How do people choose so easily when there are so many options? If I was forced to choose, it would probably come easier to me, but it would have to be severe force, not some bet or another. A gun to my head for example. Yes, I think that would make my overthinking brain focus more closely.
“It’s not that difficult, Sherlock. Black or white? Choose. Now! We do have an appointment remember?”
I stare at the items in John’s hands – two dinner jackets. One black, the other white; or cream-coloured to be correct.
“Whichever you like, John. You look handsome in both,” I tell him.
John sighs exasperated.
“But it’s the opera, Sherlock. I’ve never been and I’m going with the most gorgeous man on earth. That is you, by the way. And I don’t want to embarrass you by not being properly dressed. I’d like to suit and fit beside you.”
I give up, then. This needs to stop. Right now. I can’t bear the thought of John belittling himself like he just did.
“You fit and suit me with whatever you wear, John. Take the cream one then. You will be the yin to my yang, since I am wearing black.”
I bend down to kiss him softly. His eyes shine as if they were illuminated from within.
“You are so beautiful,” I whisper against his lips.
This makes him blush, and as always, he is about to protest; telling me that I am the beautiful one, so I kiss him again to stop whatever nonsense he is about to utter.
***
“Fatigues or uniform?” John asks one evening after he has watched some film with a military theme. I have been luxuriating in lying in his lap, only paying attention to his fingers carding through my hair.
However, the question is rather intriguing. I ponder for a moment, arranging myself in my normal thinking position.
“Am I forced to choose, or can I say both?” I inquire.
“No force, Sherlock. That said, I would love to hear your thoughts on the matter,” John admits.
“Good. You know how much I loathe to be forced in these matters.”
I look up at him and the smile he gives me, warms me to the core.
“A uniform, with all the insignias, medals, sharply pressed trousers, polished shoes, and the hat makes me want to straighten my back, to be alerted and to pay respect to the person wearing it. It is all very formal, but I am not averse to it. The fatigues…well, they have a totally different effect on me. There are no sharp edges, but softness from the well-worn clothing, which should be a stark contrast to the rough boots but for some reason they are not. The beret is the cherry on top, of course. I am helpless at the sight of men in fatigues; you in particular.”
“Is that so?” John says teasingly, but I discern a hoarseness to his voice.
“It is…soldier,” I reply seductively.
***
Some choices are easy to make – tiramisu or chocolate mousse for instance. The former wins by a landslide. Always. Whichever the other option is I will always choose tiramisu. It must be properly made, of course. Light as a feather with no hints of the coffee-soaked lady fingers.
“Thinking about pudding again, my love?” John asks teasingly. “You’re drooling a little.”
I huff and realise to my horror that I do in fact drool.
“Perhaps I was thinking about you in fatigues,” I say, trying to keep up appearances.
“No way! You don’t do that when you think of me.”
“How do you know that?” I ask affronted.
“Because I know you, and you blush when you think of me in that context,” he murmurs, squeezing my arse for emphasis.
My thoughts are instantly wandering to John wearing his army boots, fatigues, and beret.
“Now you are thinking about me,” John whispers and pulls me closer to suck at my neck.
“Damn you, John Watson,” I whimper, which elicits a wicked laugh from him.
***
“Autumn or spring?”
“Jooohn,” I complain. “You can’t force me to choose between seasons. They both have their unique qualities. It would be unfair to prefer one to the other.”
“But we must choose, my darling,” John singsongs. “We are getting married, and a date needs to be set for that to happen.”
Married. I am getting married. To John Hamish Watson.
“Why don’t you choose,” I say. “I am fine with either. The important thing is that we get married.”
“True, but I want us to choose together. Indulge me? Tell me what you like about the two at least,” he begs.
“It’s indecent when your eyes are like that,” I pout.
“Like what? Blue?”
“Pleading,” I elaborate.
He laughs and kisses my forehead, patiently waiting for me to indulge him.
“Alright, then, fiancé of mine. Spring: the season where everything comes to life again – leaves, flowers, grass, birds reappearing from the African continent. It is rather saccharine, isn’t it. Pastel-coloured in some ways. Hm…I have never thought of that.”
I let that idea settle in my Mind Palace before I continue.
“Autumn: the season where everything dies – but the death can be quite alluring. The leaves for instance and their radiant colours of yellow, orange, and red; quite striking. Sharp air, clear sky, the promise of cosy evenings by the fire or under a blanket. Yes, I think I prefer autumn in this case.”
