#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 427

Welcome back to the home of Weird, Wild, & Wicked Tales. Today is Thursday and that means it’s time to start flashing. We’re at the beginning of our ninth year of weekly prompts. It’s amazing we’ve gone this long! This is Week 427 of #ThursThreads, the challenge that ties tales together. Want to keep up each week? Check out the #ThursThreads #flashfiction group on Facebook and the Group on MeWe.

Need the rules? Read on.

Here’s how it works:

  • The prompt is a line from the previous week’s winning tale.
  • The prompt can appear ANYWHERE in your story and is included in your word count.
  • The prompt must be used as is. It can be split, but no intervening words can be inserted or tenses changed.

Rules to the Game:

  • This is a Flash Fiction challenge, which means your story must be a minimum of 100 words, maximum of 250.
  • The story must be new writing, not a snippet from something published elsewhere with the prompt added.
  • Incorporate the prompt anywhere into your story (included in your word count).
  • Post your story in the comments section of this post
  • Include your word count in the post (or be excluded from judging)
  • Include your Twitter handle or email in the post (so we don’t have to look for you)
  • The challenge is open 7 AM to 8 PM Mountain Time
  • The winner will be announced on Friday, depending on how early the judge gets up.

How it benefits you:

  • You get a nifty cool badge to display on your blog or site (because we’re all about promotion – you know you are!)
  • You get instant recognition of your writing prowess on this blog!
  • Your writing colleagues shall announce and proclaim your greatness on Facebook, Twitter, MeWe, and Google Plus, etc.

Our Judge for Week 427:

Renaissance Woman, Newfie mom, and Romance Author, Silver James.

Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads |

And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“It wasn’t going to be pretty.”

All stories written herein are the property (both intellectual and physical) of the authors. Comments do not represent the views of the host and the host reserves the right to remove any content. Now, away with you, Flash Fiction Fanatics, and show us your #ThursThreads. Good luck!

14 Replies to “#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 427”

  1. The squeaky clean senator had something to hide and I was hired to find out what it was. My reputation as a political operative earned me huge payouts for these things. For doing my job. Digging up the dirt where there was dirt, and there usually was.

    “I need it by next week, Dani,” Jake had said when he called to hire me. Jake was my ex. He was uncharacteristically jittery and that perked my interest.

    “Who’s paying?” I asked.

    “The DNC and some others.”

    “Others? What others?”

    “What do you care, as long as you’re paid.”

    I shook my head. “It better be clean money, Jake.”

    “It is.”

    The DNC had a lot invested in their new golden boy, the junior U.S. senator from Virginia. Glen Peterson was the front runner for the Democratic Party nomination for president. I needed to find out if their faith was misplaced. I had a gnawing feeling that it was, but to find out, I needed to dig deep in the right places.

    My contact at the State Department handed me a file with photos attached. I flipped through it on my way to Jake’s office and raised an eyebrow. I mulled over what I was going to tell Jake. Just show it to him, I thought.

    I couldn’t hide my smile as I thought about it. I knew what his reaction was likely to be. And it wasn’t going to be pretty.

    Catherine Derham
    240 Words

  2. A Finecastle Does Not A Home Make

    Effie Finecastle was no piker. She knew her hubby, Ervin, was “playing footsy” with Mona Monterey, the newest member of The Westside Spinning Tops Weavers Group and she was willing to pony up a sweet retainer.

    “Just to be clear,” I said, “It’s how their eyes…met…at the barbecue?”

    “Locked. Their locked eyes,” she declared. “It’s more than just intuition,” she then added. “The Spinning Tops have been in existence since WW 2. We are patriot women. Woman of the family hearth. But now, COVID had changed everything. Everyone and their alley cat want to weave. Trollopes like this Monterey floosey. And now, even men, even my Erv.”

    Her plan was not complex. I would join the group. Buddy up with Erv. Become his confidante. Get him to spill the beans about him and Mona. If that didn’t work, cozy up to…her.”

    “I’ll do it,” I said, thinking that cuddling up to Mona first seemed the better option. But there were some obvious flaws in her ointment of skullduggery. I told her flat out that It wasn’t going to be pretty.

