#fff207

[nyamadermont]

Eavesdropping

@flashfictionfridayofficial

#FFF 207 Can We Kiss?

Avatar: Legend of Korra

661 Words

[Image ID: A pink rectangle with the texture of wrinkled sheets. The text #FFF207 Can We Kiss?” Is centered, in white. /end ID]

“Come on, Lin! It’s my birthday! You have to do what I say until the midnight bell rings in the tower. That was what you said.”

Kya folded her arms and harrumphed the way Aunt Toph did.

It wasn’t every day a person got to turn twenty-five. And she’d been gone for four years. Surely that earned her some consideration.

Her friend, however, looked unconvinced.

“Kya, I don’t think we need to be playing around up here. This roof doesn’t feel as secure as the one on the house.”

Kya just waved a hand. “That’s just the wood playing with your bending. I feel fine.” To prove her point, she edged backwards, closer to the pinnacle of the pavillion. Lin just rolled her eyes and joined her, though somewhat more slowly.

Out over the ocean, the sun settled quietly into the horizon. A breeze blew in, and Kya wiggled herself closer to Lin. She could practically feel the roll of Lin’s eyes as she lifted an arm so Lin could settle against her. They both pretended not to notice the shivers.

The cloudbank on the horizon darkened, and the tide lapped against the rocks far below.

Kya looked down, and noticed that Lin was dozing quietly against her shoulder. She gave Lin a light squeeze and rested her head against Lin’s.

“I haven’t seen Kya in a while, so maybe she went into town.”

Kya, very definitely not in town, woke with a jerk. In the circle of her arm, she felt Lin seize up. They pulled apart just enough to state at each other with wide, frightened eyes.

“Don’t worry, sweetie. She has been taking good care of herself. She is happy to be home, happy to share her experiences, and she’s stronger than I was at that age.”

Aang’s laugh was warm and relaxed.

“I’m not going to fight her, either. I never have been able to beat you, so I’m sure she’d wipe the floor with me.”

Even as she was fighting against tears, Kya saw the proud smile on Lin’s face.

“Fighting wasn’t what I had in mind, Aang.”

Kya and Lin’s eyes both bugged out at the tone in Katara’s voice. Kya’s blood ran cold, recognizing the clear implications of what was on her mother’s mind at the moment.

“No? Whatever could you mean, Katara?”

Kya slapped a hand over her mouth and instantly regretted the noise it made. Lin’s startle made her feel even worse.

“Can we kiss already? It’s been all day.”

Mortified, Kya was frozen in place and missed Lin’s initial movements.

She blinked, and realized that Lin was stretched out, head down, slowly edging back down the incline of the roof. With Lin about halfway to the edge, Kya yanked on her ankle. Lin froze.

Below them, there were no new voices. Or other noises neither of them particularly wanted to hear.

Lin pulled her foot away from Kya’s grasp, and scooted far enough away that Kya nearly fell forward enough to roll down from the roof.

“Did you hear something?”

The girls froze again.

“Enough, Aang. Kiss me.”

Kya decided they could move again. Maybe they could slip down from the edge into the tree that was just over…

Katara giggled.

Kya was so stunned by the noise, she slipped and rolled. Lin shot out an arm, but missed her hand. With quick movements, Lin scuttled closer and managed to grab Kya’s other hand, but her legs’ momentum carried her feet over the edge, pulling them both into the bushes on the outside of the railing.

After the crash was a merciful - terrifying - silence.

Slowly, the ground beneath the bush raised and tilted away from the pavilion. The girls tumbled out until they were both face down on the ground.

But when they heard something that sounded suspiciously like “... oh, Aang…” they hightailed it for the house.

Kya wasn’t quite sure what to make of her mother’s smirk the next morning.

[forthesanityofstorytellers]

Kiss me and I'll tell you

Written for the prompt from @flashfictionfridayofficial!

Lyra watched the one in front of her as he hesitated, leaning against him a little and peering around his shoulder, both of them huddling against the wall as a pair of guards passed by.

“Alright,” he said, watching them. “Across the path and we’ll be able to get into the buildings above the town.”

She nodded as he reached out and grabbed her hand, flashing her a smile. “Ready, high-born?”

She flattened her ears to the sides of her head and he just laughed, tugging at her hand. “Guards will round the corner in three…two…” He held up a single finger before darting out into the street, yanking her off her feet so hard she had to flit her wings to keep balance and keep up. His mop of ashen-grey hair bounced as he ran from one side to the other, dodging around other bodies and carts and animals with a deftness that told of his actions, spoke to his doing things like this a thousand times before.

In seconds they had gone from the light to the darkness, the sounds of conversation and market quickly giving way to the sounds of their feet on the carvened hardened steps that led up and up and up. They ran at a spiral that seemed to make almost no sense to her, but he navigated them easily as if he didn’t even need to see them.