“And they say I am the poet,” John mutters under his breath.
“Come here, my grumpy hedgehog,” I beckon, which sends the Union Jack cushion flying straight at me with impressing speed.
written for a @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt, 'forced to choose'
BotW characters, modern!au setting, don’t think about it too hard - the idea was just unworkable in a more canon setting.
vague pretensions towards Revalink; content warning for implied alcohol/drug use. Dialogue heavy.
(about 1,090 words, I think?)
—
A sly look crept onto Purah's face. "Mipha."
Revali bristled. "We agreed not to mention any names in this room."
"You agreed," Purah said. "I didn't. Now, 'fess up."
He glanced at Mipha; she was shaking her head, a glint of amusement in her eyes. "It was nice knowing you all," she said, softly, and gave him an indulgently forgiving smile.
He definitely couldn't kill Mipha. "I abstain."
"Not allowed," Purah sing-songed back.
"It's the rules," Zelda piped up from the corner of the room, still sounding half asleep. She didn't look nearly so prim and princess-y with her hair tumbled around her in heavy snarls and her feet propped up against the wall. Hopefully she'd missed the part when Revali had needed to consider his chances against her stepmother. "You have to - hic - choose."
The party had already been dying down for a while by this point; they were among the last left, along with Zelda, who barely counted (she'd been asleep for the last hour), and a gaggle of Impa's friends, who'd retreated with her into her room to discuss musty matters of philosophy, or whatever it was that provoked such a buzz of debate behind closed doors. (Robbie, Purah's flatmate, academic rival, and "worst friend/best enemy", had likewise disappeared, though for a different kind of conference.)
They ought to be dragged out here and face the same indignity, Revali thought, still searching for a loophole that wasn't forthcoming. He would be forced to choose, one way or another.
"Tch." There was only one option. "Marry," he said, leaving just enough of a pause to take in their looks of shock, before continuing, "because spouses can't be compelled to testify against each other in a court of law, and we'll both be in need of the alibi."
Purah threw her head back and cackled. "True to form, you can't give up on the murder."
As if she was one to talk: "Robbie," he shot back.
"Killing." A curl of smoke drifted towards the ceiling. "Definitely killing."
"You've killed half of campus between you," Zelda pointed out. "Is anyone still alive?"
She said it like Revali was responsible, when the whole thing started because Purah just happened to be bored and this was less destructive than letting her build fully-functioning catapults out of the communal toaster. The catapults were works of art. The toasters were never the same again.
"Oh! I've got one for you, Zel..."
Outside, a roaring in the alley died down to a grumbling purr. Revali tilted his head towards the sound, trying to determine whether it was -- but it couldn't be. That guy had been given the night off from princessly bodyguarding duties.
"...Wouldn't have expected that from you!"
Whatever he'd missed, a glance at Zelda's burning-red face confirmed he ought to be glad not to have heard it.
"Maybe we should finish this now," Mipha suggested, the voice of reason -- or perhaps the voice of not wanting to be the one sober enough to hold anyone's hair (or feathers) back in the morning. But speaking up only brought attention her way.
"You've been quiet, Mi- Aren't you curious at all?"
Purah took up Zelda's line of attack: "Nobody's psyche you want to peer into?"
"Not really," said Mipha, too hesitantly for her own good; Purah continued to prod until she could only do her best to put her foot down.
"Last one," she said.
"Make sure to choose wisely~."
Revali and Mipha glanced at each other. Don't ask me, he thought, only for Mipha to say, "Revali-"
He glared. Mipha mouthed an apology.
Then ask Purah - Revali tried to signal it with his line of sight. 'Killing' Purah would be one way to end the game for good; they'd be within their rights to ignore the protestations of the so-recently deceased.
"Fuck, marry, or kill - um, let's see..."
Nobody had locked the door. A rush of cold air swept inside, trailing frosty fingers down the back of Revali's neck, and Mipha looked up in surprise. "Link?"
"Fuck!" Revali swore, lunging for the low table where Purah's stash of 'herb' was in full view; that guy was so straight-laced and boring that the only time Revali had ever seen an expression on his face was when Purah pulled it out in public. Then the realisation of what he'd said slammed into him.
Ignore that.
Zelda tried to sit upright, an inelegant manoeuvre given her previous contortions. "Link! What are you doing here?"
Silently, he pointed at the clock they'd deliberately forgotten to consult at any point, then held out a small object that should have been in Zelda's bag...
