#Flash Fiction Friday

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom

The Greatest Gift

Sherlock still remembers the day like it was yesterday. The sixth day of July. He turned seven and a half years that day. And every birthday gift up until then had never come close to this marvellous surprise.

“Open your eyes, darling,” Mummy said, her voice filled with restrained excitement.

He did as she asked, but slow because he didn’t know what awaited him when his eyes were wide open. How could he have predicted that his life would change forever after that moment. He wonders if his parents knew all those years ago, that they literally gifted him his first best friend.

Sherlock opened his eyes and on the floor in front of him was a basket. Inside the basket was a dog. A living breathing dog. His dog he realised after a while. When those chocolate-brown eyes met his, Sherlock zoomed out anything but the puppy who struggled to get out of his prison.

His fur was wavy and some places curly. The colour of it was auburn. An Irish Setter.

“What will you call him?” Father prompted.

Sherlock startled, having been totally engrossed in watching the dog’s pathetic tries to get his small frame over the top of the basket.

“I get to name him?” Sherlock asked incredulously.

“Of course, Sherlock. It’s your dog,” Father told him. 

“Do you like him?” his mother coaxed.

By the tone of her voice, Sherlock discerned that it wasn’t the first time she had asked the question.

“Yes,” Sherlock whispered.

“You can pick him up, you know,” his father said mirthfully. “It’s clear that he won’t be able to get out of there by himself.”

Careful, so he didn’t frighten the animal, Sherlock sat on his knees and leaned over the basket to lift the dog up. Seconds after an eager tongue licked his face and Sherlock giggled.

“It tickles!” he exclaimed.

His parents chuckled and told him he had to train the dog to obey, to teach him what was allowed and what wasn’t.

“In due course. Today you can play all you want with him,” Father assured him when Sherlock looked sceptically at his parents by the mentioning of rules.

Every morning after that, when Sherlock opened his eyes to a new day, Redbeard was there, ready to follow him wherever the day would take them. They became inseparable and Redbeard was quite obedient and didn’t need all the training and commanding his parents had mentioned. The dog was happy to follow Sherlock everywhere and if his master told him no, Redbeard refrained from doing whatever shenanigans he’d been up to at the time.

***

“Open your eyes, love,” John whispers.

Sherlock gets a sudden flashback to a certain July day almost six decades ago. Just like then, he opens his eyes slowly, and just like then he’s gobsmacked by what awaits him. At his feet, in their Sussex cottage, is a basket with an English Cocker Spaniel, red in colour, inside, looking expectantly up at Sherlock.

“John.”

It’s all Sherlock’s capable of uttering. In a fluid motion, unsuitable for his age, Sherlock seats himself on the floor beside the basket and stretches out his arms. The puppy comes eagerly and just like Redbeard did all those years ago, licks Sherlock’s face with fervour.

“Easy, my sweet,” Sherlock coos burying his hands in the soft and curly fur.

He looks over at his husband who’s seated himself beside Sherlock, with a bit more effort. 

“The kiss will have to wait, I’m afraid,” Sherlock says, his face still damp from the greeting.

John chuckles.

“You always make it up to me. Do you like her?”

“Oh, yes, John. She’s adorable. How did you keep this a secret?”

“A puzzle you can figure out later, my heart,” John teases. “What will you name her?”

“Hudders, would be appropriate, but I’m afraid our former landlady’s ghost would hunt me for eternity if I did. Hm…how about Queenie?”

“Perfect,” John agrees. “One drama queen and one…what role would she…”

“John!” Sherlock exclaims affronted, which makes the puppy bark.

“Ah, I see…she’ll be your protector,” John quips.

“Mm. I guess one more couldn’t hurt,” Sherlock ponders.

“Agreed,” John says emphatically. “Now, let’s get up and you can wash that beautiful face of yours so I can get that kiss you promised me.”

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @safedistancefrombeingsmart @phoenix27884 @gregorovitch-adler @a-victorian-girl @topsyturvy-turtely @peanitbear @raina-at @helloliriels @7-percent @ninasnakie

#flash fiction friday #sherlock fandom #sherlock #john watson #johnlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock fanfic #FFF249 #open your eyes

[tom-whore-dleston]

Side Effects of Soldier Boy

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x f. reader

Word Count: 391

This fic contains: smut, literally PWP, drug use, unprotected sex, dirty talk, swearing, degradation, Soldier Boy doesn't pull out

Summary: Soldier Boy tries to keep you quiet during sex.

Notes: Wake up babes, Jordan discovered a new hottie to write about lmaoo Anyways, I know Soldier Boy is a walking red flag but unfortunately, I see the world through rose colored glasses hadshghsdl This is another submission for @flashfictionfridayofficial's prompt no. 239: Seal it Tight. Lowkey, I've been on a role with these quick fics, I don't want it to stop.

Sex with Soldier Boy was addicting. You would say it was more addicting than the cocaine that coursed your system. The blow was essentially the gateway drug to Ben.

The side effects: uncontrolled moans and orgasms that made your soul leave your body.

The two of you found yourselves in a rundown motel room, where Ben plowed you into the mattress at superhuman speed. His strong hand clasped over your mouth, in hopes to seal your cries of pleasure from the outside world. Considering how cocky of a bastard he is, it was bold of him to assume that simply covering your mouth would keep you quiet.

“Mmm, baby, those moans are so pretty, but so loud.” The supe grunted through clenched teeth. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as Ben’s pulsing cock stretched your walls. You gushed around him, causing each thrust to echo through the dainty room.

“God damn, even this pussy is loud,” Soldier Boy chuckled, making you throb. “Think you want the neighbors to hear me fuck the shit out of you, huh?” 

His dirty talk was no help to hushing your moans. Yet, it did push you closer to that sweet release you craved. With Ben being the instigator he is, he knew damn well what he was doing. 

The pit in your stomach was growing and it was only a matter of time before it exploded. You pumped your hips up to meet his and he took this as a signal to deepen his strokes until his balls slapped your ass. You were one step away from the edge when Ben removed his hand from your mouth to throw both of your legs over his shoulders.

“Fuck it, let the neighbors hear you. Let ‘em know how much of a slut you are for me.”

That euphoric bliss finally washed over you like a crisp ocean wave. You could have drowned under the wave but a kiss from Ben brought you back to shore. The handsome supe slammed into you one last time before filling you with his seed. He crashed onto the empty side of the bed, fingers lazily tangling between yours. The two of you laid there, staring at the cracked ceiling while catching your breaths. Just as you were coming down your high, you already itched for another hit.

Navigation | Fanfic Masterlist | Soldier Boy Masterlist

header credit: @saradika | divider credit: @firefly-in-darkness

#flash fiction friday #fff239 #soldier boy #the boys #the boys series #jensen ackles #jensen ackles soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy smut #soldier boy fic #soldier boy fan fic #soldier boy imagine #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles x female!reader #jensen ackles fic #jensen ackles fanfiction #the boys fanfic #the boys fic

[jpitha]

It's just a walk for you?

Here's my entry for this week's @flashfictionfridayofficial

I'll always hire humans on my crew, I'll tell you why.