    “Main thing is,” I confessed, “I have fat fingers. “With that news flash, I wiggled my lumpy digits in her face, adding, “And I don’t even know what weaving is.”

    “Any fool can learn,” she snickered.

    We then arranged for her to tutor me in the basics.

    “Tomorrow morning. 6:00 am. Our studio.”

    “Raring to go,” I whimpered. “6:00 a.m., it is.”

    249 words

  3. Nevari’s face peeks through the dark, her eyes filling with panic as she places a finger over her lips and points upward with her other hand. Above, the floorboards creak, and shadows shift with frantic urgency. Valmong moves in complete silence, pressing against the wall, eyes trying to get a glimpse of what’s happening.

    The thugs search the room we were only just in moments ago. Doing my best to silence my breathing, I strain to hear what’s happening.

    “Was it like this when you found it?” The speaker’s voice has a growl to it, and it’s obvious they’re angry.

    “It wasn’t-“

    “Going to be pretty difficult to explain to the boss why it’s all gone then, isn’t it?” A hint of panic dilutes the anger as they pace the room.

    “I…” The second voice is more of a pathetic squeak. “Someone must have found it. But it’s guarded…unless…” The voice trails off.

    “The brat. She’s the only one other than her father who would have known.” Nevari’s eyes go wide, her entire body tense.

    They’ll know she escaped her captors. We’ll lose what little advantage we have over Noquate if that gets back to him. My eyes meet Valmong’s and it’s clear we’re thinking the same thing.

    He crosses the space and stands close, mouth by my ear.

    “On my signal.”

    I nod, and he disappears back the way we came. Prepping my violin, I try to ignore the tingling his whisper leaves behind.

    245 #TeamRPG words

  4. With Igor’s hand guiding the scalpel, he’d known it wasn’t going to be pretty.

    “I said she had to be blonde.” Havisham had insisted on a lot of things, but few had made it into the final construction. The more aesthetically pleasing body parts were rare in the valley, the local gene pool tending toward heavy-browed and swarthy, and the Nordic features he’d requested were never going to be available. Sometimes Igor was lucky to find a fully matched set of limbs, one of his half-sisters still having a fin where her left arm ought to be.

    “The villagers are becoming suspicious, Sire,” Igor said, slurring his ‘s’s. “‘Twas difficult as it was: I had to be inventive again this time. The creature might be inclined to pull over to the left a little but so long as you always turn widdershins when you walk the grounds, I’d defy anyone to notice the difference.”

    “What about the important parts? Is it…she, comely?”

    Igor was still covered in a smearing of ichor from his surgical duties, but he managed a leer, nonetheless.

    “Master,” he said. “You do me a grave disservice. Did you think I’d provide you with unsatisfactory merchandise? Me, your most trusted and loyal disciple? I would rather cut off my arm and suffer the consequences than ever suffer your displeasure, Sire. Suffice it to say, it’s been rigorously tested, I can promise you.”

    Havisham shuddered, his complexion turning green. “I can’t say I find that reassuring,” he said.

    250 words ~ twothirdsrasta.blogspot.com

  5. I almost barked a laugh but thought it bad manners to laugh at the Goddess when She graced me with Her visit.

    “Can I make you some tea?”

    She shook her head and leaned forward to pat the couch. “Come sit with me a bit, Flint. I understand you have some questions for me.”

    I raised my eyebrows as I sat down. “Questions?”

    “Um-hm, something about not understanding why you bit Rochelle, perhaps?”

    I didn’t blush often. Not much embarrassed me. But having the Goddess of All remark upon one of the most intimate moments in my life caught me off-guard.

    “Uhhh…” Not my most eloquent response.

    “It’s okay, Flint.” She patted my knee. “I’ve seen all sorts of things in my day and your connection to Rochelle isn’t even the most astounding.”

    I frowned. “Thanks, I think.”

    She laughed. “The point is, nothing to be freaked out about. But it is important to talk about. How much do you know about gargoyle mating?”

    My jaw hit the floor and I sat there, gaping at the Goddess as if She’d asked me to pierce my cock. I wanted to sputter, but that would’ve made me look like a prude, and it wasn’t going to be pretty. So I swallowed hard and tried to take Her question seriously.

    “I didn’t know there was anything special about it. Is it more than just sex?” That sounded reasonable, didn’t it?

