by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 16: Too Something


Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. More notes at the end of the story.

Makoto had forgotten about the cookies. By the time she pulled them out of the oven, they were charred and crispy. She sighed, and started scraping the bunny-shaped cookies into the trash. 

What was wrong with her? She absent-mindedly rubbed her chest. Did other people feel this foggy after their heart crystals were forced out of their bodies? That’s what Luna or Ami might have suggested. But Usagi and Minako would see that distant look in Makoto’s eyes and squeal about her being in love. 

“Who would I even be in love with?” Makoto asked to her empty apartment. Not Mamoru, of course. All the boys at her school were the same. None of them were elegant, or drove fast cars, or…

“Oh.” Makoto’s hand flew to her mouth, partially open in surprise. 

She should have known. Since the moment they meant, something about Haruka had captured Makoto. It was the way that she (he? Both?) carried herself, walking with long, easy strides and a teasing smirk. She was beautiful – or was she handsome? – however she dressed. And she was strong. 

Makoto was always too something. Too tall, too tough for a girl, too girly to be tough. Things were better with her new friends, who loved her just as she was. But always being too something had left its marks on her. 

Someone had probably told Haruka that she was too boyish, too strong, too fast. And Haruka had taken the things other people had told her and turned it into her armor. Makoto wanted to be like that. 

Makoto hugged herself. Was this what love felt like? She’d never been in love before, not like this. Her heart was dancing and tearing itself apart at the same time. Even if she loved Haruka, there was still Michiru. They’d never said it out loud, at least not in front of Makoto, but Haruka and Michiru were much closer than “good friends.”

Makoto had never thought much about how it might feel to kiss a girl before. Now, she wondered how it might feel to kiss Haruka. Heat spread over her cheeks. 

What was she supposed to do?

No one had ever said Makoto was cowardly, but she was feeling far from brave when she found Haruka the next week. “Um, I made something for you.” Makota held out a cloth wrapped bag of sugar cookies, each cookie cut into stars or crescent moons. She ducked her head, unusually shy, and hoped that Haruka didn’t see the blush creeping across her cheeks. 

“Oh, thank you.” Haruka smiled and tried a star-shaped cookie. “They’re really good!” 

Makoto forced herself to meet Haruka’s eyes. “I’m glad you like them.” Her heart thudded against her chest. “I really like…” 

Haruka waited, an amused smile on her lips. 

“…you,” Makoto finally said. 

“I know,” Haruka replied. “I think we could be good friends, Mako-chan.” 

There it was again: Makoto’s heart celebrating and mourning all at once. But she smiled anyway. “I’d like that.” 

Maybe Haruka wouldn’t be her first love, only her first heartbreak. But she still had Haruka in her life, and in Haruka’s eyes, she wasn’t too much of anything.

Alternative title: Makoto wishes Haruka was her cousin.

I’m sure Haruka breaks a lot of girls’ hearts.

I didn’t have the brain power to finish the story I was working on today, so I decided that some Sailor Moon fanfiction would be easier. And it was, until the end. I considered leaving the last scene out but after all the build-up, there had to be some interaction between Makoto and Haruka. If it feels rushed, that’s because it was. I just want to go to bed.

I have a lot more about to say about Sailor Moon, but I’ll spare you the unhinged (but loving) ramblings and just say that Jupiter/Uranus is a ship that I’ve been wanting to see for awhile, but never had the courage to write it myself.

Now, in the name of the Moon, I’m going to sleep.

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 15: It’s Not Rocket Science

Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. More notes at the end of the story.

I was trying to pay attention to an article about building an electric generator when my slate got warm in my pocket. I pulled it out of my pocket, just a thin rectangle of brightly polished copper with a few words written on it. I recognized Theo’s handwriting before I even read the message. Can you come over? Stressed af.

I wasn’t getting anywhere in my work (if anything, it was putting me to sleep), and I knew how worn down final exams were making him. Can do, I replied. Set up the beacon.