A couple of cycles back, we were out past the Heights and the reactor failed. Some kind of overload, the engineers were chattering about it worried and finally pulled the lever and ejected it. It stopped us from being destroyed outright, but we had minimal power. Only what we could collect with our solar collectors, really. Lights, minimal environmental, things like that.

As luck would have it, we were stranded in a system with a "habitable" planet. It was much too heavy and chilly for most every sapient that I knew. Our human navigator loved it. Said it looked a lot like home. He also pointed out that it had a Community climate beacon on the surface, and that we could probably sent out a distress call from it.

Let me tell you, without a reactor, an atmospheric landing is not something you want to attempt. Still, we made it to the surface alive and mostly intact. The issue was we were still 150 kilometers from the beacon. We had no ground vehicle and it seemed like we were going to perish so close to rescue.

After lamenting our plight the human looked up in surprise. "Why are you so sad? It's only 150km. How much food and water do we have?"

"Only 4 days!"

"Oh? That's easy then. We'll just walk to it."

I looked at him like he had five heads. Nobody can walk 150km in 4 days. Still, he seemed determined to give it a try, and I had no other ideas. I told him that he could kill himself however he wanted and if he wanted to die of exposure on a strange planet it far be it from me to stop him.

He got up and rummaged around in the cargo hold and after about two demi-cycles came out with a repulse-litter and some kind of harness he made out of cargo straps. "Come on, it's big enough for everyone." and he gestured to the litter. He had even set up cushions!

By now, the crew had followed me to the cargo hold. "You can't pull this, its too big" were the majority of comments.

"Nah, it'll be fine, I've got the repulse-jets dialed in just right. It will be like wearing a light backpack. Come on, do you want to die for sure here or have a chance of survival? Look how far we've come! All we have to do is go 150 kilometers more and we can be saved!"

I put it to a vote. Of the 8 of us, 6 including the human decided to let him try and drag us to safety.

Early the next morning - ships time - we all climbed aboard. I have to say, he put the effort in. It really was comfortable to sit on the litter.

We set off.

Friends, I want to impress upon you how... easy he made it looked. demi-cycle after demi-cycle he pulled us, walking with that easy lope that all humans use when they're under gravity close to what they evolved under. He even started singing! Nobody knew the words - he said it was an old language that wasn't in the translators - but he was enjoying himself.

It was a sight to see. It really was like he was out for a fun walk around.

After the second day, someone finally got up the courage to ask him why he could do it.

"Do what, the walk? Oh, walking is not hard for humans. We evolved as persistence hunters. Our ancient ancestors would pick an animal and just jog after it until it died."

"What? What if you got tired?"

He grinned and showed his teeth. "The animal would tire first. As long as we kept the jog light and easy-" he gestured "-like we're doing it now, a human can keep it up a long time."

On the third day he kept it up. We'd pass him water and a ration bar when he asked, and occasionally he'd stop to nap for a few demi-cycles but honestly not that much. Most of the crew slept while he hauled to conserve energy. The planet was a good deal colder than what we preferred. He didn't mind though, wore a light jacket. He said that the exercise kept him warm.

Sure enough, on the morning of the 4th day, we made it to the climate beacon and our engineer was able to send out a distress call. We were picked up not even one day later, all thanks to our human navigator who hauled us all to safety.

So yeah, I will always hire a human on my crew.

#humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #flash fiction friday #humans are space oddities #humans are space capybaras #sci fi writing #humans are persistence hunters #writing #scifi writing #humans and aliens

[starkraivennemad]

Covenant of the Blood

John Watson was tired after shift; all he wanted to do was sit and rest.

“Hey, Sherlo---”

John enter the flat and pauses at the sight of Sherlock and Rosie asleep on the sofa. A hint of Sherlock's dark curls just seen over the arm of the chair. His hand resting on the Rosie's small body, protected by the slight curve of his body around hers.

He and Sherlock were supposed to go out to dinner, but clearly Sherlock had heard about his day and knew he wasn’t up for it. There was no need for a babysitter if they were staying home.

“Our daughter’s asleep, I’m not. ” Sherlock’s rich baritone chuckles.

Our daughter – John internally smiles.

Some people think Sherlock uncaring, but John knows better.

The living and loving proof was right before him.

The way Sherlock takes care of Rosie and him, as John takes care of them both.

“Would you like to be Rosie’s father? For real?” John kisses Sherlock and sat on the coffee table.

“By adoption?”

“By Marriage.”  

Sherlock carefully sat up and studied him. “You’re… serious…”

“I am.” John takes his hand. “We’re family of heart – I love you so much. Marry me.”

“You, Rosie and I. Yes.” Sherlock smiles. “A family by the law and by the covenant of the Blood.” @flashfictionfridayofficial

#bbc sherlock #johnlock #parentlock #sherlock fanfic #flash fiction friday #fff216 #221bformat

[itsmoonpeaches]

Title: Eye of the Hurricane

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial

[NOTE: I had to create this gif as no existing gif that I wanted of this scene previously existed in the gifs search. This gif belongs to me.]

Word count: 1,004

Rating: G

Summary: Poseidon cannot change fate, but he can be there for Percy when he is needed the most. In the only way a god can.

“Do you want to talk to him?” Sally asked, her voice tremulous as the storm Poseidon had conjured outside upon his arrival. “I know you shouldn’t but maybe just to hear his voice.”

It was easy for a god to covet things, to wish for wants, and demand them to appear. It was easy too for a god to change perceptions of reality, if only to bend the rules for a moment. Poseidon tasted that potential for a sliver of time when he glanced back at the patterned pane that separated him from the young boy. He could see glimpses of Percy through that inch of glass. A boy with eyes like the sea, with blond windswept hair, and a mustard yellow sweater.

Thunder shuddered the walls of the diner, rumbling in those few seconds that brought the truth back into focus and reminded Poseidon who he was…a god who could do nothing. 

It was difficult for a god to be powerless.

Poseidon forced himself now to never glance in Sally Jackson’s direction—to never tempt himself with forming something permanent with the mortal he loved. 

“One day,” he said so only she could hear. “One day, when he’s ready. When he knows who he is and where he belongs. And fate has revealed to him his true path. On that day…I’ll be right by his side.”

The scent of smoke and burning chocolate syrup mixed with sundae ascended from the tall glass cup that divided them. He could still feel the tingle of desperation in his ichor, the call of a human to his domain.

He allowed himself one look. One last look at her before he left. Her eyes were closed, the single tear that had escaped her eye finished its journey down her cheek, and he imagined what it would have been like if he could hold their son between them instead of holding their distance.

When he left, he knew the rain had continued its deluge upon that little town in Upstate New York. He permitted it to happen. What else could he offer?

That autumn day, he stood on the beach at Montauk. Alone because the humans who went there thought the waters too cold apart from the summer season. The ocean lapped at his feet, the breeze a welcome comfort.

