Lobelia shot him a furious glare. “I saw him first!”

The merman waved her off dismissively. “Doesn’t matter, does it? He clearly prefers my company. Go on, back to the others.” His tone left her no room to argue.

Lobelia hissed under her breath, her expression turning into something much less enchanting as she slipped back beneath the waves, muttering to herself about stubborn dwarves and their terrible taste.

Thorin, though still a bit dazed by the enchanting lights, found himself mesmerised by the merman in a way he had never experienced before.

The gentle curve of the merman’s smile, the effortless grace with which he moved, the playful spark in his eyes, it was intoxicating to Thorin.

“You’re much too bold for your own good,” Thorin muttered, taking a step closer, though he couldn’t help but admire the sheer confidence radiating from the being before him. “But I suppose you knew that.”

The merman tilted his head, his smile widening. “What can I say? I know what I like. I’m Bilbo, by the way,” he said, his eyes shining as he flicked his tail again. “And I like you, Mr Dwarf.”

The dwarf felt his face grow warm, but he didn’t falter. “I’m Thorin and you’re a terrible flirt.”

“Oh, I’m only just beginning.” Bilbo’s voice lowered into something more intimate, the playful glint never leaving his gaze. “You should see me when I’m trying.”

Thorin chuckled, shaking his head. “Another time, perhaps.”

“Another time, indeed,” Bilbo agreed.. “The moonlight festival isn’t the place for such things. Too many distractions, too many other eyes,” he said as he shot a glance toward the water where the rest of the sirens continued their playful songs.

Thorin nodded. He understood. This night was filled with enchantment, but not all of it was as harmless as Bilbo’s teasing.

Bilbo leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Meet me when the moon sets. Alone.”

Thorin held Bilbo’s gaze. The pull between them was now undeniable. “I’ll be there.”

Without another word and a final flick of his tail, Bilbo slid back into the water, disappearing beneath the waves

As Thorin watched the lights of the Siren’s festival continue to dance across the water, he was already anticipating the moon set.

They were going to meet, just the two of them, away from the sirens and their games and hungry thoughts.

The night itself held its own magic, but Thorin had found something far more captivating in the air.

Bilbo’s enchanting smile.

[words-after-midnight]

Boy, @flashfictionfridayofficial, do I ever have a contribution to this one! I've been waiting for an opportunity to share this piece, which I wrote a while back as a warm-up for my wip The Dotted Line's narrator's voice. I polished it up to share. It's technically 123 words too long, so just think of it as 123 bonus words. 😅

For undisclosed reasons I suspect this may be of particular interest to Life in Black and White's beta readers. 😉 @sunset-a-story @joeys-piano @ananarchie @catchingbigfish

IN CONVERSATION ✉️

Stream of consciousness | 1,123 words

I’m told my friend is visiting today.

He visits once a month, on the dot. Tries to, at least. When my will and that of the swine overlords allow it; when boredom or restlessness or the fleeting desire to see a man who thinks I hung the stars coincide with his schedule. When all necessary factors align like celestial bodies in a ritual, I suppose. I see him then.

He visits more than anyone else. More than my father, my wannabe stepmother, my doting long-distance grandmother. Certainly more than the other losers on the outside who've long since abandoned their misguided notions of me. Don’t misunderstand me - I appreciate his dedication, foolish and perplexing though I may find it. Considering how little I offer in return, it’s impressive.

He loves me, you see.

We were close, once, in a sense. I’m sure he recalls it that way. I’m skilled in the art of beautiful illusions; I cannot provide “close,” but I can craft a convincing approximation, which can be useful. It can even be fun. With him, it was often fun. But it’s been years, now, and still he clings to me like a pathetic, starving puppy I cannot shake from my leg. I don't always want to, but sometimes, I do. I find myself of two minds today, like bouncing on a seesaw. Ambivalence declawed.

And so, shortly before the scheduled time, I’m led through the security checks. Clearance obtained, a C.O. takes me down to the basement floor, down a Silence of the Lambs-esque hallway, to the gray-walled room, seventh door on the right from the clanking, rusting metal staircase.

He’s already there when we walk in, as always, sitting stiffly at a table along the far wall, near the vending machines. The room isn’t busy, I note. The wall clock above his head reveals I’m here hours earlier than usual.