By the time they emerged into light again, she had grown used to the dark and had to shield her eyes, blinking a number of times against the purplish light of the sky, the air-moon in full display and letting the higher light shine through itself. He continued leading her under archways and carved structures until they hit another set of stairs leading up and around, finally coming to the top of the structure. Finally coming to a stop.

Finally he let go of her hand.

Lyra blinked, eyes finally adjusted, and looked around.

They were higher than the other structures. Higher than the city below. Higher than the trees back home. She had only ever gotten this high on accident back home, her wings only strong enough to hold this height for moments before she was forced to go back down. The market and the others looked like miniature versions of themselves, milling around by willpower alone. The buildings looked like she could knock them over with her foot. She could see the paths as small partings between them, roads leading past the market and the walls surrounding it into the other parts of the fortress.

“This is amazing,” she said, the wind whipping at her hair and face and taking the words away from her. He reached up and motioned to her to sit down.

“The winds can be playful this high up,” he said loudly as she sat, and they leaned in closer to hear each other. “You have to be careful, high-born. Can’t have you falling and hurting your wings if you’re gonna help me get out of here!”

She curled her knees up to her chest as she stared. “It’s so high,” she told him. “You see this all the time?!”

“Every sun and moon change. Every change of the guard. Every moment I’m not doing something else.”

She stared at him for a moment, and when he caught the look he raised an eyebrow. “What is it?!”

“What do we do now?!” she asked. “The guards–”

“They don’t come up here,” he said, waving a hand. “We’ll wait until they think we’ve doubled back and head back inland. Then we’ll find that boat you’re told me about.”

“What do we do then!?” she asked. “Just wait?!”

“We could ask each other questions. Get to know each other.”

“What?!”

“Well all I really know about you is that your a high-born on your way to some betrothed that you don’t want to meet and you want to run off during one of the stops on your way so you don’t have to meet them. And I know that you are terrible and escaping guards that aren’t from your own territory,” he laughed.

“And I suppose all I know about you is that you’re aimoupon that is too good at escaping guards and that you want to escape a world where you can look out at this every single day and no one tells you to get down. What else is there to know about each other except what we need from the other?”

He grinned and let out a laugh. “An insult? Seems there’s plenty to learn about you, high-born. We can ask each other plenty of questions to make sure we’re not teaming up with someone that’s going to try and cook the other later or something.”

She rolled her eyes. “For example?”

He thought for a moment. “Well, I suppose…Things like…Where did a high-born learn such a low-born insult from? Why do you want to escape what the others seem to chase? Can I kiss you?”

Her face went red, first with anger as the answer to his first question leapt to her lips, but the last one changed the shade and her ears went forward. “W-What?!”

He grinned again.

“No, we can’t kiss, you useless–!!”

He shrugged and cut her off. “A kiss can tell you a lot about someone.”

She went even more red, her ears falling to either side of her head as her cheeks seemed to heat up. Maybe it was the air up here, making her sweat. Or the exertion of running from the guards. Surely that was it.

Yet that couldn’t explain why she asked, “like what?!”

He grinned. “Kiss me and I’ll tell you.”

[darkhorse-javert]

An Officer and A Gentleman ( a Rose)

@flashfictionfridayofficial (first time managing to fill within time)

In which everything begins

October 1917, Netley Hospital England

It’s one of those gray, drab, bracing days which seems to arrive so often on the south coast, but it is dry, and the semi convalescent ‘will only be improved by an airing’ -  and it will free them from the pressures and strains of the ward. So she walks, part escort, part companion, with him in the great garden. Along the edge of the great lawn, far from the terrace, and then as if by accident, down one of the paths into a leafless shrubbery walk, still slightly sheltered by the bare stems. She watches him out of the corner of her eye, so he doesn’t notice. 

Quiet one this Captain; careful, restrained with his words and yet one of those who when he says something, says the right sort of thing. A thinker, a listener, ‘weigh and asses’ sort, a watcher. 

She subtly watches him now, watches him watching her - his eyes taking long glances, then darting away, as if he’s escaped his own restrictions and is reining himself back in, holding himself away.

“You know,” she  says, almost to the air, as casually and conversationally as if she was remarking on a currently non-existent flower  “I wouldn't run wailing to Matron if you did.” 

He stops in his tracks. Turns his head towards her, his mouth opens slightly and his uninjured, unstrapped arm rises to rub at his neck under his  collar, that little unconscious habit he has when he’s uneasy, “Well. Ah. Um..” He looks at her, looks at the floor, clears his throat, looks at her again, clears his throat more loudly “Hrmh Sister Howard, ah  - wouldn’t like to presume.” He stumbles through the words.