Montauk was not his most awe-inspiring work. The waves were turbulent, the climate too unforgiving to warrant many seasonal visitors. Not like plenty of his other haunts where the sands were powder and the ocean a clear sapphire when much of the world froze. But Montauk was an aspect of him. Of rocks, surf, and pebbles hidden in shores. Of sharp sea glass, short cliffs, and gray waters.

Montauk was Sally. Montauk was Percy.

Poseidon stepped into the tides. He descended as easily as he always had. A current roared overhead, so strong that it could drag any careless swimmer under in a matter of seconds.

“Lord Poseidon?” chirped a hammerhead shark in his mind. “Lord Delphin wishes to meet with you about the upcoming dolphin migration from the Carolinas. The riptides might deter them from moving any faster.”

His eyes snapped to the shark. The creature stiffened with fear.

“Riptide,” Poseidon said. He looked above him once more at the same current that had pushed him below.

“Ye–yes,” stammered the shark. “That is indeed part of the problem.”

“Or it is part of the solution.”

The water bubbled and Poseidon disappeared. He called upon a force of old, a force he had not called upon for thousands of years since the time of Heracles. That familiar thing tugged at his core and in the palm of his hand, burning and thriving.

And so, when he reappeared, he was on the shore of Long Island Sound. Night engulfed him. Apollo completed his duty. There was silence on the beach.

He walked through the forest and past curious wood nymphs who melted out of trees. He felt their eyes. He felt their words. He let them pass.

Upon the hill, he saw the Big House, its glass shimmering with starlight. A shadow shifted on the porch.

“Chiron,” he remarked as he approached.

The centaur looked startled. Chiron unfolded himself from his resting position on the deck, a mortal book about architecture in his hand.  “Lord Poseidon!” he exclaimed. “It is a surprise to see you here.”

Poseidon hummed. He lifted his hand, the object he had willed into existence thrummed on his skin. "I have a task for you."

“You have laid a shroud of Mist over it, I see," Chiron observed. 

Poseidon nodded. “The world outside is dangerous. Humans do not understand our world. I do not expect them to.”

"It is a curious choice to disguise a weapon as a pen."

“A gift,” Poseidon corrected. “One day, there is sure to be someone who needs it more than I.

“The story of this blade is a tragic one, but it does not have to be. You must keep it in your possession. Do not let anyone who is not worthy take it. Do not let anyone know you have it.”

“How will I know who is to own it?” Chiron asked.

“You will know.”

Chiron studied him, and Poseidon felt like a demigod would if they were one of the centaur's pupils.

“The blade is called Anaklusmos," explained Poseidon. "Riptide.”

The name rolled off his tongue, and like a whirlpool forming in the deep, clashed against the currents that had prevented him from remembering it. A reminder that even the powerful were not invincible.

“The master of that blade will drown their enemies in the depths of the raging sea. It will protect them.” He glanced away. “I will protect them.”

Chrion took Anaklusmos from his hand.

Poseidon knew this desire of his was a fool’s quest for the impossible. But though a god could not change fate or ancient laws, he could try.

Poseidon was the sea. His son was born from defiance.

Also available on ao3.

#pjo #pjo tv show #pjo tv show spoilers #flash fiction friday #a fool's quest #fff237 #percy jackson #poseidon #sally jackson #posally #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson and the olympians #itsmoonpeaches fanfic #pjo fanfic

[gregorovitch-adler]

@flashfictionfridayofficial

BBC Sherlock.

It is what it is

"I cheated on Mary," said John, as his eyes welled up, and in came the monologue to a non-existent person, presumably Mary.

Sherlock followed John's gaze and stopped at an empty corner of the sitting room of their flat. Well, his flat, technically, because John wasn't here anymore.

All he could conclude was that John was not okay.

"Who you think I am, is the man I want to be," John continued.

Sherlock turned to look from the empty corner to John's face, pressing his lips together with utter heartbreak. Sherlock had always admired John's medical skills, his combat skills, his sense of authority, his sense of humour, and the list could go on forever.

Mary was not even in the picture when Sherlock began to look up to him and admire him.

Was that not enough?

The image of John punching and kicking him in the ribs flashed before him. Of course it wasn't enough, thought Sherlock and chuckled mirthlessly in his mind.

Probably because he wasn't a woman, or not human enough for John's liking.

However, anyone with half a brain would laugh at the second possibility, given the fact that he wouldn't have been sitting on this chair if he hadn't revived himself that day, after getting shot by John's own wife.

When John buried his face in his hand and burst into tears, Sherlock thought it didn't matter anymore. He got up as carefully as he could with his wounded back to approach John slowly across the room.

Sherlock felt as though he was in a lion's den, and any wrong move could prove to be fatal. Still, mustering enough courage and physical strength, he approached John and carefully placed his right arm around John's shoulder, and rested his palm on John's nape. He placed his left hand on John's other shoulder and held him gently in his arms. Surprisingly, John not only allowed himself to be hugged, but he also placed his head on Sherlock's chest. Sherlock didn't care about his shirt getting wet because of John's uncontrollable tears.

As Sherlock continued to hold John like he was the most precious thing in the world, he came to a conclusion: perhaps he was wrong to put John on sort of a pedestal for all these years. John had a plethora of qualities, but seeing him through a rose-tinted lens most of the time had been an imperfect sign. An imperfect way of viewing this man.

Ironic, for someone who was a professional detective.

John wasn't perfect; he had a dark side too. The thought was oddly comforting.

Sherlock just wished he hadn't found this out the hard way. But his love for John was far too much to waver, even after everything.

Sherlock pulled John even closer as he buried his nose in John's hair, inhaling his natural scent. Their breathing rate had become in-sync.

Sherlock reluctantly let go of John after some time. John gazed up at him with his beautiful, deep blue eyes, dampened with tears.

Sherlock decided to share his conclusions with him. "It’s not a pleasant thought, John, but I have this terrible feeling, from time to time, that we might all just be human."

John raised his eyebrows at that with a faint smile. "What, even you?"

Sherlock was not amused at this taunt. "No."

John's smile faded and he just blinked at Sherlock wordlessly.

"Even you."

A moment passed. "Cake?" asked John, all of a sudden.

"Cake." Sherlock nodded.

As he walked across the room to grab his coat to go out with John, Sherlock decided that being John's friend again was the next best thing. The other option, the unthinkable one, was completely off the table now. It never was on the table for John.

Sherlock sighed heavily and wistfully.

Probably for the best, he thought, as he and John walked out of the apartment building to have some cake for his birthday.

Tags: @a-victorian-girl , @lisbeth-kk, @helloliriels , @topsyturvy-turtely , @keirgreeneyes, @totallysilvergirl , @jamielovesjam, @peanitbear, etc.

#johnlock #bbc sherlock #john watson #sherlock holmes #sherlock x john #bittersweet #flash fiction friday #ficlet #fic writing #johnlock ficlet #the lying detective #pov: sherlock holmes #introspection #unrequited love #pining sherlock holmes #angst #platonic friendship #FFF233 #imperfect sign

[mimisempai]

The end of denial

Summary

 After so many years of denial, not having to hide who they are from each other and telling the world is the most wonderful feeling.