Today's escort, Stella, leads me directly to the table. She’s on a power trip, but she's not hard on the eyes - though the whole ‘glorified mall cop’ aspect ruins it. With a pointed glance she tells me, sternly, “You have an hour.”

“Yes, Mama,” I mutter - sardonically, under my breath - as she walks off. It’s doubtful she heard me, but I don’t particularly care either way.

My sorry bastard of a friend, on the other hand, definitely heard me. He chuckles as he stands. “Behave,” he says, in jest.

I grin, self-mocking. “You heard nothing.”

As always, I feign enthusiasm, pulling him into a brief, casual embrace. Yet his arms always hold me a little too long, and squeeze a little too tightly. He thinks I don’t know. It’s hilarious. It’s revolting. On occasion, I’ve begun to regret creating this monster, I think. I think perhaps that’s the expected response.

We sit across from each other at the little white table. He looks at me, smiling. I can tell he still tastes me when he swallows, a nagging aftertaste at the back of his throat.

“How are you?” he asks.

“Sleepy,” I reply, elbow on the table, chin resting in my open palm. “Why’d you come so early?”

He shrugs. “Sorry. Have to be in shape for work on Monday.”

“Still at the same place?”

“Yeah, same place.”

A loud pause that bounces off the walls. Around the room three other tables are occupied, out of about twelve. It’s quiet enough that I can overhear voices, but we’re spread out enough that I can’t make out words. For their sake, I hope their conversation partners are more interesting than mine. A shame, really. He once worked so hard for my attention, but I suppose he’s lost himself over time.

“What’s new?” he asks, breaking the silence. Squirming, though he tries to hide it. It’s like he scrambles to find words in a mess of strewn-about letters. What’s wrong, hm? They used to come so easily.

I lean back in my chair, draping an arm lazily about its back. “Oh, same old, same old.”

“Still working?” he asks.

“Yeah. They’ll throw me in the hole if I don’t.”

“Right.”

The inside of my brain feels like watching paint dry.

“How’s the wife?” I ask.

He smiles. “She’s good.”

“She know you’re here right now?”

His brow dips infinitesimally, like he caught himself a split-second too late. He’s so predictable. It bores me.

“Yeah,” he finally says. “Why wouldn’t she?”

I shrug. Smile. “Dunno. Just figured maybe you wanted it to be our little secret.”

Another pause, delectably tense. His flustered eyes shift downward; mine dart, furtively, to the wall clock to my left. It’s not that I mind the visits, necessarily. They occupy me for an hour - sometimes longer, depending on who’s watching the room - and add variety to a monotone routine too rarely peppered by fleeting chaos. Often, though, the journey to and from the visitation room ends up being the most interesting part. He was entertaining, once, in another time, but now, it’s like he restrains himself. Sometimes I really do wish he would leave for good. It’s not like he has much to offer me now, especially as it seems even our conversations have turned grayscale.

“The table isn’t level,” he comments suddenly.

I force a dry laugh. “No shit. We’re lucky if they stand up at all.”

I glance at the clock again, wanting fleetingly to call the officer over so I can leave - if only so that the walk back upstairs might provide a moment’s respite from the unrelenting, creepy-crawling boredom. It doesn’t bother me that much, to tell you the truth. It isn’t uncomfortable, per se. It’s just always there, near the lower end of my awareness threshold - a low hum, a background conversation that you overhear, but that doesn’t quite capture you.

With an hour spent in mostly dull, meaningless chatter, he finally rises to leave. We hug again - briefly, ceremoniously. He says ‘bye,’ I say ‘see you next time.’

As I’m led from the room, back up the metal stairs and toward a different flavor of boredom, I wonder, bemused, if the expected response might be to take pity on my friend. But why should I? Why should he take it so personally? Why is that my problem? It's not like I get off on being cruel. It's not that I want to not care. I just don’t. Perhaps things would have worked out for him if I were naïve, if I did not know to be ruthless in taking what I want because it’s the only way I will ever get it.

It’s a shame, for him, sure. It's just no one’s fault, but the way of the world. Only the strong survive.