Wouldn’t like to presume, not wouldn’t like to. She’s spotted him watching her when he thinks she’s not looking while she does her rounds, spotted the warmth in his eyes, and the flickers of temper when one of the other men is over-familiar towards her. 

“You wouldn't be presuming too much, simply in asking,” she says softly “And it’s Miss Howard, not Sister, Nurse if you must. I’m only a VAD, remember?”

His mouth shifts in an odd expression  and he hmms again, taking a steadying breath “Sister…” She looks at him, hard “Miss Howard, that is… Might I kiss you?”

She steps a little closer, into the area beyond a set boundary, one she shouldn’t breach with the nearly-well, smiles at him. Down at him actually, she’s a few inches over his height  “You may indeed, Captain Foyle.”

He’s kissed girls before, she can tell, there’s practice rather than bold awkwardness in his actions, but also a shyness, a determination not to take liberties. That this is liberty enough, kissing her, however gently.

Liberty it might be, but it is also lovely. And then - then, he blushes as he steps away, blushes almost red enough to match the red cross on her uniform.

Oh, Captain Christopher Foyle, I know you’re more than a little in love with me- and I do rather believe I am sweet on you too.

[renee-writer]

Kiss

Written for the anonymously given prompt: Can We Kiss, for @flashfictionfridayofficial.

They stand, trembling hands holding the other. A marriage arranged by their parents and the necessity of their mutual kingdoms.

 

The vows have to be said, so they are. They pledge their lives to each other, to the stranger across from them, both still veiled from the other.

 

They hear the sighs of relief from those standing around them. It is done.

 

Their parents each come over and lift the veils and they get their first glimpse of the other.

 

He breaths out in relief. She is beautiful. She does the same at her handsome groom.

 

It isn’t  necessary. The ceremony is complete without it.  But…

 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.

 

She bites her lip and nods. He leans over and presses his lips to hers. It is both their first kiss. Forbidden before this day and will be again after until they are a bit older and ready to consummate their union.

 

The prince and his princess are only ten, after all.

[theoriginalsapphic]

And we kissed.

For @flashfictionfridayofficial

Title: And we kissed.

Word count: 787

The years following the end of the Second World War, many speculated on how long it would take for the next one to break out, how long it would have been before a small flame would ignite into a blazing fire, a raging inferno that consumed the world.

In the end, to the surprise of everyone, it wasn’t our fault. An asteroid was about to hit the earth; that is what the weather channel said. When the night sky blazed in the light of blood, I knew they predicted the weather right for once.

A couple of my neighbors across the street are packing their bags and suitcases in a hurry, piling them up in their pick-up trucks and minivans. Where are you going? I want to shout and point out how gullible and stupid they are if they believe there is a way to escape the inevitable. I purse my lips and don’t say a word instead— hope is the last thing you lose, even after death.

She tightens her hold on my hand; I tighten my hold around her waist. All throughout the chaos the breaking news had unleashed over our small town, she has remained by my side. She also hasn’t shed a single tear; she had never been one for crying.

I imagine the world had succumbed into the panic likewise, but I haven’t bothered to keep up with updates— what would be the point, anyway?

I turned my eyes away from the burning sky and I gaze at her. If I’m going to die, I would rather do it while watching something worthwhile: her brown eyes reflecting the red of the firmament, her freckled, bumpy nose, the small slope between her nose and her mouth, —

“Can we kiss?” A voice that sounds like mine asks, but it couldn’t come from me; I would never admit that desire aloud. Except—

We are all about to die— what is there left to ruin?

She doesn’t reply back, at least not with words. She gently holds me by the angle of my jaw and pulls me in. One would think that the end of the world would guarantee a passionate kiss to match the high adrenaline coursing through our veins, but it doesn’t. Her lips are a velvet heaven against mine, and I can taste the ashes everyone has been inhaling for the last couple of days on her tongue.

People kiss at weddings as to symbolize the beginning of a new stage in their lives. People kiss when the clock marks midnight on New Year’s Day as to ensure that they will stay together for the rest of the upcoming year. People kiss their newborns’ heads as to say ‘you’re finally here’. People kiss every day, hello and goodbye, as a promise to always return to each other.

If a kiss is meant to be a celebration of life, then what does it mean to share a first kiss when we are going to die?

I wish you had told me sooner.

I wish we had more time.

I wish I could had loved you my whole life.

She lays her head in the crook of my neck. I lay my head on top of hers, drawing spirally patterns on the bare skin of her waist where her tee rides up. In the back of my mind, I wonder if we are going to be last human beings on Earth that had ever kissed.

“Do you think anyone will remember us?” her breath is warm on my collarbone, then damp with some of her tears.