    She patted my thigh again. “Maybe I will take that tea.”

    248 ineligible #ConcreteAngelsMC words

  6. Hades leaned in his chair and stirred his tea with a knife. In the solarium, Hel and Hades chatted like it was a routine visit. With his shoulders slouched, his oil black hair slicked back, and even kohl eyeliner around his gray eyes, his gaze shifted around the room. “ I find that my brothers are getting the best of me. I knew, it wasn’t going to be pretty.”

    Of course, once again, Hades referenced the murder of his father, Kronos. What is one supposed to do when a mad god decides to eat your siblings? Down with the monster, of course, and Lady Hel knew that. The relationship with her father, Loki, was still quite tense. So much like fire, she never knew when his flame was there to support her or to sear her.

    Hel sipped her tea. “Pretty is as pretty does. The only thing that will ever help you to rise above the clouds, or at least show your brother the best of you, is to raise the Titans.”

    Hades looked up, and then over his shoulder. “The titans?” he whispered. “That would take a power even I’ve not tapped into. Hel, you can’t go forth uttering such, out in the open. Surely, if someone might hear—”


    Hades heavily sighed. “All right then. What else do I have to do? We could play apocalypse bingo. After all, I have the four horsemen on speed-dial.”

    “And what do I win?” she asked.

    “Your throne back.”

    250 words
    #WIP #SureAsHell

  7. Everyone was already in the car. She still stood in front of the mirror, contemplating the lie that was her life. She tried to quiet her mind, adjusted her dress and retied the scarf around her neck in one final, desperate attempt to make it all seem right.

    That’s it!

    She grabbed her brown leather clutch, slipping her hand through the corner wristlet.

    Phil looked over his shoulder glimpsing her coming out of the door, started the car and closed the electric windows.

    What took you so long? We’re going be late again and the whole parish will stare at us like we don’t belong.

    I’m sorry. Time just away from me.


    Daddy! Can you roll down the windows again? It’s hot in here!

    Phil turned the air conditioner on high.

    It’ll take a minute to cool down. Just be patient.

    There would be no salvation for her. Worse, she would be shunned. Her marriage would likely be over if anyone found out. She was with child and it was not Phil’s.

    In the pew, she felt like she was floating, having convinced herself that everything would be normal again if she could just get through next week. An appointment at a family planning clinic two counties removed, would restore her life back to the way it was.

    In the next moment she was overcome by a wave of panic. Someone would surely find out. It wasn’t going to be pretty.

    Atticus Stryker
    Word Count: 241

  8. “It won’t be pretty. I’ll be needin’ someone I can count on.”

    Captain Caitlin Nicole Kinnery addressed the grim figure planted, limbs crossed, under her foremast.

    “Sounds more like a job for the incubus.” Sentinel slightly sibilated his assessment.

    “Aye,” Cat shrugged. “But she be takin’ a personal day.”

    The little captain took the large paladin’s long low groan as opening to present him with a pressed pile of indigo cloth trimmed in gold.

    “Ye’ll look great in this! See ye at the party!”

    His piercing glare from under his plain dark hood did nothing to dampen her contented caper back to her cabin. Come nightfall, Sentinel stood astride a torchlit paved driveway to an ostentatiously illuminated manor house. Carriages of overly accoutered idle rich, and their imitators, passed like moths to a flame. With his true nature concealed by his veiled turban and a concerningly well fitted robe, he could pass as a sandwalker. Sentinel’s preference would have been to return to the ship and retire early.

    Before he could turn back, Sentinel felt the familiar pull of the captain’s claws on his back as she climbed up. She swung around to a ladylike sideways seat on his shoulder, rather than her usual perched squat. She replaced her gilded navy captain’s regalia with a sensuous red dress trimmed with black lace, as well as matching hat and eyepatch.

    “You said it wasn’t going to be pretty.”

    “Be it too pretty?” She purred. “Ye have to look below the surface.”