[riemmetric]

Here, there, nowhere | Original fiction

Note: based on the current @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt: fractured forms. I started brainstorming for a novel in August and I thought it might be fun to do these prompts using the story and the characters in said novel. (I'm doing it for myself, so I'm not bound to secrecy by any publishing house, this is all for fun). The context of the scene below is this: it has been raining for months. Nobody knows why. It is starting to affect people's minds and reality doesn't seem as real as it once used to be. Christopher and David are independent documentary producers, traveling around Europe to talk about historical buildings and the people who once lived there.

⁘

The rain was unending, the clouds unyielding. Except for those days when rain gave way to fog. The cloud, lonely in its empire of the sky, came down the mountain to meet them.

They left the cabin in the woods where they accomplished the last bit of filming on their list and started on the forest road that would take them back to the highway. The fog weaved itself between branches, trunks and roots, until it was all they could see. David drove carefully, focused on the few meters of visible road. Christopher sat in the passenger seat. Pinpricks of light danced in and out of his field of view. Sometimes they coalesced into shapes with soft contours, their edges lost among the vastness of white. He closed his eyes.

“What the fuck was that?!” David shouted.

He slammed the brakes; the car came to a shuddering stop. Christopher pressed a hand against the dashboard to balance himself. He glanced over at his friend and saw his eyes were wild.

“What’s going on? Are you ok?”

A human shaped figure had crossed in front of the headlights. Not a run, not a sprint, but a languorous movement. A tall apparition, a conjuring of light, showing itself for a moment before melting back into the fog.

“There was…” A ghost? An alien? “I don’t know what it was. It looked to me like a person walking in front of the car.”

Christopher tried to keep his composure.

“If you stare too much at the cloud, you’ll start seeing stars. It’s weird. I think our mind is playing tricks on us.”

“Just a hallucination?”

“Yeah,” Christopher said and closed his mouth to trap the word ‘probably’ behind his teeth. “A person wouldn’t walk alone in this thing, not without a flashlight at least. You would have seen it.”

David nodded. He didn’t look convinced and kept squinting at the window to his right. Christopher was about to suggest they switched places, when David breathed: “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“There’s someone there,” David replied.

Christopher craned his head to see better. David parked the car, turned on the hazard lights as a precaution, grabbed his flashlight and opened the door. He was gone before Christopher had the chance to utter a protest.

Fear crashed into Christopher’s spine like a tsunami.

“David! What the hell!”

David ran through the forest, while tiny stars blinked in and out of existence around him. He didn’t know what he was expecting to see, or rather, whom he was expecting to meet. It was just too much. The clouds, the thunderstorms, the relentless rain. There must have been a point to it all, a thread to pursue, a morsel of truth tucked inside the core of a labyrinth. His feet kept him running, fueled by hope and hope alone.

Christopher grabbed his own flashlight, locked the car and ran after his friend. Never a choice. He shouted David’s name and heard his response, further ahead. He felt a breath on his neck and froze. A cluster of lights was dancing at the periphery of his vision. It moved through the trees and passed in front of him.

“David, where are you?” he yelled, but was too scared to move.

Further ahead, David was staring at a human figure made of branches and fog. His heart was beating wildly, making his shirt visibly tremble. He slowly backed away from it, until the vision dispersed and the scenery regained its natural form. His back hit a concrete wall.

“What in the hell?”

It was a dilapidated house, one floor, no glass left in the windows, no wood left in the door frame. A tapestry of ivy connected the foundation with the roof.

“David!”

He waved his flashlight to mark his location. Christopher ran into him and grabbed his arm, holding fast. He stood with his head bent, catching his breath, never once letting go of David.

“Don’t leave me alone,” he said. “Ever.”

David nodded. The world was shifting all around them and he decided it was easier not to question it. He pointed at the building. Christopher let out a confused noise.

“Do you think we could make a story out of this? Paranormal investigators are all the rage nowadays.”

Christopher took in the sight of the ruined house, then looked around him, at the fog with its strange light creatures. He felt an overwhelming urge to close his eyes.

“Are we allowed to go in?”

Laws and regulations kept his feet planted in a more familiar world.

“We’ll just say we lost our way. They can’t blame us in this weather,” David said. What he didn’t say was just how much he would have loved to meet another human being right then. “Do you have your phone?” Christophe nodded. “Me too. Ok. Good enough. Found footage vibes.”