People scare themselves their whole lives with the uncertainty of what lies beyond death. We can’t control death, but most people refuse to believe that anything could be up to circumstances and just sheer luck. Of what I am certain, however, is that we are ultimately connected to Earth: we die, we decompose, and we return to the soil, becoming part of Earth. We never truly die— we just become something else to support and nourish something else.

If the physical part that compose us persist and transform, what is there to say that it can’t also be our souls? Even when the world ends and I become nothing but particles and nutrients to fertilize the soil, I know my love for her will persevere through the destruction of humanity, the Earth and the universe itself.

“We will”, I rasp through the ashy air.

The sky turns a gorgeous golden of a thousand dawns we will never share, and we know the end is near. I turn her head and press my lips against hers, choosing to drown in her self before we are enveloped in the doomsday dust.

[nemowritesstuff]

@flashfictionfridayofficial

229 words under the cut, based on the prompt "Can We Kiss." No trigger or content warnings.

"Can we kiss?"

I always feel so alone around her, so alert yet so vulnerable. No matter the clothes, the venue, the time, she finds me and whispers those words. A threat. A flirt. A challenge.

It begins the same way it always does. Methodical and slow, matching each other's movements. Stilettos require a certain level of agility and skill to be used effectively. We are both masters; the display is little more than a signal that we are about to begin.

We fall into rhythmic movements. Back and forth, side to side, turns and spins. It's almost habitual how I move with her. Sometimes I wonder if she is even trying, but it only takes a second's distraction to prove she is trying to best me with all her skill.

I lose all track of time. All that matters is her, in this moment. Our bodies so close, our breaths perfectly in sync, our eyes locked and unwavering. My mirror and my opposite in every way that matters.

It ends. We both breathe hard. She looks at me, smiling. I can't help but feel disarmed before her. But the kiss never comes.

She slips away. I lose her in a sea of people. There is nothing more to do than wait until I am once again vulnerable, when I can hear her whisper once again.

"Can we kiss?"

[uraniumwriting]

I’m a Copyeditor for a Reason

For the @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt “Reporting the Scoop”