It was a quick trip to Theo’s dorm room on Earth. After much hemming and hawing about transferring schools, he’d finally applied to Embry-Riddle. I might have come from a magical land, but Florida was a whole other universe compared to Buffalo. 

Theo barely looked up from his laptop when I arrived. “You’ll get wrinkles if you keep frowning like that,” I told him by way of greeting. 

He shut his laptop and turned to me. The worries in his face disappeared. “You don’t need to worry about that.” 

“Because I don’t worry.” I grinned and took a seat on his bed. 

“Liar.” Theo sat next to me and poked the top of one of my slightly tapered ears. 

“Thank you for noticing.” Like a lot of people who have some Fae blood, lying isn’t easy for me. It took a lot of practice to get this good. “Are exams killing you?”

Theo buried his face in his hands. “Yes. A million times yes,” he groaned, his voice muffled. 

“Do you want to help me build a generator instead?” I asked hopefully. 

“For the last time, Alex, I’m not that kind of scientist.” He leaned against my side. 

This was the confusing part. Theo and I had been together, broken up, and now…now I wasn’t so sure what we were. It was something deeper than just friendship, but we weren’t lovers, either. Theo and I have always been pretty touchy with each other, even from the start. Not weird for Fae, but weird for humans, especially Americans. So I liked when he leaned into me, and he relaxed when I put my arm around his shoulders. I didn’t know what it all meant, and I don’t think Theo did, either. 

“Right, you’re a space man.” 

“Astrophyscist. Except I won’t be if I don’t graduate, and I’m not going to graduate because I’m going to fail my statistical physics class and end up living in a cardboard box holding a sign that says ‘will calculate for food.’” All his words came out in one breath. Theo pressed his forehead against my shoulder. 

“Hey, hey,” I said in a soothing voice. I ran my fingers through Theo’s thick, dark hair. “You’re gonna pass. And then there’s only one semester left, you’ll graduate, start counting stars or launching rockets or whatever you do. And I’ll brag that I know the guy who sent a satellite to Uranus.”

We both laughed at the dumb joke. It was always good to see Theo smile. He straightened up a little, then took my hand in his. “And you’ll have figured out how to build a magical power grid.”

“That, or I’ll have lost my mind working on it.”

He let go of my hand and stretched his arms over his head. “You’ll figure it out.” He lied down on his side, and gestured for me to join him. His twin bed was narrow, but I squeezed between him and the wall. 

We lay there together for a moment, our knees touching, so close that I could feel his breath on my face. Theo took my hand again, rubbing his thumb over mine. “Tell me more about this future where it’s just you and me and everything’s okay.”

“No math,” I promised. “We’ll go on our gay little adventures, kill some monsters, fall in love.” 

“You’re not exactly a monster slayer.” 

“No, I’ll leave that part up to you.” You’d think the magical half-Fae prince would be decent with a sword, but it turns out a pissed off and confused human can be more useful than a trained warrior when you’re in a tight spot. 

“And the ‘fall in love’ part?” Theo asked. 

My heart stopped for a second. I was the one who broke up with him. I needed time to learn how to be a whole person, not just the Trickster Prince who’d hid behind a mask of pranks and games. It was a fun mask, but a mask nonetheless. 

Theo’s eyes were beautiful, dark brown flecked with gold. 

“Already there,” I said in a whisper. “You?”

Theo raised my hand to his lips. “And I never left.”

Surprise! You’ve been pronouncing Theo wrong. This Theo uses the French pronunciation, which is Tee-oh. He has Lebanese heritage, and there’s a big French influence in Lebanon, particularly among Maronite Catholics. Or, as I like to say, “it’s French because he’s Lebanese.”

Here’s another pair of characters from my novel, Prince Alexander, better known as Puck, and his boyfriend(?) Theo. This story would take place a few years after the novel, with Theo getting close to graduating from college. I chose to write from Puck’s first-person POV, since that’s how I’m writing the novel. Puck is also one of Mairead and Fiadh’s kids and Korbyn’s cousin.

This is also a challenge!