They stepped into the main room of the building. Christopher couldn’t stand the cloud anymore and busied himself with constructing a phone stand out of rocks and bits of furniture. David lingered in the doorframe. A trail of colorful stars punctuated his vision, like the early sign of fainting. A long trail of lights, anchored in a tree branch, swinging from side to side. An alien hand greeting him.

He sat down with his head between his knees, squeezing his eyes shut.

“This will never be over,” he whispered.

“You ok?” Christopher asked.

He sat next to his friend and gingerly touched his back. He remembered his own hallucinations from the previous trip: filiform hands reaching out from the darkness to snatch him out of his tent.

They turned their backs to the doorway and composed another of their stories. They talked to each other and they talked to the camera, until the fog lifted and the familiar sound of raindrops filled the air again. It was the only thing they could do.

[darkhorse-javert]

A talk

‘Fear’, she says, ‘can be a sickness, and you must not let it get its teeth too deep into you. A little fear, caution, awareness may keep you alive out there, a sense of whether a place is safe, whether a person may be on even… A little Fear only. But if you don't keep control, if you let it control you, you will give yourself away in the street by your wariness, or you will sit too tight, and be there like a plump duck for the hunters when you should have run. It won't be easy, but you must, must make it your servant, not your Master, out there it won't just haunt you, it will kill you.’

She looks down from the raised platform at the faces turned attentively to her, and can’t top the thought from coming. Fear or not, how many of you will make it back?

@flashfictionfridayofficial

[seekers-who-are-lovers]

Blue, blue ocean

For @flashfictionfridayofficial entry: #fff242: Soaring above

and @fluffbruary February 27 : table | blush | laundry

Fandom: Bang Brave Bang Bravern

Pairing: Ao Isami/Lewis Smith

Words: 398

—

I wish I could have touched his face and ease that crease on his forehead… I wish I could have grabbed him and…

One in a million, but one and the same. Lewis thought as he soared above the clouds and began to disintegrate.

I wish we could have shared some more time… I wish I could have known you much earlier…

Regrets came in late of course. Afterthoughts that didn’t have any more space in the present time.

Fragments of memories, of a life that past, flashed before him like a camera reel. The shards of broken glasses became tiny mirror prisms showing scenes of his life.

He could see a makeshift boxing ring on top of a ship. Brought on by his suggestion to do some boxing where they could unleash their pent-up sexual frustration and the misunderstanding between them, the Japanese lieutenant was ready to find connection.

“Do you feel it too?” The yellow-blonde-haired American man asked his Japanese counterpart as he lay on top of him grinding their crotches together much to the delight of their comrades, who thought they were only horseying around.

Isami, a Japanese gentleman and a dignified military officer, blushed and was suddenly speechless. Shyness, yes. Better to lay blame it on that emotion, but frotting with Lewis in front of the public wasn’t what one would call a proper decorum.

“That’s private,” Lewis heard Isami say when they were in the canteen eating their curry.

It occurred to him that before the Purge, he and Isami began to talk in earnest. Still the same stoic younger lieutenant, he gave signs to Lewis when he wanted to strike a conversation.

One time Lewis observed how Isami stood there next to him, not responding at all, looking at Bravern’s direction. After giving his reply, he thought it was all over. He was ready to leave when a hand stopped him.

“Lewis… wait…”

The American watched the smooth face in front of him, the imperial almond-shaped black eyes, the urge to kiss those thin lips was so strong he had to step back.

“Your eyes remind me of blue ocean.”

His last recollection was Isami’s face during their last goodbye when the latter was boarding Bravern. A simple nod. That recognition that the two of them perfectly understood.

You stay alive for me while saving the world.

Then everything turned to dust.

*Episode 8 was such an emotional rollercoaster, but somehow expected.

[a-forbidden-detective]

Karaoke love

This is written for @flashfictionfridayofficial with the prompt #FFF238 Take my hand and for @fluffbruary February 2 prompt : engagement | scent | jam

—

Beware of manga spoilers for the latest chapter. This is exactly 1000 words. I was totally into it at the end. I hope the ending makes sense. Heh!

Toto takes a shot from his whiskey glass, easing himself up. It’s his turn to sing. The screen monitor shows the song that he’s chosen awhile back. The truth is his singing is only confined to the four corners of the flat and his shower cabin in Asakusa.