Caspian is forced to be a reporter for a day. He hates it. (CW for minor reference to past abuse)

~~~~~~~~

There was a reason I didn’t want to be an actual reporter for the newspaper.

Yes, the world of newspapers was fascinating to me. Yes, working at a newspaper meant I could get information quicker than most people could, information that could keep me and my friends safe.

But I had my own personal experiences with a reporter for a Zarothe newspaper. And I refused to put myself in a spot where I would have to do a fraction of what he did to me.

So, a spot at The Harbor as a copyeditor was fine enough for me. I could get my information. I could surround myself with the people I had been so enthralled by from afar. And, even better, I could do all of it locked in a stuffy office all day, away from the pressure to get the latest scoop.

Looking back at my training when I was hired, though, I should’ve expected I would one day get thrown into the metaphorical deep end.

“Hey, we need you outta your desk today.” My boss, Friderik Hansen, tossed a paper onto my small desk without even looking at me. “Won’t be bad. Just some annoying little speech we need a writeup on.”

“Me?” It was a stupid answer. I shook my head at myself. “I mean, I’ll do my best, but what about—”

Hansen gave me a dismissive wave. “It’ll be a late night. But it’s your ticket to move up. Don’t blow it.”

Thought I made it clear I’m perfectly fine here, I thought, but I still picked up the piece of paper.

Immediately, I recognized the name on the paper. The Rickety Octopus. It was a spot on the docks near the tavern where Melandra worked, though from what I’ve heard, it was a shady place that was incredibly strict about who it took in, both as employees and customers.

“What kind of speech would be happening here?” My mind went to the random speeches people would give around the docks, which usually boiled down to terrible plans disguised as attempts to help people.

“Don’t know.” Hansen was already walking away. “That’s for you to find out. Good luck, boy.”

For some reason, I had a feeling he didn’t actually know my name.

Knowing I didn’t have much of a choice, I stood from my desk and grabbed my bag and a notepad. I still had plenty of editing to do for the next day’s paper, but I knew better than to disobey an order.

Even if I wouldn’t be physically harmed, my pride would be harmed if I couldn’t manage to hold the job.

The only other copyeditor in the room, a teenage girl named Rose who took the job to support her injured father, shot me an apologetic look.

“Don’t feel sorry for me,” I said. “Just get as much work done as possible. I’ll try to be back quick enough to get my part done and make sure you can get back to your folks for dinner.”

And with that, I hurried out the door and down to the docks.

What greeted me there was the sight of a man beaten bloody and a lot of unhappy people. Pulling out my notepad and clutching it tightly, I pushed my way through the crowd and listened for any hints in passing conversation.

“What a freak,” a sailor said. “Who would just attack someone like that?”

I pushed my way closer to the front of the crowd.

“The guy probably deserved it,” a woman carrying a large sack of grain said. “People are always here preaching about their morals and all that.”

I wanted to agree with her, but I had to see for myself.

When I got to the front, though, I was stopped by a barricade of Enforcers. They were from different establishments, as seen by the differences in their uniforms, but I quickly recognized the rough, beige canvas uniforms from Melandra’s place for work.

The Enforcers all held wooden poles, which they held out to create a barrier. To give some credit to the crowd, they didn’t really test the Enforcers’ patience.

Being the security detail for a place as exposed as the docks, the Enforcers were known for their lack of patience, and their brutality.

The bloody man behind the Enforcers’ barrier slowly staggered to his feet and looked around. He didn’t wear fancy clothes or have the air of someone who was at the docks to push a moral agenda. In fact, his clothes looked more like a standard government uniform.

“Sir, are you all right?” I asked. A dead government worker on the docks certainly was a story, but it wasn’t one I would’ve liked to report.

“I—” the man stammered. Slowly, he looked over at me, as if he couldn’t quite tell where I was.

“Do you need anything?” I stepped forward, careful not to get too close to the barrier.

Of course, I should’ve been gathering as much information as possible, to get the juiciest story possible. But I chose not to.

“Water?” He walked toward me.

Before he could get to me, though, an Enforcer with the beige canvas uniform put their hand on his shoulder. The dragon mask the Enforcer wore was familiar, and I forced myself to suppress my smile.

Melandra.

Impulsively, I scribbled down some of my information on my notepad, ripped the sheet out, and tried to hand it to him. It was a gamble, but then at least I could say I tried to get some information.

“Get yourself taken care of,” I said. “Then, if you want, we can talk.”

Surprisingly, the man nodded and took the sheet from me. It was no guarantee he would show up, but it was a start.

Then, he was led away, and the crowd slowly dispersed.

At least I’ll get back quickly, I thought. I turned to head back to the office.

But I wouldn’t be so lucky.

“Fancy seeing you here,” someone far too familiar whispered in my ear.

A shiver ran down my spine while a hand trailed up it.

“I’m not speaking to you.” I tried to keep my tone as even as possible.

Before I could run away, though, my path was blocked, and I had to look into the handsome blue eyes of the man I once thought I was in love with, Xavier.

“I think we need to talk, though,” he said. “First of all, what are you doing, acting like a reporter?”

“Ask my boss about that.” I tore my gaze away from him. It would be the only way I could survive the conversation.

“Eden?” Xavier tilted his head almost innocently.

“No.”

“Well, then, that makes this interesting.” He cupped my cheek with his hand and forced me to look at him. “Maybe we should take some time to catch up. Where are you working?”