"Oh." It was Zelda's phone. "Oh, no - Urbosa's going to kill me - "
Link tossed it her way. His eyes scanned the room and settled on Revali; a frown was in them.
"Revali," Purah said loudly, "what did you just say?"
Mipha clapped her hands together, bracelets rattling. "That's it, game over!" To Revali she mouthed, Really?
"Nooooo," Purah said, "we need to know more about this. Confession of the century. Revali, you want to do what - "
"Pluck off," he snapped.
"That wasn't what you said before."
Making another valiant effort to maintain order, Mipha said, "We agreed this would stay in this room. Even you voted for that rule."
"Linky's in the room," Purah pointed out unhelpfully.
Revali made a grab for his scarf. "I'm leaving," he said, then left, though it was too late for a bus and too dark to fly and his legs never liked to cooperate after a drink.
Link caught up to him before the end of the street, jangling keys in a question.
"No," Revali said. "Absolutely not." He didn't know how much Link had heard, or pieced together. "There is no way -"
--
Revali didn't talk for the rest of the trip. The rush of air from a motorbike wasn't too dissimilar from the wind in his braids during flight. He told himself, firmly, that that was the only enjoyment to be found in this.
It wasn't long before they pulled up outside Revali's place.
Gratitude. Remember gratitude. "Thanks, I guess," he tried, though Link said nothing back, of course.
This was too awkward to bear. Revali turned his back on him and rummaged for a key.
"About before," Link said abruptly, steps clanking away down the metal steps - "Maybe when you're sober."
Revali froze. Before he could confront Link, Epona's engine growled back to life. He could only watch the red light sink into the darkness.
“Zolt, I’m forcing you to choose,” Kya ground out in exasperation. “Are we going to Ice Floe or Underground? I’m hungry, and you’ve had your head in that fuse box all afternoon. Just come back tomorrow and finish.”
Zolt straightened and looked over his shoulder. Kya was frowning at him, her arms crossed and hip tilted to match the unamused smirk on her face.
He winked at her and laughed when she rolled her eyes. “Ok, ok. Give me a minute to pack up and wash my hands. Got a hot date tonight?”
Her snort caught his attention, and he frowned as she turned away to grab her bag. He closed the fuse box and put away his tools quickly, trying to remember which restaurant had the bar she liked better.
Underground has that one bartender she likes to ogle. Maybe a little eye candy will help her feel better.
He shrugged on his jacket. She might like the cold weather, but he sure didn’t.
“Underground. Just around the corner. You can pay for this service call with just a couple of drinks.”
Her laugh was so surprised, he had to smile.
“Besides, I got dinner last week.”
Her playful shove against his shoulder pushed him enough to get the door open, and with a turn of her key, they were off.
The wind was light, and the snow was, too. Kya snaked her hand into his elbow. They spent the whole walk over scanning the pedestrians in the far side of the street, trying to find the woman that the other would find most attractive. One woman’s topknot was so tall it was covered in snow. Another was wearing heels that exposed most of her feet to the elements.
They reveled in the game of it, laughing and jostling each other the whole way.
Once at the bar, they greeted the bouncer and shrugged off their coats. A quick peek in the dining room showed a busy night, and they were forced to choose between the table by the bathroom or the last two seats at the bar.
With a shrug, they finagled their way over to the bar.
“I hope Limeng is here tonight,” Kya commented. “I could use a nice stiff…”
When she choked on her words, Zolt turned to follow her line of sight.
At the far end of the bar sat a striking woman in a green suit, whose shoulder-length, steel-grey hair caught all the colors of light from above the bar. She held her shot out in front of herself, staring at it like it held all the secrets of life.
Abruptly, she downed the drink and knocked the glass down on the bar.
Limeng looked up from her current customer, nodded, and refilled the glass.
Zolt heard Kya swallow hard.
“I’m going to… fresh…”
And she was gone.
He looked back at the woman in green, and realized: Yuyan! That’s the one. A little older, strong, confident. Just Kya’s type.
Limeng wiped her way over to where Zolt sat, making note of the empty chair.
“I saw Kya, didn’t I?”
“Yeah. Listen. When she gets back, give that lady in the green the best shot of whatever she’s drinking and tell her Kya sent it. She had a bad day, and I think her last date didn’t go so good.” He glanced over his shoulder to see his friend returning. They exchanged a wave, and he turned back to Limeng. “And our usual, please.”
He snorted when he saw she was already pouring for the two of them. He slid off his stool as Kya took back her own seat, and headed off to the washroom.