Ron mentioned once that his love for singing in the shower is one of the rare times when Toto lets himself go apart from his innate resoluteness. But come to think of it, Ron didn’t say much about the quality of his singing voice, Toto has only been just self-conscious ever since that incident that he never sings anymore whenever he stays at Ron’s apartment.

Who suggested going to the karaoke bar anyway? Ah, it was Kawasemi-san. Today is the last day that he’s going to be in town and coincidentally his birthday that for all intents and purposes, Dr. Mofu asked him what else he wanted to do in Tokyo before going back to Aichi.

They rent a private room at the Karaoke Kan in Shibuya. The shop became famous when it was featured in a Western film in the early 2000s about two Americans, who found each other amidst the backdrop very alien to them: from food to cultural references. The premises have become a Mecca for tourists.

The whole gang is here. Amamiya, who tags along these days, and Dr. Mofu didn’t have the time when they went to Kamakura for sightseeing two days ago. So, they made sure that they were present this time around before sending Kawasemi-kun back to Nagoya. The only one who’s missing is Spitz, who cannot leave London at the moment and is disgruntled with a dash of envy in his body when he finds out their plans.

“Ack, Tototo! I am going to miss your performance. Ron-kun says that he has a rock ‘n’ roll singer living in his house.” Toto laughed when he heard this.

Should Toto stand up?

An arm gathers around him, as if grounding him. While the hand holds his shoulder, firm and yet tender. Toto turns to his left; Ron’s blue eyes confront him. Relax.

“Y-yeah…” Toto has calmed down a bit.

The first notes of a raunchy electric guitar surge, he poses to belt out the text that flashes on the screen.

“I'm an alligator/ I'm a mama-papa comin' for you / I'm the space invader / I'll be a rock 'n' rollin' bitch for you / Keep your mouth shut … Keep your 'lectric eye on me, babe … Press your space face close to mine, love / Freak out in a moonage daydream, oh yeah!”

His friends are fired up, hooting at the way Toto playfully sings a David Bowie song. Chikori-kun’s admiration skyrockets to 200 per cent. Her eyes scream of glowing stars. Kawasemi kun sings along. He knows it by heart and has been a Bowie fan. He’s so glad that Toto made a little research about him. Dr. Mofu’s face breaks into a giggle as she stops conversing with Amamiya, who cannot stop smiling. Toto, gyrating before her very eyes, has transformed into another person. And Ron? He’s looking at Toto with his hungry eyes, his hands won’t stop rubbing his thighs clothed in loose jeans. He then places his right hand into his pocket and reaches for a small box inside, feeling glad that he hasn’t lost the engagement ring.

You deserve all the good things in the world, Toto!

As the Tokyo police officer hits the end notes, Toto bows to the delight of his friends clapping and whistling on his way.

“Thank you so much!”

Ron hands him a glass of water and half-hugs him when he’s already seated.

“You did well, Toto!”

Toto mouths his thanks as he downs another glass when the next song starts to play. Chikori kun can’t stop herself from gushing when he notices that Ron stands up.

Oh, he’s next. Toto is darn curious now. He knows that Ron can sing really well as expected of him.

“Wise men say / Only fools rush in / But I can't help falling in love with you / Shall I stay? / Would it be a sin / If I can't help falling in love with you?”

All of a sudden, the whole room turns quiet. No one claps, nor whistles. As if a magician does his trick enchanting the audience. Everyone is glued watching Ron does his interpretation of a popular Elvis Presley song.

Toto is fastened on his seat, mouth agape. Ron is looking at him, his intentions are clear. His heart beats faster, aware of his surroundings and the four sets of eyes that are focused on them.

“Take my hand / Take my whole life, too / For I can't help falling in love with you…”

Ron sits next to Toto and seizes his hand. He begins to speak.

“I am glad that our friends are here to give me support and witness the promise I will say here today. Too bad that Spitz isn’t around but he already knows my plans.”

Toto’s face is red now not because of the alcohol but specifically because of Ron, who is in front of him, who is now removing an object from his pocket.

“Toto, I know that it is all so sudden. But, after all the things that happened between us, I believe that there is an understanding that we can’t live without each other and instead prepare to die together if we are faced with a choice, are you willing to be my partner for life? Will you marry me?”

Toto’s mouth quiver, why hasn’t he never thought that this day will come? Ah, that’s why he can never be as good as Ron when it comes to sleuthing.