“Like I’d tell you that,” I snarled.

As far as I knew, Xavier worked at a rival newspaper, called The Tower City Times. Though, the last time I saw him was long before I even left Eden’s influence to be in the city full-time.

“I’m just curious.” Xavier took a step closer to me, and my heart skipped a beat. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

A warmth had been building in my chest, but it melted away at those words.

“You already have.” This time, I got the courage to shove him away from me. I shut my notepad, even though there was nothing important written in it (just my information and some notes from other work-related things). “So, goodbye.”

He still tried to block my way, though. “Cas, you have to hear me out. That wasn’t what you like to think it was. I love—”

“I don’t want to hear it.” I pushed my way past him, though tears stung the corners of my eyes. “Goodbye.”

Though Xavier didn’t say another word, he still did something to piss me off.

He stole my notepad and ran off.

For about a block and a half, I was stupid enough to run after him. But luckily for me, Xavier was faster than I was, and I lost sight of him.

Standing and waiting to catch my breath, though, I had a realization.

He worked for a rival newspaper. He just stole my notepad, likely in an attempt to get the scoop on the story before I could.

I grinned.

Hansen would love to hear about this.

[onceuponanaromantic]

forget the morning light

(Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial​‘s prompt: FFF207. Have a poem this time instead of my usual. Tumblr does not enjoy my formatting so have the original in the images and the text itself below, as far as tumblr will allow it to be replicate Enjoy!)

come.

The moon’s bright, the city’s dark.

between the strike of the clock and the

           ringing of the bells, it’s just us.

           It’s just a world. so let’s fall in love for tonight.

we don’t need to rule here, we don’t

           no blood on our hands, no mantle heavy

           around our shoulders, no crown aching

           on our heads. yes certainly, we’ll have to come back down, we know

this night can’t last forever,

           we know

                       we have to go back soon.

                                                           but not now.

can you see my hand in yours? There’s

so many ways to say I love you;

it’s not always worth saying, except

                                                           that you mean it,

                                                           and right here, right now,

so do I.

 we don’t need to talk about love

           or loving. It comes as naturally

                       as claws to you and words

                                   to me.              It’s

                                   just us, it’s just us.

           and I will hold you when I can.

And when I can’t, I’ll sing to you where the sun sets

and the moon curls into the darkness and I’ll wait

on the shore till you can hear me again. But for now,

it’s just my hand in yours

and our feet in a dance to the rhythm of the rain.

                                   just us, my love. And we’ll dance

                                   till the music stops,

                       till the sun rises again.

 don’t ask me if we can kiss. we both

know that wasn’t up to us. we all know how

destructive it could be if we ever admitted

           out loud,

                       to wanting a world where we were

everyday. It’s my hand in yours/it’s my fingers

                       on your bloodied knuckles/it’s yours

                       scrubbing the ink stains from my callouses.

           and the silence of a life well-lived. It’s the sunlight across your bed,

and the glow worms in my floor boards, and your knives in my drawers,

           and my pens in your armour. And we’ll dream of a world

                                                                                   where all this could be.

 but not for now. lovely one,

no,

do not long for me.

my friend, my heart, we have years

to spend on dreams

that dispel on waking. For now,

my love,

we have a moon.

                       we have a rain.

           and we have each other.

[lisbeth-kk]

#FFF207

Sherlock fandom. Sherlock’s love for others seen through John’s eyes.

An unprecedented question

John never thought Sherlock would ask the question. Sherlock who’s married to his work. Sherlock who’s mantra is ‘Sentiment is never an advantage’. And still, Sherlock’s the most emotional, tender and loving person John’s ever known.

His care for Mrs. Hudson, his surrogate mother, which is hidden behind huffs and complaints over her fussing, is legendary. No one hurts or offends her without getting a deadly glare or a particularly vicious deduction in return.

When that loon of a burglar wounded Greg with a knife, John had to stop Sherlock from killing the man. Later Sherlock pestered John to his limits when he tried to stop the bleeding. John knew better than to snap at Sherlock by then. He knew panic when he saw it, and left Greg to himself for a minute to calm Sherlock.

«Listen, Sherlock. Do you trust me?» John asked quietly.

Sherlock looked incredioulus at him.

«Of course. You know I do, John,» Sherlock said a bit more steady now.

«Good. Then let me do my job, yeah? He’ll be alright, Sherlock,» John assured him and stroked his upper arms.

And then it was the length Sherlock was willing to go for John. The most resent incident was when he refused to go home to sleep while John lay in a coma at the hospital. He stayed beside John’s bed for three days, and he looked even worse than John when John finally woke to a visibly relieved Sherlock. Shaky hands carefully cupped John’s face, looking John square in the eyes, scanning him for internal damage.

«How do you feel?» Sherlock asked hoarsley, running his fingers through John’s hair.

«I’ve been better,» John admitted. «What about you? You look like shit.»

«Always the flatterer, John,» Sherlock retorted, reluctant to take his hands off John just yet.

«How long have I been gone?» John inquired.