Element 1: We love prompts (and would love it if you fed more of them to us ;)). Today, we want you to pick a prompt from the Prompt Bank 2025. Any prompt, any number of them as long as the number is at least 1. Difficulty choosing? Let the 2025 Prompt Generator make the choice for you!

I used two prompts from bunnythewriter: (not the exact wording, but close enough!)

“Tell me more about this future, where it’s just you and me and everything is finally okay.” and “We’ll go on our gay little adventures, y’know fall in love, kill some monsters.” because it was such a Puck response.

Element 2: We would also like your wordcount to be palindromic (that is, one that reads the same backwards as forwards, such as 121 or 747 or 666). Why? We just think they [palindromes] are neat. This story is 787 words.

Optional element: include a generator of any kind in your story. Done! Puck would love to bring modern technology to the Otherworld, but the problem is that smartphones can’t run on magic…or can they?

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 14: She stays away from Cabin 7

Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. More notes at the end of the story.

There’s always a stir when a new camper arrives, and for a long time Annabeth, Thalia, and Luke’s grand entrance to Camp Half-Blood was the most exciting thing to ever happen. Then this Percy Jackson kid showed up. 

New arrivals are always exciting, and there was a lot of speculation about who Percy really was. He settled in the Hermes cabin with the rest of us for a while, but we would gossip about him whenever he was out of sight. 

“Did you see what he did to the bathrooms? He’s probably Posedien’s son,” I said. 

My friend Dani scoffed. “Come on. You know the Big Three can’t have kids anymore.” 

Then, when he, Annabeth, and Grover all went off on their quest for the stolen Master Bolt, I had a hunch they were going in the wrong direction. Hermes was the god of thieves, after all. It would make sense that he had some hand in this. “What if it was someone from our cabin?” I suggested. “I like Luke, but he’s got a chip on his shoulder and he’s crafty enough to do it.” 

“Gods,” Dani sighed. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, Cassandra.”

IYKYK.

For those who don’t know: In Greek mythology, Cassandra was cursed by Apollo to give true prophecies, but no one would believe her. I’ve since been converted to a Percy Jackson fan, and thought it would be funny to have Cassandra as a camper. I thought about doing a vignette for each book in the first series, but it would all be kind of the same: “I bet that at least part of the Great Prophecy is about Luke.”
“Oh my gods, Cassandra, you’re such a liar.”

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 13: Imagine a Forest + Bonus Story

Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. More notes (and an extra story!) at the end of this one.

Everyone knew the city went on forever. No one ever left, because there was nowhere to go. There was only the city. 

But two years ago, someone had left. Her name was Sawyer, and she said that she wanted to see a tree. Which no one understood, because everyone had seen a tree. There was a tree made out of metal and glass in the square, and it looked just like the real thing. But Sawyer had gone anyway, talking about a forest where real trees grew. 

No one had seen her since. Sometimes people got bored and moved to a different part of the city. But there was nothing beyond it. She was missed, but people moved on.

Then Sawyer returned. 

The rumors arrived before she did: a woman, with long, knotted hair and calloused feet was going through the city. She pulled a cart full of plants. Real plants, made out of leaves and green and other things the citizens had no name for. 

She talked about the forest. It was real. The city did end. And beyond it was something that she could scarcely describe. “Imagine if the walls around you breathed. Imagine hearing songs instead of machines. Imagine the sunset – all orange, and pink and red, not just the color of smog. Imagine.”

It was a long journey, but Sawyer at last arrived at the city center. Her cart was empty, save a few containers. She did not return alone. Travelers surrounded her, women and men and children, who had all left their homes to hear more of her stories. 

A crowd gathered around her in the square, full of faces that Sawyer once knew. They waited. 

“Imagine,” Sawyer started. “Imagine a tree.” 

A tree that was real and alive, one that could grow as tall as a building. Imagine water that came out of the ground, not a metal basin. Imagine wild, fresh food, growing in front of you. Imagine breathing air that doesn’t make you cough. Imagine wide spaces. Imagine life, all around you, everywhere you look. Imagine being part of it, but you don’t feel small or scared. You feel at peace.