He then grabs Ron’s face and in front of everyone kisses Ron, his fiancé. Without remorse nor embarrassment while their friends say their congratulations.

“Yes!”

~ fin ~

[e-lisard]

A crown befitting a queen

Characters: Rook Hunt, Vil Schoenheit

Story: technically Descend into Magic but could also be read as just a generic Disney TWST fic

TW: none

WC: 174

Technically Rook and Vil are dating in this one but I'm pretty sure this could also happen if they weren't so interpret it however you want.

"Ah, hold still, if you please, ma reine." Hearing Rook's words, Vil stops moving, letting the other get closer. Was he in a position Rook considered particularly beautiful? Well, he doesn't mind indulging his hunter.

Something light settles on his head, and Rook walks around him, studying his handiwork with a satisfied smile.

"As I suspected! Beauté!" He claps his hands together, apparently satisfied with what he did.

Vil can't help but smile too as he opens the camera app on his phone to check what Rook did. When he switches to the selfie mode, his smile grows. "A flower crown? What are these, violets?"

"Oui, ma reine!" Rook looks proud of himself, and Vil amusedly shakes his head. "I spotted Epel making a flower crown some days ago, and asked him to teach me. When I saw how well this one had turned out, I immediately knew what to do with it!"

"Well, thank you, Rook." He steps closer, leaning down to press a kiss to Rook's cheek. "I deeply appreciate your gift."

---

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Descend into Magic taglist:

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[bakerstreetbasilisk]

NEVER AN OBSTACLE

Fandom: Sherlock (TV)

Relationship: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade

Written for prompt FFF261: Maybe One More of Flash Fiction Friday by @flashfictionfridayofficial

On a normal day, it would have been too early for them to be out of bed at this hour. But Myc has a plane to catch, and Greg won’t be seeing him for three weeks. Just the thought of it makes Greg feel like a part of him is being physically torn apart. He clings to the hope that he’ll get used to it.

Greg knows Mycroft feels the same. It’s all there in the way he keeps Greg pressed against the kitchen counter, kissing him as if the world’s ending. It was all there in the way he told him last night that he would cancel the whole thing if Greg wanted him to. But that’s the last thing Greg wants; to be an obstacle.

Mycroft’s phone buzzes with a notification, startling the both of them. James is outside, waiting. Mycroft leans close, his forehead against Greg’s as he pants into his mouth. The bone-deep longing is still there; it clings to him, weighing Greg down like stone.

Greg sighs. Even opening his eyes seem to take a lot of effort. “Hey,” he murmurs, rubbing circles on Mycroft’s back. “You’ll be late.”

“I wish I didn’t have to go, Greg.”

This is not the first time Greg had felt like a usurper, like he was rearranging his lover’s priorities and turning Mycroft into something he would later regret being. Their relationship was built on the understanding that Mycroft and his career was a package deal and Greg respected it. If he were to disrupt the way things worked, accidentally or not, he would never forgive himself.

Mycroft pulls back slowly, takes a good look at Greg and smiles. Greg knows that Mycroft just read him like a book.

“You were never an obstacle,” Mycroft says, cupping Greg’s cheek with a warm hand. “And you never will be. But you will always be my anchor. Know that you are the reason I will always come back home.”

Greg kisses him then. Love and relief burn through his veins.

“Promise?” Greg asks, his arms around his lover, holding him close one more time before he leaves.

Mycroft kisses his lips. “Promise.”

“Maybe one more? For good measure?”

Mycroft places another gentle kiss on his forehead. Greg knows he’s smiling.

“I promise,” he says.

*****

Two and a half weeks later, when Greg gets a text from Mycroft saying he’s coming home early, Greg knows it’s because Mycroft wants to be with him; because he missed him.

And Greg knows that it’s nothing to be guilty about.

[cherrybombfangirlwrites]

I Think I Broke Something

Thanks @flashfictionfridayofficial for the prompt! I decided to do some TCIO for this one, and one of my favorite superhero genre tropes, hiding an injury with Nickelle because she's my little idiot that things she has to do everything on her own XD.