Notes

For the @flashfictionfridayofficial - Hour of denial

On Ao3

Rating G -  458 words

"Are you a bookseller, too?"

Crowley replied immediately, shaking his head, "Not even at gunpoint."

Aziraphale interrupted, "This is, um... Crowley. He and I..."

He looked at the demon in front of him, wondering how to introduce him, how to say he was important to him without saying what this was about.

He continued, "...go back a long time."

He was pleased to see Crowley's proud expression, but as always, he felt a tinge of sadness at having to deny what the demon really meant to him.

"Sir, you come in here every week, and every week Aziraphale tells you again that these books are not for sale."

Aziraphale, coming from the back of the bookshop, couldn't suppress a small, amused smile as he heard Crowley rebuff an insistent customer who came back every week trying to buy a book. 

Apparently, this particular customer had reached the end of his patience, for he replied with obvious annoyance, "Who are you, anyway? I want to see Mr. Fell."

Aziraphale approached and calmly said, "I'm here."

The client turned sharply toward him, then, pointing at Crowley, said, "Your assistant is being very rude and I..."

Aziraphale shook his head and replied in a cold voice, "I'll stop you right there, Crowley isn't my assistant, he's..."

He paused and saw Crowley looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue, then he hooked his arm under the demon's and continued in a much softer voice, "...my partner."

Aziraphale had deliberately said it so that there would be no doubt as to the nature of the partnership.

Seeing the client dumbfounded by what he'd just said, the angel added, "And I have nothing more to say to you than what he's just told you."

Then he changed his mind and continued, pointing to the door, "Just one more thing, if you would do us the pleasure of leaving and never coming back. Good day to you, sir." 

Ignoring the angry departing customer who showed his displeasure by slamming the door, Aziraphale turned his full attention to Crowley and, seeing his happy expression, knew he'd been right.

Crowley said softly, "Your partner?"

Aziraphale raised his hand and placed it on the demon's cheek as he replied gently, "Absolutely."

The time for denial was over. 

They could be themselves now and show what they meant to each other, and Aziraphale intended to make the most of it.

With a light touch of his hand, he drew the demon's face to his and kissed him tenderly, in broad daylight, in the middle of the bookshop, where everyone could see them from outside.

They had nothing to hide anymore, and damn hell and heaven, they were no longer afraid to show their love to the world.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Growing Love series : (After season 2) 

Part 1 Story 1-99

Part 2 Story 100-?

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here (Before season 2)

#good omens #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #GOS2Spoilers #writeblr #writeblr event #writing prompt #writing community #flash fiction friday #😈💗😇 #fff241 Hour of denial

[nyamadermont]

You Never Cared

#FFF245 You Never Cared

@flashfictionfridayofficial

Avatar: Legend of Korra

462 words

Every eye was on him, but he just couldn’t be nervous. Not today. Not now. 

He knew what needed to be said. 

“I am honored to stand here, before you, and help you remember Lin Beifong."

"Most of you never knew her. Many of you were never directly affected by her. You never cared about the person Lin was, and she was happy for that. The spotlight was never her goal.”

He straightened his notes. 

“You never cared that her mother, Toph, treated her like an adult from the time she could walk. Handled her training like she did for police cadets in their twenties. Absolved herself of the need to parent Suyin because Lin was old enough.”

He looked up at his audience, and back down at the pages in his hands. 

“You never cared that her scars were handed her by her own sister, just that you could smell the scandal on them. You never cared that her own mother swept the injury under the rug to save her own reputation. Only that you knew that the Greatest Earthbender retired in honor and glory that reflected on the city Toph called home. Until she abandoned it.”

He slid the page to the back. 

“You never cared why Lin was upset that day when she dismantled the Thousand Steps to the Air Temple. But you celebrated with Master Tenzin and his new bride. Whose name you never cared to learn. And who has siblings you never cared to recognize.”

He took a deep breath. 

“You never cared about her over ten years of quiet peace until the return of the Avatar to the city. But you were quick to turn on her and join in the mayhem. You never cared that Amon took her bending because she knew it was the air benders who were actually important.”

He ground his jaw, and turned another page. 

“You never cared what she sacrificed over the course of her life. You never cared what she suffered.”

He pulled a slow, deep breath. 

“And she never cared about that.”

He paused. 

“She cared that her officers acted with respect and honor. She cared that crime was found, judged, and dealt with appropriately. 

He folded his notes, dropping his hands to his sides. 

“She cared that the citizens of Republic City lived their lives in peace. She cared that her family was protected.”

He drew his shoulders back, folding his hands behind his back. 

“You never cared who she was as a person.”

He took a breath. 

“And that was just fine with her.”

He waited for some reaction, but got none. 

He reached over and handed Pabu his treat. 

“Thanks, buddy. I’m so glad you never cared that she acted like she didn’t like you.”

#flash fiction friday #FFF245 #you never cared #mako #bolin #lin beifong #tw referenced character death #nyama’s short fics #who's talking? #I'm not telling...

[ginneke]

Birds, Watching

last-second @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt.

(Did a throwaway quip from Penn about 'little bird' sources need to turn into anything? Maybe it didn't, but oh well, it has.)

—

Sparrows made for terrible sentries. They spent more time squabbling with each other than they did keeping an eye on their surroundings.

Alas, sparrows were what he had to work with, since the crows had turned traitor for nothing more than the promise of food. While they still made more than enough noise to raise an alarm, befriending the target was the last thing he'd wanted them to do. (He'd parted ways with that particular flock after winter struck particularly harshly, frozen ground driving them in search of milder climes. But he stayed. He didn't have anywhere better to go.)

He'd tried others after that, but hawks were too solitary to tolerate his presence. Herons were standoffish and, frankly, rude. Doves, on the other hand, were a lot more sweet-natured -- and helplessly naive. They made for good company if he overlooked their simple natures, but half the time, they didn't even notice the Hylian climbing the cliffside. Revali usually had to scare them off before making his own hasty retreat.

It had been years. Why was that guy still trying to come after him?

The sparrows continued to bicker. The latest pointless turf war over a prime section of shrubbery—what did it matter if someone stood on the branch you'd claimed as your own? did that really warrant several minutes of shouting about it—came to an abrupt stop. One began to pipe a danger call.

Revali came alert at once, scanning the path for whatever the birds had seen as they rose in a fidgeting cloud and scattered into the trees. A threat to sparrows wasn't necessarily a threat to himself, but... Though he scanned every shape and shifting shadow that crept in the undergrowth, there didn't look to have been anything to spark such alarm.

Perhaps he should have looked up. The Hylian crashed through the treecover on a contraption of cloth and wood. Revali scarcely had time to understand what his eyes were seeing before the collision. They went over in a tangle of limbs and feathers. He yelped and kicked and struggled, but the element of surprise gave the Hylian an undue advantage.

"Caught you."

"Get off me—"

"Come home."

This again. Revali didn't have a home. Revali didn't even have a flock. He stopped struggling, and the Hylian let him up. He retreated to the other side of the glade, letting Revali scrape together the shatters of his dignity.