When Sawyer had finished speaking, she went to the cart. “An apple tree, for food,” she said, taking one of the saplings out of the cart. “A willow tree, for healing. And a magnolia tree, for beauty.” She presented the remaining two saplings. “Our forest starts here.” 

Today’s story was inspired by the prompt “A forest appears overnight in the middle of the city.” by Erica. It made me think of another short I’d written a few years ago, with a setting that I’ve wanted to revisit, but never did. This one was inspired by a quote from The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle: “There is no immortality but a tree’s love.” which became the basis for each paragraph in the story. I thought I’d include the original here. Are Sawyer and Maggie two different people, or did I just forget Maggie’s name and came up with a new one? You decide!

“There is nothing out there. The city goes on forever. There’s no forest out there. Everyone’s seen a tree, there’s one in the square. They say it looks just like the real thing. We can go there tomorrow. Come back to bed.”

“Is that what you really think? Metal and glass and wire isn’t a tree. Trees are supposed to be living and growing. I heard this place used to be covered with them. And the city can’t go on forever. Nothing goes on forever. It’s got to have an edge. An end. And maybe there’s a forest…”

“No one’s ever gone to the edge. Because there isn’t one. No forests. I don’t know why you started thinking about this all again. I hope you haven’t been listening to McAllister. Just because he’s been gone awhile doesn’t mean he’s been anywhere. You don’t actually believe him, do you? That there’s some forest and trees can give you immortality…”

“Immortality? Why would I want immortality? I don’t want that. I just want…something. Metal, glass, and wire, metal, glass, and wire, over and over. That’s all we have. Recycled air and water every day. I don’t want to see something built and re-built all the time. I want to see something grow!”

“But what’s the point? Even if there is an edge, even if there is a forest, what’s the point? We’ve got everything we need. Who cares if it’s recycled?”

“A tree is something that goes on forever. Something that would outlive us. Something that could outlive the city. Can you even imagine seeing so many of them together? Or putting your hands on one. Would it remember you forever? Isn’t that the closest you can get to immortality? A legacy?”

“Trees! Stick to the city, Maggie. It’s the only place you’ll ever go.”

“Love, I’m not asking you to come with me. Just believe in me. And if you can’t do that, then just kiss me goodbye. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 12: Alley Cat Blues

Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. More notes at the end of the story.

The dame was all legs. She stood at the threshold of my office, trying to paw her way in. She glanced over at my one blue eye. “Good thing I need a private eye, not a private eyes.” 

I felt a growl rise in the back of my throat, but I shut it down. She was a fierce one, and if I made the wrong move, she’d be ready to pounce.  “I’m a good sight better than anyone else you’ve been hounding.” 

“I’m sure you’ve heard about the incident at the spring factory,” she purred. 

“Of course.” It didn’t look like much, but the spring factory had been a popular joint for plenty of cats in town. One of its walls being destroyed had been big news. 

“I happen to be part owner, and I want to get to the bottom of what actually happened. My co-owner is ready to take the money and run, but I think something…more sinister has happened to my beloved factory.” She looked down at her manicured nails. “And if he does…he’ll see that this kitty has claws.” 

“Sounds like he needs a good lickin’.” I was intrigued by the job, and the dame. I wouldn’t mind sharing a bed with her. “I’ll take the job.” 

“Aww, the cats are playing nicely together for a change. They are obsessed with those springs.” 

“Yeah, too bad Stormy destroyed part of the spring factory. He chewed off one of the flaps on the box.” 

Surprise! It was about cats all along!

I decided not to do the collab genre mash-up challenge today, but did go for my suggested genre: noir!

“The spring factory” is what we call a cardboard box with plastic springs in the flaps for the cats to play with.

Your dame and detective:

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 11: OPERATION HIVEBREAKER

Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July.