Except he passed it by and stepped back outside into the early evening darkness. The snow was heavier, and the chill deeper. He stomped his feet and blew into his hands.
Under the dim light in the alley, he hoped he was giving Kya enough time to strike up a conversation with that woman. She rarely reacted so strongly to just looking at a woman.
But, spirits, did that woman light a spark in him, too. One glimpse, and he felt like he could hear her voice. He just knew her hands were rough, that she had the kind of gentleness that came from controlled strength. That suit looked so clean-cut, all the way across the room.
He stomped again, not enjoying the cold as much as Kya did. The breeze shifted, landing a clump of snowflakes in his face. That was enough to send him back inside.
He approached the spot the mystery woman had occupied when they spotted her, but she wasn’t still there. He glanced down the length of the bar, and sure enough, Kya was bent forward, twirling a finger around the rim of her drink.
He smirked to himself.
He wouldn’t be dropping her off at her place tonight. At least he could go say hello, and make sure this mystery woman knew someone would check on Kya in the morning.
And then Kya turned, spotted him, and waved at him to hurry up and get back.
As he slid up behind her, he leaned on her shoulder with an elbow. “I promise I won’t call your place before lunch. Want to meet at Peaceful Garden? Table for three?”
The woman twisted in place, picked up a drink and took a sip. “Thank you for the drink.” She paused, twisting the glass in her fingertips.
“I’m not sure what to think when two people I thought were together each send me a drink, saying it’s from the other one.”
Slowly, she drained the shot, looking from Zolt to Kya and back.
His breath caught.
Zolt looked at Kya, who was just as surprised.
“You both seem nice. Don’t tell me I’m forced to choose between you.”
Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial
Wc: 890
Fandom: Secret Life SMP
Characters: Gem, Pearl, (minor Scar appearance)
Ao3: Here!
It's the end of the game, time is running out, and Gem tries to reason with Pearl for why they should stick together against Scar.
It all goes wrong.
Warning for blood and canon MCD.
Swords clashed together in a flurry. Gem’s hands gripped the hilt until her palms hurt. Pearl was relentless with her attacks, eyes darkened. Despite looking into each other’s eyes, Gem couldn’t find her in there.
“Come on Pearl,” she tried again, striking a nervous grin as she blocked the next attack. “You don’t want to do this, right? We’ve-” she heaved as Pearl swung her sword from an unexpected angle. She barely had time to block it. “Pearl. You don’t have to do this. We can end it together!”
Pearl’s eyes widened in surprise for a split second. Gem tried to hope the message had reached her, that she’d finally come to her senses, but her expression only soured.
“We can’t. It’s not possible to win together.”
She clearly struck a chord she didn’t mean to. Gem gentled her voice. “Pearl…”
She shook her head, hair in disarray from even before starting the fight. Her eyes were still red and swollen, clear tracks under them.
“I…” she stopped and looked back. “Your team killed my Mounders, Gem. They were meant to win.”
Scott’s face flashed in Gem’s mind. An offering smile as he knelt down in front of her, chest wide open. A cough and the trickling of blood down his mouth as her sword plunged through his ribs. Her own regretful cry. He had offered his life to her so she had a chance of winning.
She couldn’t put his sacrifice to waste.
“You’re really doing this, aren’t you?” She tried, knowing it could be for the last time. Their swords were connected, but with no force behind them. She knew that would soon change. Gem gripped the hilt in preparation. “There’s still time. We… we can turn on Scar together, what do you say?”
“I promised,” her voice broke and her shoulders deflated. Her sword broke contact, but the fight wasn’t over yet.
“We’ve both made promises we can’t keep, surely! That’s what everyone’s been doing this whole time!” Desperate times, desperate measures. Gem’s face hardened and so did her voice. “They’re all dead, Pearl. There’s no promise to keep anymore. It’s just us.”
Pearl let out a cry and threw her sword with a vengeance. Gem broke the attack and stumbled back.
“Pearl!”
“There’s Scar.”
“Uh-huh! And I’m telling you to kill him! Why are you siding with him all of a sudden!”
Pearl swung again, this time clipping her shoulder. Gem winced.
“He may not be a Mounder by chance–” Pearl started.
She swung again — Gem tried to block, but her exhaustion slowed her down. Pearl struck the side of her ribcage, forcing the air out of her lungs. Metal built up in her mouth for a silent moment, but she wasn’t giving up. With a burning pain, she swallowed the iron back down and leapt upwards to strike from above, even as her abdomen stung in protest.