"...Come home, Revali."

That snagged on something he didn't care to think about. What was there to go back to? An empty shelf of rock on the cliffside which hasn't seen an inhabitant in years. At least here he had company, even if the sparrows were vapid and annoying.

"How long are you planning to keep this up?"

"Until you're ready." 

At least he didn't say 'remember' like last time.

"And then what?" Revali was tired of this. He was tired of being hounded to remember something that would never come back.

"Home can be people, too."

Link would probably be better at keeping watch than sparrows were, he thought. That, and that alone, led him to say, "...Only if you can keep up."

The Hylian—Link—smiled lopsidedly, as if taking Revali's words to heart. How foolish of him. Revali smirked, grabbed his meagre possessions, and—

The ground shrank away beneath him, and Link shrank with it to a pinprick. Something of the sight tugged on familiarity. For the first time in years, he laughed.

If Link caught up again, then this time he would. ...If not, he could always try to find another flock.

Maybe starlings, this time.

#revali #revalink #revalink fic #ginnefic #loosely defined identity issues #stubborn boys who are NOT in love #(yet) #flash fiction friday #fff248

[loopstagirl]

Midnight Snack

Just a bit of brotherly fluff for @flashfictionfridayofficial's prompt this week.

Word count: 1000

Scott’s senses were tingling.

With a groan, he threw back the covers and rolled from bed. There was no point trying to go back to sleep now. His brothers always mocked him for his ability to just know when something was wrong, but that didn’t stop them from listening to those same instincts when it suited them.

This wasn’t a collapsing building sort of wrong, though. It was much closer to home.

He padded out of his room on silent feet, not pausing to grab a top. The island was hotter than usual, and he welcomed any breeze he could find.

He pushed open Virgil’s door. A deep snore was his only hint there was someone in the bed. Despite the heatwave, Virgil was still buried under his covers, just the top of his head poking out. Smiling, Scott retreated and shut the door.

Alan was the opposite. Limbs splayed in all directions and lying on top of the covers. His head was thrown back, mouth open, but he, too, was fast asleep. Scott couldn’t resist watching the rise and fall of his chest for a few moments, finding it soothing. But it wasn’t Alan who needed him.

Habit made him open John’s door. Of course, the room was empty. Hovering in the doorway, he touched his watch, sending the faintest vibration up to space. If John was awake, he’d answer. If not, he wouldn’t feel it.

Nothing. His space-bound brother was also lot in dreams, although Scott prayed they were good ones after the few days they’d had.

He didn’t bother checking Gordon’s room. He didn’t need to now he knew the other three were resting. Instead, he stole downstairs, glancing into the lounge as he did so. The automatic lights were off around the pool: Gordon wasn’t out there, either. However sneaky he tried to be, he couldn’t get around the sensors – which was the exact reason their dad had installed them in the first place.

There was a light on, however. It wasn’t really a surprise it was coming from the kitchen. Scott nudged open the door, blinking in the soft glow. Gordon was sat on a bar stool, head resting in his hands, slumped against the table. He didn’t give any sign that he’d heard his big brother, but Scott knew he had. It was harder to sneak up on Gordon than him – and that was saying something.

He slipped onto the seat opposite, waiting. He didn’t say anything, knew he didn’t have to. It took a good ten minutes before Gordon lifted his head. He looked exhausted, red-rimmed eyes and dark bags betraying how much sleep he hadn’t been getting. But more than that, he looked miserable.

“Tell me,” Scott said softly. His tone was a mixture of command and plea, knowing Gordon needed to let whatever it was off his chest.

“It’s just…” Gordon breathed deeply for a few moments. But then he pushed himself into a more upright position and looked Scott in the eye. “So many rescues, lately. Do we even make a difference?”

Scott smiled gently. Gordon was always the lightest of sleepers out of all of them, and no doubt the heat had been keeping him up despite the tiredness caused by the rescues. But while exhaustion may have given voice to his words, it hadn’t planted that thought. Who knew how long this had been bugging Gordon?

“168,” Scott said. Gordon blinked.

“Huh?”

“168 people. That’s how many we’ve had contact with over the last two weeks. Sure, some of them would’ve been fine without us. But you know a lot wouldn’t have been. Especially those fires.”

“168,” Gordon repeated softly. “That’s how many we’ve-,” he trailed off, as if saying it was just too big.

Scott nodded. “Saved, yes. And 38 were you alone when you got that trawler to safety.”

“Well, Virgil-,”

“Gave you a lift there, and that was it. You saved those people, Gordon. You let them go home to their families and loved ones that night. Why don’t you ask them if we make a difference?”

Gordon managed a weak smile. But a shadow was shifting in his eyes. This wouldn’t be the end of it: the next hard spell would bring those same doubts back, for Gordon, or any of the others. But for now, Scott hoped that nightmare had been put to rest for the time being.

He stood up. Gordon looked surprised.

“That’s it? You’re going?”

“While my bed is calling me, no,” Scott said. He crossed the room, grabbing a couple of spoons before opening the freezer. The kitchen tiles were bliss on his bare feet. “There’s something we both need more than sleep right now.”

He heard Gordon shift behind him as he rummaged to the back.

“I’m not in the mood for a beer.”

Scott shot a scathing look over his shoulder. “Since when do we keep beer in the freezer?”

He pulled out his prize, dumping it on the table between them and passing over a spoon. Gordon’s eyes lit up.

“Chocco-chunk,” he half-moaned. “I thought Al had eaten it all.”

Scott winked. “I hid it the last time he was raiding the freezer.”

It was already half eaten. Gordon wasn’t the first to need an emergency sweet treat lately, and Virgil had helped him make a good dent in the ice cream last week.

As Gordon attacked it, smacking his lips in delight at the ice-cold sensation, Scott smiled and prised some out for himself. He wasn’t generally a big ice-cream eater – that was John – but there was something about a middle of the night crisis session where it was the only thing that would do.

As the coldness melted on his tongue and he felt his entire body temperature drop, Scott relaxed. Gordon’s shoulders had softened, his posture had straightened, and the look in his eye gave away Scott wouldn’t be getting much more if he didn’t hurry up.

In other words, back to normal.

#flash fiction friday #fff244 #critical ice cream #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #gordon tracy #one-shot

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom

I Can’t Stand It

Rosie’s tantrum in the park, reminds Sherlock of his own childhood. It’s strange that so much of what the little girl says and does resonates with him.

“She’s not yours,” several voices inside his head tells him.

Still, he can’t shake off the feeling of being something more to her than just…what is he exactly to her? She calls him Lock; he calls her Watson. He desperately wants her to call him something else, which he only allows himself to think about when he’s alone.

“I can’t stand it, daddy!” Rosie exclaims and stomps her feet.

“But, sweetheart,” John tries to reason with his four-year-old daughter. “You were perfectly fine eating this last week.”

Rosie rolls her eyes and throws her arms in the air. Sherlock can see that John’s mouth twitches slightly as he’s supressing a smile. Sherlock hears his mother’s voice filled with delight in his mind.

“She’s so much like you sometimes, darling.”