OPERATION HIVEBREAKER

BACKGROUND: 

Planet 347-cΦ is a Goldilocks-type planet in the Steorro System. Its sole intelligent inhabitants are the insectoid species Apidaar. Apidaar are divided into two sexes, male and female. Strict sex roles are maintained in their species. Males are scouts, and females are warriors. Apidaar do not possess interplanetary technology, including interplanetary weaponry. 

All Apidaar respond to a colony queen. The queen controls her subjects through a combination of pheromones and psionics. There are three (3) major colonies active on Planet 347-cΦ at the time of writing.

Planet 347-cΦ has a high mineral yield of anti-rhodonite that has not been accessed by the Apidaar. Its old growth forests have large amounts of lightning wood trees. Both materials are rare and have many industrial uses, including fabricating interstellar ships. 

RECOMMENDED ACTIONS:

Deploy oxygen bombs in the upper atmosphere of Planet 347-cΦ, centered on the three Apidaar colonies. These will disrupt the biological functions of the Apidaar. Once inside the colony, a team of constructs will deploy cyfluthrin gas to destroy the queen, queensguard, and breeding males. One royal larva will be taken from each colony. 

RISKS:

Equipment failure – if the oxygen bombs do not deploy correctly, a ground fight will be difficult to win, even with conventional weaponry.

Retaliation – Any surviving queen may choose to retaliate against the Planetary Collective.

Public Perception – Attacking Planet 347-cΦ unprovoked may be viewed as an act of aggressive imperialism, which will result in bad publicity and lack of support.

From the Director of the Office of Material Resources: 

Planet 347-cΦ is not a member of the Planetary Collective so we don’t need to worry about the legalities of attacking it. There’s a Collective diplomat and a couple anthropologists on the planet now. Kill them, blame it on the Apidaar, we’ll get this rolling. 

-MRD, approved 2XXX – 08 – 36

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 10: Urbn Xplorerzz

Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. Warning for strong language. More notes at the end of the story.

Makeup, lights, Evan in place, let’s do this. 

“Yo yo yo, what up squad fam it’s ya boi, Candlefüt and today we are splorin’ this crazy gh-gh-gh-ost town!!”

Perfect spot for airhorn sirens. Can’t wait to see some of the graphics for this. 

“Old Goose Meadow was a gold mining town waaaay back in the day.” 

Was it gold? Or was it zinc? Don’t remember. Whatever, everyone knows what gold is. The fuck even is zinc? 

“There was a huge-ass mine collapse and tons of miners died. The bodies were never brought to the surface, so the mine became their grave.”

Isn’t there more zinc in pennies than copper now? Something like that? Whatever, I’ll look it up later. Here’s the entrance. 

“BUT the mining didn’t stop, yo. Me and my team found an open shaft that might even lead us to their mass grave.” 

Give them the look, insert boom sound effect here, add some spooky music and effects. Damn, this place is darker than I thought. Who was in charge of setting up the lights? ‘Cause they didn’t do jack shit!

“Okay, I only got my flashlight. I’ll probably lose signal once I’m underground. And I’ll be truly, truly alone. I got a GPS tracker so hopefully if something goes wrong my team can–what was that?”

What the fuck? Evan knows his cue, and this isn’t it. You start slow, then he builds up with the noises and shit, then the big reveal. He’s way too early. 

“Ha, ha, nothing at all. Hope it’s not the mine collapsing. Let’s keep going further in and–dude, check this shit out!” 

This was not part of the plan, but this is sweet af. Actual miner graffiti? Hellz yeah. 

“Someone would’ve gotten in big shit back in the day for saying something like this about the company. So probably he wrote it here to–”

Fuck, fuck, did something just run past me? How? Shit, dude. Calm down, calm down, it’s just Evan.

“Oh damn, the slope’s getting steeper. We’re seeing the last of daylight behind us and damn, the smell, yo, I wish you could smell this. I don’t know what gold smells like, but I don’t think it smells like this. It’s like…bad man. Rancid.”

Team didn’t warn me about this! 

Was this a bad idea?