“But when it came down to it…” Pearl striked her mid-descent with her arm and sent her tumbling to the ground. “He joined us in battle.”
The impact sent shockwaves through her, even with the grass as cushion. With barely any energy left, she propped herself up with her forearms, one leg also bending as if preparing to stand up.
The point of Pearl’s sword gleamed inches away from her chest.
Gem couldn’t believe her words, her actions. The more she spoke, the less sense she made. Though that was perhaps just her lack of air.
Despite her difficulty breathing, she couldn’t leave it there. “We did what we had to do!” her voice broke and she coughed. “I couldn’t leave my teammates alone then!”
“And I can’t leave my teammate alone now!” She shouted, then her voice got quieter. “Even… even if he’s provisional.”
Pearl stopped at her own words and lost her gaze in the grass, sword falling to her side. Gem couldn’t help but feel hope — hope that Pearl had finally snapped out of it, that she finally realized how unreasonable she was being and they could finally team together against Scar.
When their eyes met again and Pearl calmly took a step back, Gem’s chest warmed and a smile tugged at the corners of her heaving mouth. It was happening. Her eyes started to burn.
And a familiar hooded figure came from behind her, taking Pearl’s place. All traces of hope and amiability drained from Gem’s face and heart, replaced by ire.
“Oh, I see how it is.” She bared her teeth. “Two v one, huh, Pearl?” She pointedly drove her eyes into hers, but Pearl was looking away. Even from afar, her grimace told Gem all that she needed to know.
That didn’t change her final decision, though.
She let out a bitter laugh, even as blood started spraying into her shirt. Looking down at the new sword against her chest, she took a final deep breath and shot her gaze upwards.
Scar’s face was covered in darkness against the sun and under his hood. But despite that, Gem met his empty, uncaring, eyes.
With the most contempt she could muster, she hissed through her teeth.
“You guys are gross.”
Scar’s sword plunged into her ribcage and she choked one last time. Her grimace was stained red and she found no trace of regret on Scar’s face as her vision started to fade.
I always think "yeah I'll do that this week" then I forget to check for the prompt until it's the middle of the week. We'll pretend this was for this week's @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt and we'll pretend I was on time.
Yeah.
----
Mary had only just gone down to the docking bay, to investigate who had come - unnanounced - back to earth from orbit, so the sound of Treehawk already leaving again took her by surprise.
And so did the shuttle's former passenger. Not even one human. Just-
"Oh! Owun?" Mary watched as the zeroid rolled quietly past, all on his own. "What are you doing down here?"
"Lieutenant Hiro doesn't want me any more," the little robot explained, not stopping, not looking back at her. "So I'm redeploying myself. Earth sucks, but… needs must. Guess I'll just have to get used to it, huh."
She followed him into an office and watched as he hopped up onto an unoccupied perch. He still didn't look at her. "I'm sure you don't mean that," she said. "I don't believe Hiro would ever ask you to leave."
"Maybe, once upon a time." He wiggled from side to side, like a small bird trying to get comfortable. "But he has a new best friend, now, so things are different. One who isn't just made of blinking lights and circuit boards, either. We don't-… didn't precisely get on."
Mary pulled up her chair and sat nearby. "Nobody ever said you both have to have all the same friends, all the time. That's just human nature. I don't imagine Hiro would ever ask you to leave over someth-"
"He shouted at me, Mary," Owun interrupted. "Hiro never shouts, and I made him shout at me." He finally looked up at her. "He told me my behaviour was appalling. That I needed to stop acting out. To, to… remember my place. Stop upsetting everyone." He replayed the words in the human's voice; "Jealousy is most unbecoming of you, One-oh-one."
He sounded so unnaturally soft. Like someone who had cried so much already, they were exhausted, and didn't have any tears left in them. Mary shuffled her chair closer so she could touch him, and he leaned into her palm, heavy and heartbroken.
"You know he's always encouraged us to stretch our capabilities, and make decisions, captain Falconer," he said, faintly. "I decided I wanted Hiro to be happy more than I wanted him to be mine. If that meant leaving, well. It wasn't a hard decision to make."
----
My favourite little round boy being a hopeless little wet blanket.
No idea what the context is here, apart from "what would 101's 'Room 101' be", and of course it would be being rejected in favour of a human. There's no doubt a load of Zelda-related trickery going on behind the scenes but eh. Who needs plot anyway.