Wordcount: 867

Warnings: descriptions of bone fractures, mild medical stuff

The City is Ours, Draft 0, circia Book 2 or 3 - Character, Plot, and Dynamic Exploration, Nickelle's POV

As the fight slowed to a stop and goons were knocked out or tied up, Nickelle tugged the sleeve of her jacket over her arm. Her ice receded or started to melt as pain spiked in her arm. She desperately tried to hide how much her arm and a leg was shaking from the hit and fall she’d taken- given the crunching sound she’d heard, she assumed that she’d broken something.

She was fine, she could handle it, and the rest of the team and a bunch of civilians needed more urgent attention from Bryson anyways, she didn’t want to take up too much of that. She didn’t really need Bryson to look at her anyways, she could just be careful and wait for her injuries to heal on their own.

On the way back to the base (what they were calling their base anyway), Asher noticed her hand shaking and asked if she was ok.

Nickelle shrugged it off, giving him an icy glare to let him know to back off the subject, “I’m fine, ok? Just a little tired…”

When they got back to base and the other’s injuries had been treated, Bryson noticed Nickelle’s shaking hand. He said a little sternly with that team medic ‘don’t lie to me’ tone, “Nickelle…”

She huffed, attempting to subtly hide her arm behind her back, “I’m fine, Bryson. Just tired.”

Bryson studied her carefully, then said, “You better not be lying to me. You might be the team leader, but I’m the medic.”

Nickelle tried her best to appear fine, “I’m fine, Bryson. Go get some rest, that’s an order.”

Bryson reluctantly nodded, and Nickelle quickly disappeared into the half constructed base to find a way to wrap up her arm and leg. The pain shot through her lower leg and up her forearm, and it certainly felt like what Nickelle guessed a broken bone was, since she’d never actually experienced it.

She found a room no one was using, swiping some bandages from Bryson’s medical kit, and painstakingly peeled off the sleeve of her suit for her arm first. Her forearm was definitely swollen, and when she gently prodded the area with one arm the pain got worse. She looked up what minor bone fractures looked like on her phone, and the results did say there would be a lot of swelling.

So she had broken something.

Gritting her teeth and biting back a scream, Nickelle straightened out her arm as best she could, then started wrapping the bandages around her arm.

Once that was done, she torturously peeled off the next part of her suit for her leg. Then she repeated the process, gritting her teeth and biting back a yell of pain as she straightened her calf and carefully wrapped it in the bandages.

When finished, she gingerly pulled her suit back on over the injuries to hide them, tugging her jacket sleeve over her wrist to hopefully hide how much the injures screamed in pain with each movement.

After a minute, she got used enough to the pain she could move around without wincing or biting back screams of pain.

The team gathered in what they’d deemed the ‘living room’ or ‘meeting room’ of the base, wolfing down the pizza that Asher had gotten from down the street. It was a good thing he’d gotten several boxes, because each of them were starving after that fight and ate at least four or five slices each.

Jason had already skipped out because he apparently thought he was above pizza and other ‘peasantry’ things, and went home to (in Chase’s words) ‘be pampered like a baby in his castle and eat rich people things’.

The rest of the team relaxed on the cots that were serving as temporary furniture for the ‘living room’ laughing and chatting as they ate the pizza.

Nickelle and Kylee reached for the next slices at the same time, and Kylee’s arm accidentally bumped Nickelle’s.

A cry of pain escaped Nickelle as she couldn’t stop herself from jerking her arm back, instinctively shielding it to her chest and hissing in pain.

The others’ heads snapped to her as she tried to pretend she was fine.

Bryson narrowed his eyes. “Nickelle…”

“I’m fine,” She insisted.

“Did you lie to your team medic?”

Nickelle shot him an icy glare that didn’t deter him. “I said I’m fine, it’s nothing-”

“You can’t hide injuries from me,” Bryson said sternly, “What if it’s serious?”

“It’s not!”

“I don’t buy it,” He said, getting up and walking over to where she was sitting, “Chase, get my kit please.”

Chase wolfed down their last few bites of pizza, and got up to go fetch the team medic’s kit. Nickelle tried to pull away, but the movement of her arm made her wince as Bryson sat down next to her, holding out his hand.

Asher said, “He treated all of us, Nickelle. Your turn.”

Nickelle huffed, and let Bryson take her arm and start examining it, carefully peeling back the sleeve of her supersuit. Bryson said, “So, you stole my bandages, huh? Must not be nothing.”

Nickelle avoided his scolding look as Chase returned with Bryson’s med kit.

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