«Three days», Sherlock murmured and drew back, but John’s hands stopped him.

«You’ve stayed here the entire time, haven’t you?»

Sherlock ducked his head. He realised it wasn’t really a question.

«Look at me, Sherlock,» John said softly.

The tears in those beautiful eyes made John’s heart clench with emotions. He lifted his hand to stroke Sherlock’s cheek, and their eyes locked. Sherlock had clearly seen a thing or two in John’s blue gaze, if his question was anything to go by.

«Can we kiss, John?» Sherlock whispered and John drew a breath.

John moved his hand to Sherlock’s nape and pulled him close.

«I think we can, yeah,» John said.

When the nurse came in to check on John ten minutes later, she found Sherlock curled up in John’s arms, heavily asleep for the first time in four days.

@flashfictionfridayofficial

[polizwrites]

There Would Be No Courage Were It Not For Hope

This is a fill for today’s  @flashfictionfridayofficial​ prompt  [#FFF207 Can We Kiss?]  as well as  the final WinterIron Pride Prompt Party prompt - Day 30: Hope. 

Fandom:  MCU/Marvel Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Tony Stark Rating: General Tags:  Pride, Parade Floats, pining, hope, love confessions

Part of Bucky still didn’t quite believe this was possible.   It had been beaten into his brain  (and his body) when he was younger that men weren’t allowed to be attracted to men.   But now, in this new century,  things had changed.  Or at least, they were changing.  

There was now an entire month dedicated to celebrating queerness - people who defy expectation and categorization.   There were parties and parades,  film festivals and so much visibility over all.   And it was all wonderfully colorful and exciting and hopeful.  

Bucky heard Tony talking about  the Stark Industries  float in the  New York City Pride Parade and asked if he could get a sneak peek.   Tony in turn seemed a little caught off guard by the question, but was more than happy to arrange a tour.   “Would you maybe be able to come too?”  Bucky asked, feeling his cheeks heat.  

“Um, sure, I can make some time,” Tony had replied to Bucky’s request.   The two of them had built a friendship over the past few months, and  Bucky in turn had managed to develop a crush on his  handsome, brilliant, kind and funny companion, who was also out and proud pansexual who flirted like breathing.   He had been the second person Bucky came out to – Steve had known that Bucky liked fellas and gals since the 1930’s – and while Tony  had been amazingly supportive,  Bucky still didn’t dare do more than hope that maybe, someday, he might possibly have a chance with him.

The next day, they drove way up into Jersey, past Newark into an industrial district near Clifton.  “This guy is the best,” Tony explained  “he and his people have  been making floats for Pride since the 70’s.”

The owner himself came out to greet them when they arrived.  After Tony made the introductions, Mister DeVito brought them over to show off his work.  “Matter of fact,” he said,  “we were just gonna go run her around the block a bit. Make sure she steers good and nothin’ falls off.  Wanna go for a ride?”

“Sure!” they both exclaimed, practically in unison. They climbed an interior ladder to the top of the SI float, accompanied by one of the workers, who put safety harnesses on them.  “This isn’t the first time I wore a harness at Pride,” Tony joked, “but I usually don’t have this much on underneath it.”

As they pulled out of the warehouse, several of the workers were waiting,  waving and cheering at them.   They responded in kind, with Tony saying, “I feel like we should be doing something a bit more flamboyant.”

“Can we kiss?”  the words spilled out of Bucky before he had a chance to stop them.  

A surprised expression flashed over Tony’s face, replaced by a speculative look.  “If you want to, sure.”

“Yeah, I do,” Bucky replied, heart in his throat.  “Been wanting to for awhile.”  

Tony smiled softly.  “Then let’s make that happen, sunshine.”

[on-noon]

@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt #FFF207 Can We Kiss?

Albert held Ophelia’s hand as they walked, tired, from the park to their house. Albert stopped and turned toward Ophelia.

He grabbed both her hands.

“Ophelia–”

“Yes, Albert?”

“Can– can I kiss you?”

“Of course, silly goose. I did marry you, after all.” She leaned forward.

Albert leaned forward for their second kiss that night, their second kiss ever.

Slowly, they pulled apart.

“I liked that,” Albert said, “I think I like kissing you.”

“I always knew I’d like kissing you, since we met at the Christmas party. I was waiting for you.”

The newlyweds entered their home smiling.

[kerblerken]

@flashfictionfridayofficial

18+ Trigger warnings: horror, language, violence.

Submission for "#FFF207 Can we kiss?" 728 words.

Possessed

Thumping fists and wretched screams tear me from my sleep and thrust me into the nebulous dark. I exit my dream with dizzying haste, rolling off the sofa and crashing to the floor. 

I look up and see my old friend, Paul, pale-faced, half-drunk and now paralysed in fear. He cowers in the corner, his eyes fixed fearfully upon the front door. It's the only thing between us and the vengeful creature outside that demands it be let in.

That creature, of course, is Simon. But this time it's not just Simon. The curse has taken him and brought him here. I've eluded the curse for months in isolation, and now he's brought it to my fucking door.

I am too afraid to move, until I hear the muffled jangling of keys. Paul looks at me, stricken. I grip the rug and lurch my body forward clear of the coffee table, leaping to my feet. The key turns and the door begins to open. As a swirling darkness outside threatens to drift inside, I throw my full weight against the door and feel then the rush of all-consuming hatred; I knew he never threw away his key, the goddamned liar. 

I scream at Simon to go away with what little ferocity I can muster. But Simon doesn't listen. Simon never listened, least of all to me. My hatred for my ex-lover seething, I scream again for him to just go the fuck home. I know I need to stay calm. I know I can't give the curse anything to latch on to. But before I can think to control my anger, the door bursts open, throwing me back onto the floor.