“There are big pieces in it,” Rosie explains to John. “I want smooth ice cream.”

John looks over at Sherlock for help, but Sherlock has long ago decided to never lie to John again. He shrugs apologetically at mutters something under his breath.

“What was that, Sherlock?” John inquires, his tone exasperated now.

“It’s quite normal for children her age to change tastes and react to new textures. I was the same.”

“Yeah, well, she’s not…”

“I know, John!” Sherlock snaps. “You and everyone we know keeps telling me that.”

He turns on his heel and walks briskly out of the park. Behind him the two Watsons call after him, begging him to come back but he can’t. Sherlock can live with everyone else claiming that he’s not Rosie’s father, but it hurts when John joins the choir. Of course, Sherlock knows he has no biological connection to her, but he’s raising her together with John, isn’t he? She comes just as willingly to him as to John. 

“Protect your heart, brother mine,” Mycroft told him after John and Rosie moved to Baker Street, and not for the first time. His brother knew that Sherlock’s heart belonged to John and had for a very long time.

***

Where are you? I’m sorry, Sherlock. We need to talk. Are you coming home soon?

Sherlock’s heart races in his chest when he reads John’s text. He barely registers the apology. All his brain is capable of is trying to deduce what John wants to talk about.

Are they moving out? Does John want him to spend less time with Rosie? Won’t he be allowed to do children safe experiments with her anymore?

He pulls his hair in frustration. Why is it so hard to figure out what John wants? Sherlock’s able to read anyone but John. Why?

“Hi, Sherlock. I didn’t know you were here,” Molly says when she walks into the lab at Barts.

“I’m leaving,” Sherlock tells her and walks rapidly out of the room.

***

Sherlock stands and watches the Thames float by. The London Eye is coloured in pink in the far distance. It’s getting dark and he’s got no recollection of the last hours. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he suddenly remembers that he’s forgotten to answer John’s text.

“A bit not good, Sherlock,” John’s voice scolds him.

Can I call you? Rosie wants to say goodnight.

Sherlock feels his face soften. The Watsons are probably still at Baker Street then. He doesn’t hesitate but calls John’s number.

John’s voice sounds relieved when he picks up, but it’s tinted with worry.

“Hi. You alright?” he asks.

“Fine,” Sherlock says, and it comes out more clipped than he intended.

John sighs and apparently gives the phone to Rosie.

“Lock!” the little girl exclaims.

“Hello, Watson. Ready for bed?” Sherlock inquires softly.

“Yes. Tired,” she tells him and yawns.

Sherlock feels his throat thicken, and he must swallow hard and close his eyes to keep his tears at bay. Without thinking he uses the endearment only Rosie has heard.

“Goodnight, my heart.”

“Night, Lock. See you tomorrow,” Rosie slurs, clearly almost asleep.

Sherlock ends the call before John gets a chance to ask him humiliating questions. The sharp intake of breath from John when Sherlock bid Rosie goodnight didn’t go unnoticed.

“You’ve ruined it now, Holmes,” he tells himself.

***

Aldi is still open, and Sherlock buys two boxes of ice cream for Rosie without any pieces of fruit, berries, crunch, chocolate or other abominations.

He takes a deep breath before locking himself into Baker Street, and he ascends the stairs silently. John sits in his chair, reading one of his medical journals. Sherlock just nods and walks to the kitchen with his purchases. He places the boxes in the freezer before walking to the bathroom.

“Sherlock?” John calls after him.

“Shower,” Sherlock answers.

The shower does wonders, and Sherlock feels quite refreshed and relaxed when he puts on a t-shirt, pyjamas bottoms and his maroon dressing gown. John stands just outside Sherlock’s bedroom and Sherlock startles a bit.

“Everything alright?” he asks. “Watson?”

“She’s fine, Sherlock. Soundly asleep. I just want to apologise properly to you. I was way out of line earlier. No, Sherlock, listen. I need to say this. Please.”

John’s expression is pained, and Sherlock doesn’t know what’s to come next. Nothing could have prepared him for this.

“I know it’s no excuse that I was exhausted and sleep deprived, but that’s the defence I have, and it’s appalling to say the least. Rosie…she is…just as much yours as she is mine. You care for her just like any parent. She loves you, we both do, and…”

“John?” 

Sherlock’s voice is trembling, and he feels his balance is about to fail him. Warm and steady hands are placed on his upper arms and when John speaks again, his voice is warm with affection.

“Forgive me. Please?”

Sherlock just nods and lets himself melt in John’s embrace.

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @helloliriels @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitch-adler @raina-at @peanitbear @topsyturvy-turtely @7-percent @ninasnakie

#flash fiction friday #sherlock fandom #sherlock #john watson #rosie watson #johnlock #parentlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock fanfic #FFF244 #critical ice cream

[tom-whore-dleston]

Denial and Devotion

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x f. reader

Word Count: 880

This fic contains: preludes to smut, implied smut, amnesia, mentions of squirting and fingering, reader was a Soldier Boy fangirl (like me fr xD), toxic celebrity culture?

Summary: You are in denial that you slept with the Supe you used to crush on.

Notes: I'm just a girl that writes Soldier Boy fanfic at 2am knowing damn well I have work at 9am flksdghk this gif replays in my brain every waking moment of the day I literally hate how hot he is >:( This is my weekly contribution to @flashfictionfridayofficial’s prompt no. 241: Hour of Denial

The moment you rose from your slumber, you knew something was wrong. First off, you woke up in a room that you did not recognize. Then, you realized the cotton sheets of the unfamiliar bed clung close to your bare skin as if you had slept in it before. 

You attempted to lift yourself out the bed, but your muscles were weak, soreness more prominent in your hips and thighs. As you winced in discomfort, your eyes widened upon the discolored love bites scattered over your body. Your eyes finally glanced to the opposite side of the bed, only to discover the person occupying it was none other than Soldier Boy.

When you were younger, Soldier Boy was your first crush. At the time, he was presumed dead, but your father would tell you stories about how he was one of the greatest superheroes to ever live. Your childhood room was covered in Soldier Boy posters and you had a doll of him that never left the box. As you got older, you conducted more research on the man you worshiped, but eventually learned that he was a monster in a superhero costume. As a result, you ripped the posters to shreds and finessed some cash off the doll in hopes to erase any trace of your Soldier Boy phase. 

You stared in disbelief at the same man that lay peacefully asleep. Your mind raced with questions. The only logical answer to all of them was that you were dreaming. To test the theory, you pinched your forearm as hard as you could. After cursing from the pain, you tried another method by poking Soldier Boy in his meaty bicep. Without fluttering his eyes open, he grunted in annoyance and rolled over. 

If your head wasn’t already spinning, it definitely was at this very moment. You slithered out of the bed, making sure not to disturb the sleeping man, and frantically searched for your clothes. In a hurried attempt, you shimmied back into your little black dress from the night before. Regardless of whether this was all a dream or not, you silently vowed that you are remaining sober for the rest of the month. 