“You hear that? All that echo? Can you imagine how loud it must have been when there were dozens of dudes here, swinging pick axes and shit? And–holy shit!”

Don’t panic, it’s just Evan doing his thing. Only Evan. 

“Now we’re into one of the big chambers, where the miners woulda–Did you see that?!”

Just Evan. Don’t let it get to you. Just–

It’s coming towards me. Evan’s supposed to stay off-screen. It’s cool, it’s all

Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

“Evan, bro, don’t–”

THAT ISN’T EVAN HOLY SHIT FUCK I’M ABOUT TO DIE I’M COOKED I’M

Today’s Challenge: Scary Stream!

Element 1: Write a story in stream of consciousness.

Element 2: Make it a horror-genre story.

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 9: You Gotta Love What You Do

Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July.

The key to avoiding burnout when you’re working for a non-profit is to find your Thing. You need something in your life that has nothing to do with your job. You don’t bring your Thing into work, work doesn’t come into your Thing. And for non-profit people like us, that can be a really hard thing to find. We’re so passionate about what we do that when we find something that’s just for us we want to share it. 

But take my friend Ty, for example. Works for the Down Syndrome Institute. Loves the people he serves, but the job can wear you down pretty damn fast. He was on the verge of quitting after a rough few months, but he stuck it out. He and his friend Joe started a podcast where they review potato chips. That’s it, that’s the whole show. It’s twenty minutes long, they have a couple hundred listeners, but it’s fun for them and keeps Ty sane and working. 

Or Nat, who’s the assistant director at the Lanceville Women’s Shelter. Talk about a tough job. She’s always loved theatre, though, so she decided to make that her Thing. She builds sets for community theatre groups. Gets to be creative, use her hands, and she really likes not being in charge.

Me? I work for a hospice center. Comforting families, helping ease people’s pain and letting them die peacefully. It’s the hardest job I’ve ever done. It’s also the most important. Because during the hardest moments of someone’s life, I bring them comfort. 

So this is my Thing. Right here. You, and me. Stop squirming. Those knots aren’t coming untied.

Crying won’t help you. I hear it enough.  

There won’t be any comfort here.

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 8: Queen of Nothing

Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. More notes at the end of the story.

You don’t usually get a choice of where to go when you’re exiled. You just leave in a hurry. Maybe I’m lucky in that regard. I could choose Dublin, or Niagara Falls. Two very different places, but both easily within the queens’ reaches, and filled with their allies.

I chose Niagara Falls. It remains a place of power, despite humans’ many attempts to tame it. It wasn’t the magic alone that made me choose it. I wanted to see the place my antín and her human fell in love, touch the wild waters that had saved her life.

Mamó should have let Antín Fiadh and her human stay here. If she had, my mother would be on the throne now, instead of in a grave. 

My first friends were the crows. I would sit by the water and toss them bread, hoping that one of them might be the Morrigan. I had a quixotic dream that the war goddess would find me and bring me home, raining fire and destruction down on the usurpers. She never came, of course. The gods rarely took sides in Otherworld conflicts anymore; one of them coming to the mortal realm was unthinkable. 

Crows possess many admirable traits. They’re intelligent, grateful, and vindictive. That makes for an excellent friendship. They brought me gifts – shiny tin foil, lost toys, even money on occasion. But their greatest gift to me was a path forward. 

It came to me in the shape of a young man, not human, but not Fae, either. The birds didn’t scatter when he approached, but flew to my shoulders and the bench. Staying close to me.

“Hi. I’ve seen you here a lot. I thought I’d introduce myself.” He waved. “I’m Paul.”

I wasn’t afraid, but I was cautious. “You’ve noticed me?” 

“I thought you might be…” he lowered his voice. “One of us?”

His glamour was weak. He looked human enough, but I could see the shimmer of a tufted tail he wasn’t entirely able to hide. I silently debated what I would tell him. If he was one of Antín Fiadh’s spies, he was doing a poor job of it. 

“Who’s ‘us’?” I asked. 

“You know…Gestalts. Us.” 