I barely get a glimpse of Simon's gaunt face through the shadow of the wretched curse that envelops him. It slides off him, dancing through the air like smoke as I claw my way up the armchair to my feet. It rushes me, hitting me like a brick in the chest. For a moment I feel that suffocating sickness, but then... 

I slip away. Not all the way, but far enough. My vision becomes narrow, cylindrical, like looking up from the bottom of a well. I am helpless now and can only watch as the image shifts, darting back and forth, the shadow trying to orient itself inside its new host. The world through these eyes is red and black and chrome, and smells of rust and decaying flesh. I can't even be sure they're my eyes anymore.

But they are definitely my hands that twist and curl around Simon's throat. They are my fingers that grow long, like the wiry roots of a tree, encircling his neck. 

I start to squeeze. There is resistance at first. And a sound like choking, far away, as Simon struggles to pry my long, spindle-shanked fingers free of his neck. 

And I begin to wonder... how could I ever forget this, the way all the others did? How could I ever forget something this wonderful? 

I relish in his suffering, for within it there is a warmness, like the embrace of one's most beloved, now twisted and deformed. This is what he felt for me all these years; love, and the need to punish me for it.

This time, I get to have the last word. I bring my face close to his and whisper, "Can we kiss?"

The resistance gives way. The bones crumple, and the sharp snaps like breaking twigs echo down the darkness of the well and into my brain. Suddenly, I feel sick and I want to scream, but I can't. I am not in control.

We rise into the air, my back pressing against the ceiling. My vision tilts forward and I stare at Simon's corpse, dangling lifeless below me. 

I am anointed. I am reverent. I've wanted him to die for the longest time, and now he's gone. He has been destroyed by my own hand. It's over. There's no more light in his eyes.

My fingers uncoil from Simon's neck and he falls like a doll, limply to the floor. I catch a brief glimpse of Paul, crouched in the corner, hands over his face. I want to call out to him. I want to tell him he isn't in danger. But I am not in control.

And I’m not sure it's even true.

[on-noon]

hiii, for the magic system ask game:

Are there any recreational uses of magic? In games, hobbies, or otherwise? Or is it too important/difficult/dangerous for that?

Are there certain identifiers for magic users? Appearance or behaviour-linked?

What symbols are linked to magic? How is magic often depicted in illustrations? Are there different words for magic/types of magic?

for whatever WIP has the most interesting answer

- @vsnotresponding

hi v!

i'll answer for both Countdown to Magic & my main fantasy world, cause Countdown's got more interesting answers but i love the magic in both (i love making magic systems. that's why the main fantasy world has at least fourteen)

Are there any recreational uses of magic? In games, hobbies, or otherwise? Or is it too important/difficult/dangerous for that?

Countdown:

Only if someone hires a mage to do magic for a recreational use- but that's expensive, and I don't think covered by any standard spells that are sold, so it would have to cost more. Mages can't use magic for themselves, otherwise their are side effects, which can be really scary. So no, magic isn't used for recreation.

main fantasy world:

Of course! Basically everyone uses magic. Some of the little soorts I've invented that use magic include swordfighting, but if you make the sword hot enough you only need to hit them once to win! Or the huge basically capture the flag game that happens anually between teams of teenagers from different countries where all magics are allowed (the only limits are only taking stuff that can fit in a backpack (no dragon) and not killing). I wouldn't be surprised if there are people who use water magic for surfing.

Are there certain identifiers for magic users? Appearance or behaviour-linked?

Countdown to Magic:

Their Mage Society uniforms. But otherwise not really.

main fantasy world:

depends on the magic. Universal magics? Nope. National magics? They'll be something weird going on with the hair. Rando luck makes hair either glow or absorb extra light, makes the hair more curly or more straight depending on what the luck is. Rakan time travel gives you ghost hair. Bonding a dragon makes your hair metallic.

What symbols are linked to magic? How is magic often depicted in illustrations? Are there different words for magic/types of magic?

Countdown to Magic:

Well, runes are one of the most common ways of doing magic, so that's a bunch of symbols linked to magic (i should figure out what the runes look like). In illustrations, runes are illustrated by runes, chunky. Potions, when illustrated, often get the sort of style from old nature drawings.

main fantasy world:

No symbols are linked to magic. Magic in illustrations oftentimes shows up as threads of a color associated with the type of magic. (Although it depends on the art style, of course). There's not really unique words. Heat magic. Water magic. That sort of thing, you know?

words written for this ask: 100

total words for motivation experiment: 17,147

project worked on: FFF207

[on-noon]

WIP Title Ask Game

thanks for the tag @moonluringfrost

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! Then tag as many people as you have WIPs

i also do not have a dedicated WIP folder, however almost all my files from libre office are for writing, so i'll put those down

miscalaneuos lines & fragments

lf&fe

life friends & friendship ends plot

Untitled 1

countdown magic

fff196

writing exercises

Dirty Bird

poems

deleted words

daughterofscams

aleks+ceph poem

countdown magic

fff206

FFF207

RUn Home Through the FOrest

as you can see, i''m great at names, very consistant

tagging: @the-stray-storyteller @callahanscorner @aether-wasteland-s @vsnotresponding @my-cursed-prince @writerfae @flock-from-the-void @mischiefiswritten & whoever else wants to!