“Where you going so fast, sweetheart?” You turned toward the groggy voice that belonged to Soldier Boy, who was propped up against the bed frame with his muscular torso in view. It felt as if no time had passed since the beginning stages of your devotion to Soldier Boy. Your eyes scanned over his physique with a hunger that only he could satisfy. Heat radiated your body and you stood paralyzed in your unzipped dress, leaving enough uncovered for his imagination to run wild.

As Soldier Boy hopped out of bed, you swiftly turned away as his thick cock unveiled from the thin sheets. He began walking towards you, but you ignored him by fiddling with the zipper on your back. You grew frustrated with the zipper’s defiance the closer the beefy supe inched towards you. His intense stare begged for your attention until he took matters into his own hands by lifting your chin up to his gaze. Your heart pounded against your chest as his green eyes studied your face. Except there was no studying necessary.

“I’m a little embarrassed by this,” you laughed nervously, “but I don’t remember anything from last night.”

Soldier Boy smirked. “Want me to give you a reminder?”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary.” You paused. You may not have been as infatuated with the supe as much as you once were, but you didn’t want to come off as rude. “I mean…I’m sure last night was great but I shouldn’t impose-“

“Great? Well if you define squirting on my fingers and cock until you begged me to stop as great then maybe I gotta fuck you harder.” 

You were about to let out a moan, but quickly masked it with a sigh. Every part of you wanted to hate him but the ache in between your legs betrayed your voice of reason.

“You can play the ex-fangirl game all you want, but you and I know you never truly get over your first crush.” There wasn’t a more pathetic feeling than regressing back into that naive girl who treated a flawed superhero like a god. 

Suddenly, your back hit the wall and Soldier Boy towered over you, his arm the only thing keeping him from pressing you against the wall to grind into your core. His free hand hooked under the strap of your dress, slowly pulling it off your shoulder. As the dress pooled around your feet, he lightly kissed the crook of your neck, electricity coursing your blood as his beard pricked your skin.

His hot breath fanned over your ear. “There’s no need to deny me anymore, sweetheart. I’m here for you to worship and fulfill all your pretty little fantasies.”

Fuck it.

All your common sense flew out the window as you desperately smashed your lips against his. Gripping your wrists, he pinned you against the wall before grinding his semi hard cock against your wet pussy. 

Soldier Boy may have been the biggest pain in your ass, literally and figuratively, but he was right about you never fully recovering from your first crush.

Navigation | Fanfic Masterlist | Soldier Boy Masterlist

header credit: @saradika | divider credit: @firefly-in-darkness

#flash fiction friday #fff241 #soldier boy #the boys #the boys series #jensen ackles #jensen ackles soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy smut #soldier boy fic #soldier boy fan fic #soldier boy imagine #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles x female!reader #jensen ackles fic #jensen ackles fanfiction #the boys fanfic #the boys fic

[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”

#kamonohashi ron no kindan suiri #ron kamonohashi #totomaru isshiki #ron et toto #rontoto #rkdd fanfics #rkdd fanfic idea #flash fiction #fff228 #ron kamonohashi: deranged detective #ron kamonohashi's forbidden deductions #fluffbruary #flashfictionfriday #a form of distraction #flash fiction friday

[starkraivennemad]

Take My Hand

As a toddler Mycroft Holmes’ parents understood he was not fond of touch. He especially did not like to have his hands held. He constantly tried to have something in at least one hand to have a reason not to touch or be touch beyond necessities.

A repair was needed to a fence in back acreage. Now a curious aged seven, Mycroft followed his father and the groundskeeper across their land. Accustomed to the young boy’s presence, neither thought anything of it as hopped random stones to cross the wide creek. Mycroft easily hopped the first few stones, but nearly slipped into the water with his last attempt. He realized his young legs were not a match for the length of the adult men. It was not deep water, but it was nearing winter and he did not want to fall.

“Da!” Mycroft, carefully balanced on a stone, called to his father.

Mr. Holmes turned in surprise at his very independent son until he understood the problem. He reached out, Take my hand.

Mycroft reluctantly put his hand out, the chagrin of having to do so evident, even on his young face.

---- 

Mummy heard when the front door slammed. Her husband was about to yell when she held up a hand as two sets of footsteps ran up the stairs.

“Sherlock. Leave. Me. The hell. ALONE!” was bellowed from upstairs.

The insulting tones of a younger brother, who knew a lot- but not yet enough, followed.

“Of course he’s mad, you’re stupid! You kissed him; I saw it! And with your tongue in his mouth? Nasty! That’s why he hit you!”

Mummy was on her way up when something heavy in Mycroft’s room hit the floor and shattered.

“Sherlock! Go downstairs and help your father.”

“But Mummy…”

“Now, Sherlock.”

She entered the bedroom, closed the door gently behind her and carefully stepped around the shattered CRT monitor on the floor. Mycroft laid with his back to the door. He curled further in on himself, but did not otherwise acknowledge her. Still, she knew he was aware of her presence. She silently sat on the edge of the bed and waited.

“I didn't know it could hurt so much…” a muffled voice sniffled.

“Unfortunately, the first one almost always does, son.”

“There will not be another,” a broken voice snarled.

She had known it was going to end badly with her son and the closeted boy, but some things cannot be avoided in life, and one’s very first heartbreak was at the top of the list. Her own heart broke as Mycroft sobbed into his pillow.

Knowing he would never ask, after a while she simply put an open palm beside him. Take my hand. 

She knew he would know it is there. Moments later an awkward hand silently reached out barely touching hers.

---- 

Hands on his umbrella, Mycroft said nothing as his -no longer a baby- brother’s Red rimmed verdigris eyes slowly fluttered open and tracked the hospital room until they met his.

“How…?” Sherlock’s normally baritone, a raspy shadow of its normally mellifluous self. He groaned as he tried to sit up.

“Why ask questions you know the answer to, Sherlock?”

Mycroft had flicked his eyes away, but knew Sherlock caught his wince. The beating had been brutal. Sherlock had deleted the details of how they got there from himself, but Mycroft dig not need Sherlock to tell him; he had already deduced it. 

“This OD was accidental, a miscalculation…”

“Miscalcu-!” Mycroft nearly thundered before he stopped himself. The sudden silence, was one thing, but nothing could have prepared Mycroft for the tears that slipped from his own eyes.  “Promise me, Sherlock.” Mycroft angrily wiped them away,  “Promise you won’t do this again…” Mycroft’s voice broke piteously.  “Please?”

Sherlock placed his hand on the guard rail near him.

Mycroft knew it was not a promise to stop, but silently asking: should he fall, again, would Mycroft be there.

Sherlock’s hand lingered there for a while silently begging, Take my hand.

Only when it seemed Sherlock was about to pull away, did Mycroft lay his hand over Sherlock’s.

“I’ll always be there for you.”

---- 

It was less than two hours since his parents left his office after a tongue lashing that Mycroft had not been privy to since A Levels. It helped to know Sherlock did not hate him for the keeping the secret of their little sister all that time. Still, his parents’ words had stung. With Sherlock taking their parents back home and Anthea still at Sherrinford straightening the mess left in Eurus’ wake; for the first time in a long time, Mycroft felt utterly and completely alone.