Gestalts – people with a mix of human and Fae blood. There were few in Tír na nÓg. The only two I knew of were Antín Fiadh’s children. That alone might have made me distrustful of Paul, but my loneliness was stronger than my caution. I hadn’t just lost my family. I’d lost my entire world. 

“You’re right,” I told him. “I am like you.” I didn’t give him my true name. Even in the mortal realm, names have power. Instead, I took inspiration from my avian friends. “Call me Korbyn.” 

We started meeting regularly, and soon Paul introduced me to his other Gestalt friends. “There’s a lot of people like us around. You just have to know where to look,” he told me. 

Things started to get easier. I still wept for my mother, meeting others with Fae blood eased my inner turmoil somewhat. I wasn’t happy, exactly, but I was finding my place, and there was comfort with my new friends. I started thinking that I might be able to make a life for myself in this world. I wouldn’t forget who I was or where I came from, but maybe I could make a future here. 

Until the day I saw them. Princess Gráinne and her younger brother, Alexander, walking through the park with their cousin-by-friendship. They were all laughing. They didn’t even notice me when they walked by. 

I felt the injustice of it all hit like a physical blow. The princess and prince still had their family. They could go between worlds anytime they chose. I had lost all of that because of who my mother was. 

I watched the prince as he passed by, and a realization struck me. I’d always thought that I had not been executed alongside my mother out of mercy. I was still young, and had no hand in her rebellion. But now, I understood the truth. 

The queens had no spare. 

Gráinne would be in line for the throne after her parents, but inheritance was strictly matrilineal. Alexander would never be king in his own right. If something happened to Gráinne…

The crown would fall to me. 

But how? How could I make it happen? 

The answer came to me the next night, when I was at a party with my friends. I was hardly in a festive mood, but I went anyway. As the night went on, Paul and I ended up next to each other on the couch. He’d drank too much, a plastic cup still in his hand. “Korbyn,” He mumbled, and rested his head on my shoulder. “Why do you feel like home?” 

I threaded my fingers through his wheat-colored hair. “Have you ever been to the Otherworld?” 

“You can’t get there from here,” he slurred. “I want to go. Everyone wants to go.” He looked up at me with glassy eyes. “How can you be homesick for a place you’ve never been?”

“I might know a way,” I said. “But it would take work. A lot of work.”

Paul tried to straighten up to show he was serious. “I can do the work.”

A slow smile uncurled across my face. Paul would be my first. There would be many, many others. 

Today’s challenge: bring forth the dice!

Element 1: Write a story centered around royalty.

Element 2: Roll a six-sided die. Can’t roll a physical one due to your location and/or lack of immediate access to one? No need to worry; we have digital dice too. The number you roll determines your protagonist’s station in the royal family as per the following list:

  • 1-2: The ruling monarch (e.g. king or queen)
  • 3-4: The heir to the throne (e.g. crown prince or crown princess)
  • 5-6: The heir next in line for the throne after the above heir (e.g. the lastborn child of the ruling monarch)

I rolled a 6, so the heir next in line after the previous heir. The royalty aspect of the story was easy to figure out, since the novel I’m working on is about a royal family. Yup, Gráinne’s and Alexander’s parents are Fiadh and Mairead! Korbyn (real name withheld for Fae reasons) is Fiadh’s niece and would be next in line for the throne of something terrible happens to Gráinne.

Korbyn would like to be that terrible thing.

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 7: Questions on the Roof


Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. More notes at the end of the story.

“Where have you been lately?” Violet asked. She and Dain were at their usual place, the rooftop of a closed tailor shop. It wasn’t uncommon to see people on rooftops, given that almost every Sylph had the ability to fly. 

“Working,” he replied with a shrug. 

“Uh-huh.” Violet cocked her head. “For who? Because I know it ain’t for Jax anymore.” 

“For myself.” 

Violet crossed her arms. “Really? After all we’ve gone through, you’re gonna lie to me now?” She pulled a slightly crumpled joint out of her pocket and stuck it between her lips. 