    250 Cat’s The Pajamas words

  9. I watched as the two men began their preparations for the duel.
    One of them was my brother. He had picked a fight with one of the most skilled swordsmen in the small town where we lived. By the way he was fumbling with his sword, you would think he’d never picked one up before. I sighed. This wasn’t going to be pretty. He came over to me, a nervous grin on his face.
    “Hey Isa. I didn’t know you’d be here.”
    “Of course I’m here” I said “Mum told me to come.”
    “Wait. You told Mum?!” He almost shouted. Several people turned their heads.
    “Well, yeah I told Mum. You think she would like it if she found out that her son was killed in a duel?”
    “Well…” His words trailed off. “Wish me luck.” He walks away.
    I look over to the other swordsman. I look at my brother. I walk over to him.
    “You are leaving now.”
    “Why?” he asks
    “Because unless you want to be dead, then I suggest coming with me.”
    “Fine.” He knows he can’t argue with me. I would drag him home anyway.
    We start walking away.
    “Well where do you think you’re going?” It’s the swordsman.
    I turn around.
    “We’re going home. He forfeits.”
    He laughs.
    “I don’t think so.”
    He jabs at my brother. I walk up and punch him in the face. I hear a snap. His nose is broken.
    “We’re done here.” I said and we walked away.

    Word count: 249
    Lyra L.

  10. I looked around the room, the clean-up, it wasn’t going to be pretty. But this is why I got the big bucks.
    The blood streaked floor to ceiling other assorted brain parts that the investigators had missed.
    I swallowed the bile that gathered in my throat and thought this only a food fight. Four hours I had completed the job and was just about to leave and lock up when the front door opened.
    “Wow spotless. You’d never know someone was murdered here,” he said.
    “Who are you?” I asked expecting a badge to be shown.
    He didn’t answer. I backed up seeking a way out but he was between me and the only door.
    “Don’t be frightened. It wasn’t me but a foolish associate that decided to have his dinner here. Now you’ll forget I was ever here; repeat that back to me.”
    He looked surprised then amused.
    “You’re a rare one,” he said, “Damien Stone. I think you should come work for me. How much do they pay you? I’ll pay you triple whatever that is and keep you safe.”
    I found myself agreeing; the money was too good to turn down and who would believe me if I told them about a vampire.
    It’s been five years now and I’m called out to a scene about once a week. Damien made me his vampire bride last week when I lamented my lost soul. No escaping this job forever.
    241 words

  11. It wasn’t going to be pretty, but I let go of the lightning bolt in my hand. Death Sweden dodges, his eagle screaming as it singes a wing. Destiny drops, my stomach goes into orbit, but we miss a cloud of poison.
    Death Sweden screeches, making eye contact. “Surrender!”


    My purple sparkly robes fly behind me as the wind whips a strand of brown hair into my eyes. Grabbing the nearest cloud, lightning threading through each layer, I wait. Sweden swoops in, reaching for my arm. I drop the rumbling, flashing cloud right on his head, rain dripping onto his robes.

    “Nice shot!”

    Horace, the outgoing Death, takes Sweden and disappears. I pull in a breath, the storm calming, snow settling back onto the ground and homes of northern Iowa.

    “You did well. Are you sure you do not wish to be in the running for the throne?”

    Horace waves us onto the Dark Plane and into his office, where it’s warm, and cups of tea await.

    “I’m sure. Adrianna will do a great job, if we can get her installed. How many more fights are there?”

    He shrugs, leaning back in his chair, skeletal fingers clacking as they fold.

    “Unknown. Many deaths are angry because they want to give the job to their offspring. Hopefully, everyone will settle down for a few days.”

    Really, it would be easier to let one of these angry people have the job. It would save my pelvis from more saddle collisions, anyway.

    250 words

  12. The Lug Wrench of Truth

    There were words between us. A world of mixed messages and places where we both had failed the other. But looking at him in the twilight, I knew we hadn’t crossed or burnt anything that couldn’t be rebuild. The question was – how did he feel about it?

    I looked at him as he struggled with the wheel and stepped forward. “Let me help you,” I offered, then backed away as he snapped at me.

    I stood there dumbfounded as he accused me of belittling him. And that was when I realized, that our experience was what got in the way.

    Both of us assumed that the other fit the patterns of the past. I handed him the lug wrench as an offering of peace. If he didn’t bury it in my skull, we had a chance.

    It wasn’t going to be pretty— but we had a chance.

    147 Words (not including the title)

  13. #ThursThreads is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.

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