Even more so than when he woke up trapped in Eurus’ old cell.

He had sat on the floor because Eurus had destroyed the bed taking away the only comfort in that space. The floor was cold and he was not exactly young anymore. He was grateful when rescue arrived in the form of Greg Lestrade.

“Here.”  Greg offered to help when Mycroft’s cold stiffened bones protested rising.

“I’m fine.” Mycroft used the bedframe to pull himself up.

“You're not alone, just so you know.” Greg had sighed as they walked out.

At the time Mycroft thought Greg referred to the eyes and ears that were always in that room.

Mycroft told Anthea she could go home and he was on his way home himself.

Somehow, he wound up in the carpark of NSY instead.

He does not know who, if anyone, told Greg he was there. He was just grateful when the man acknowledged his driver, then quietly slid into the backseat next to him.

Greg said nothing as the car pulled into traffic; just his presence was enough to chase the demons away.

Only then did Mycroft understand what Greg had truly meant that night. 

“I’m not alone, Greg.” Mycroft laid his hand on the seat between them, his pinky grazed along Greg’s then stilled. “I know that now.”

Understandably unsure, Greg tentatively slid his hand closer so that their respective pinkies fully touched, but nothing more.

“And just so you know; neither are you.” Mycroft turned his palm up on the seat in offering, Take my hand.

“I know that now.” Greg smiled as he slowly slid his hand over Mycroft’s and grasped it.

@flashfictionfridayofficial

#flash fiction friday #FFF238 #bbc sherlock #mystrade #mycroft holmes #greg lestrade

[itsmoonpeaches]

Title: Storge

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial

Word count: 1,004

Rating: G

Summary: As the quest concludes and the war ends, Poseidon is left with the truth and the realization that Percy means more to him than he knew.

Also available on ao3.

Camp Half-Blood celebrated. The night sky bloomed with multicolored fireworks. And amid the cacophony, the gods discovered the truth.

At Zeus’s command, Athena had called for a meeting with the whole council to end the war between him and Poseidon. But now Olympus shuddered with war’s echoes once again.

“So much for a swift and crushing victory, eh dad?” sneered Ares. He leaned back on his throne, the ancient stone pressed against the back of his leather trench coat.

“Silence,” Zeus ordered with a scowl. Thunder rumbled above them. “Your role in this has not been forgotten.” His irises swirled with storm clouds. He propped himself up, resting his arms on the circular marble table that the Olympians sat around. “We must decide what to do with Luke Castellan.”

Poseidon watched the proceedings with feigned indifference. He clenched his fists beneath the table and felt the leftover prickle of electricity dance across his fingertips. Even for a god as prominent as he, stopping Zeus’s Master Bolt with his bare hands was a harrowing experience. It was not often that gods held onto another’s symbol of power.  

Across from him, Hermes twitched. His face shuttered.

“He is lost to us,” answered Athena with the authoritative tone he always recognized. She looked like that girl who went on the quest with Perseus except she was taller with narrower, more angular features. She had the same dark curls, but never wore her hair down. It was slicked back into a tight knot and accentuated her calculating gray eyes. “He eludes us with the power of his sword, and that puts him under Kronos’s protection. It is inadvisable to deduce where the portals will take him with so little information.”

Zeus frowned.

Athena clicked her tongue. “We must decide what to do with the other one…Poseidon’s spawn. Perseus Jackson.”

Poseidon straightened. The quake inside his chest threatened to release the force he held back. Long Island’s shores were bombarded with waves. “Enough,” he growled. He unclenched his fists. His trident crackled in its sheath attached to his throne.

The council quieted. Athena narrowed her eyes.

Zeus grunted, folding his arms as he glared. “I will not renege on the prize I have awarded the boy if he does not cause a disturbance,” he said. “I refuse to be indebted to a half-blood.” He lifted the Master Bolt. Its energy reverberated from the floors to the Corinthian columns that enclosed them. “He has returned what is mine. For now, we watch him.”

Poseidon thought to relax, but that was before Apollo with his sunny grin and even sunnier disposition, decided to interrupt.

“My Oracle spoke,” Apollo started with a singsong tune that grated on Poseidon’s nerves. “This may be the Prophecy. We must prepare soon.”

Poseidon sucked in a steadying breath. A new squall formed near Australia’s Shipwreck Coast.

Artemis rolled her eyes. “Not everything needs to be said in haiku, brother,” she admonished. The silver in her hair gleamed like the moon.

Poseidon sighed. The tension in his shoulders never lessened. “Perseus is not yet sixteen,” he said. “Leave him be.”

“We will get nothing done talking in circles. I have duties to attend to,” Zeus added. He nodded to Athena. “Finish this.”

The meeting adjourned. The gods flashed away, vanishing to tend to their domains. But Poseidon lingered. He had not moved. He stared at a pearl he rolled in his palm.

“Do you ever dream about mom?”

His son’s voice rushed into his head like an endless current. Perseus’s eyes were so much like his own, so much more than he had imagined. Poseidon had not answered his question. He had not forgotten.

He clutched the pearl tight and stood, trident in hand.

“He is your weakness, the boy.” Someone disrupted the silence.

Poseidon turned.

Athena observed him from the pathway that led to the rest of Olympus’s sprawling city. “If you are not careful, he will become a liability to you.”

He inclined his head. “What's this?” he asked with a sardonic smirk. “The goddess of wisdom and battle strategy giving me advice?”

“It is simply an observation.”

“An observation I do not crave.”

Athena scoffed. “You surrendered for him,” she replied. “You lost the war for that boy. He is nothing more than a blip in our eternity. What will happen in the future when there is more at stake? What will you choose, your son or the Fifth Age?”

He parted his lips, but no answer came. Athena departed down the path. He was alone.

He walked to the edge of the council room, intent on watching what remained of the fireworks below. Even from here, he could see them. If he concentrated, he could hear the laughter of the demigods and smell their offerings scraped into the bonfire. Most of them did not know what had transpired yet.

He only wished Perseus was spared betrayal.

The hearth that occupied the edge of the room snapped. Out of the warmth appeared the form of a little girl in drab robes.  

“Hestia,” he said with a slight bow. “I am sorry to disturb you. I will soon depart.”

“You are lost,” she remarked. She always sounded so much younger than she was. “You are thinking of him…of your family.”

“You are my family,” he countered.

She smiled and offered her right hand. “Take my hand.”

With caution, he took it.

As soon as they touched, images flooded his mind. He saw Sally Jackson. She pressed her forehead to their son’s. The sunlight dappled the rivulets of her hair and brightened Perseus’s blue eyes.

He saw Perseus in his cabin at camp, running his fingers along the water in the fountain, a pensive look on his face. On his neck, he wore a new bead on the necklace Chiron had given him. Painted against black was a delicate sea-green trident.

When Poseidon remembered himself, Hestia was gone. The visions tucked away inside him.

“Yes,” he whispered into nothing. “I do dream of you.”

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[innocentlymacabre]

There's a saying some people have about things that glitter.

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