“Yep.” A tiny smile came over Dain’s face. Irritated seemed to be Violet’s default state. It was always fun to add to it. “I’m taking a break. I’ll get back to it soon.”

Violet’s dark eyes widened. “Shit, Dain. Someone’s got something on you.”

“No one’s got anything on me,” Dain snapped back, though the blue-gray feathers on his wings started to fluff up. “It’s just something I have to do.”

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you,” Violet huffed, then stood up. “I’m off. Can’t risk being seen with you.”

Dain started after her. “Relax. It’s not like that, okay?” He couldn’t have his oldest friend leave him now. And especially couldn’t have her talking to his old crew that he was on someone else’s payroll. Jax might have tolerated Dain going solo for a time, but if he knew the truth, Dain was dead where he stood. 

“Then what is it like?” Violet propped her hand on her hip. Her sparrow wings were already spread, ready to take off. 

I’m working with the cops was the worst thing that Dain could say, but the partial truth he went with wasn’t that much better. “It’s a girl.”

That might have appeased anyone else, but he and Violet had done a little more than fly and smoke together multiple times in the past. No attachment beyond friendship, they’d said. But there were times when both of them hadn’t been good about following that rule. 

Violet folded her wings. “What’s her name?”

“It’s no one you know,” Dain replied. 

“Is she pretty?” Violet asked, walking back towards Dain. 

“Why do you want to know?” He frowned. 

“Just wondering who’s good looking enough to make you give up your livelihood.” 

She wasn’t jealous, Dain realized. Or, if she was, it was taking a backseat to Violet’s curiosity. She was still searching for information. “She’s pretty, she drives me crazy, I’m taking a break because it would be best for both of us. Happy?” 

“No.” Violet went back to the edge of the roof. “You’re throwing away everything for a girl? We’ve both done stupid things, but that might be the dumbest one I’ve ever heard.” 

Violet turned away before Dain could get a proper look at her face, but he heard it in her voice. “You’ve got talent, talent that people would kill for.”

“Oh, they’ve tried,” Dain said. 

“But a pair of big blue eyes comes along and–”

“They’re yellow.” The words were out before he could stop himself.

Violet spun on her heels. “She’s real?” 

Dain’s heart fluttered in his chest. Cordelia was very real. And her eyes were big. 

And she did, in fact, make him crazy. Not in the puppy love kind of way, but in an infuriating, self-righteous kind of way. Like how she just knew what he’d been through, and how he should have chosen another path. 

But she had listened when he set the record straight. And apologized. Cops didn’t apologize for anything, but she did.

It didn’t change the fact that she was always pushing him to do what she wanted, and she didn’t tolerate any bullshit from him and…

…and he kind of liked that he challenged her. 

But Dain especially couldn’t stand how she acted so tough with her magic powers and all, but was afraid of flying in open air. So he held her hand when they flew long distance sometimes, and it was nice that he could help her. 

“She’s not just real,” Violet said, her jaw dropping open slightly. “You’re in love.” 

“I’m not in love,” Dain shot back. 

“Now you’re lying to me.” Violet smirked. 

“Absolutely not. She’s pretty, sure, but she’s infuriating and she cares about everything so much and…”

And they did kiss once. Just once. But it was after the fire and their adrenaline was pumping and it was making them do crazy things. 

It had been a very good kiss, though. 

“There it is.”  Violet grinned as the realization washed over Dain’s face. 

Dain forced his expression into a grimace. “Get outta here.” 

Yes, he was in love with Cordelia. But that didn’t mean he was happy about it.

Today’s story was inspired by this prompt from bunnythewriter: Yes I’m in love with her, but I’m not HAPPY about it! 

See, Mom, I can write straight romance, too!

Dain and Cordelia are characters from a novel I’m taking a break on (read: it’s such a mess I can’t bear to look at). As you might have guessed, they have something of a rivalmance. Dain also made an appearance in my 2023 FFM.

I would really love to finish their story one day, but it needs a serious overhaul.