#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 470

Welcome back to the home of Paranormal & Dauntless Romance. Today is Thursday and that means it’s time to start flashing. We’re at the beginning of our tenth year of weekly prompts. It’s amazing we’ve gone this long! This is Week 470 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 470:

George at 195#

Dead Thing Specialist, Mining Geologist, and Original Book Boyfriend, George Varhalmi.

Facebook |

And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“I’m not in the mood for games.”

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!

12 Replies to “#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 470”

  1. No Games, 244 Words, @JPGarlandAuthor

    “I’m not in the mood for games.”

    I ignore him and pass through the living room into the kitchen to put the groceries away. I’m nearly done when I hear the leather of the couch breathe.

    “Did you hear me? I said I’m not in the mood for games.”

    I don’t need to turn. He’s standing in the doorway like he does when he wants to show off his pecs. To show how big a man he is. I put the cereal in the cabinet, the last thing that needs putting away, and thus I’m now looking at him. He’s pissed. Yeah. He’s the one who’s pissed.

    “No? After last night?” I say.

    He hasn’t changed since I went out, still in his boxers and wife-beater—the better to show off his pecs—and I know he wouldn’t deign to shave. I’m five feet from him and I smell him. I smell her, too. He was too stupid or lazy to take a shower to be rid of her cheap fragrance. Maybe that explains his non-shower.

    He hasn’t moved since I turned but sweat is forming on his forehead, and his lips, the damn lips that had long been my downfall, are vibrating. Not in the cocky manner he normally used on me, and presumably used on her.

    “No games? Okay. I can’t do it again. I won’t do it again. I’ve put the groceries away. Rent’s paid to the end of the month.”

  2. A Gold Carrot Clue

    Henderson seemed to enjoy telling the story of Henry Samuel’s life on the run. “Yup, started at thirteen. Nothing slowed ‘em down. He’d take off, day or two later, cops would bring him back.”

    ”Did he ever say why?”

    “Not to me. It wasn’t like my old lady was beating him. Not her style. Talk. She loved to talk. Had a line she used on Henry, on me whenever I did something stupid. She’d say, ‘You might think this is a game. Life is not a game. I’m not in the mood for games. Ever.’

    “So, she was…a serious woman!”

    “Yeah, serious. But forgiving. Thing was, I figured Henry out. By then, I’d joined the Marines. A year in, I came home on leave. I was twenty and Henry had just turned sixteen. Not running away by then…just…going places…anywhere. I took him out into the hills to split a jug.”

    “You got him drunk?”

    “No. We got drunk together. Somewhere in the middle of that fandango, I came right out, asked him, what the hell do you want, Henry? What big hole in you needs filling?”

    “What did he say?”

    “Nothing. Grabbed the bottle, tipped it back, took a deep swig, smiled, passed out. We rolled home next morning. I hit the sack. He packed up and left. Forever.”

    “You said you figured him out.”

    “Yeah. That hole that needed filling. It leaked. Henry could never be filled. Never. He was a bloody emotional sieve.”

    249 WIP

  3. “I don’t think this is a good use of my time.” Even as I say it, though, I can feel the buzz of anticipation mingling with the magic at my fingertips. “And I’m not in the mood for games.”

    “What else are you going to do? Sit around sulking instead?” Celeste’s look is a knowing one, and I hate that she’s right. “You need to loosen up, sister.”

    “I’m not some prize horse you can just parade to your fiancée.” I gesture at the other princess across the courtyard, and I imagine she’s having a similar conversation with her mage. He doesn’t look any more amused than I am, but then again I can only see the bottom half of his face under the mask. “I don’t do magic for sport.”

    “Please. You’ve been dying for a rematch anyway.”

    I don’t dignify that with a response. Celeste takes that as agreement and smiles at me before turning to her betrothed and nodding. The other princess practically skips over to us, her excitement barely held in.

    If only her mage were as easy to read. He’s as expressionless as stone, his jaw set, lips in a resting frown. Stopping a few feet behind his princess, he nods.

    I hate that I can’t see his eyes.

    The princesses move a safe distance away before Celeste calls out, “Ready?”

    Finishing up the braid over my shoulder, I look to my sister and nod. In front of me, my opponent bows.


    248 untitled fantasy WIP words

  4. Harley seemed to get the memo because both of us napped for about an hour until someone knocked on the door, waking us both.

    Harley began to cry and I struggled to regain some semblance of focus as I rocketed to my feet.

    “Sorry, kiddo, I’ll move more carefully.” I tucked her against my side and bounced her a little before heading to the door.

    Rather than open it, I checked through the window in the little side wall. Most people were looking at the door and wouldn’t notice the window to their left. Gave me a good chance to check who was there without them seeing me. But anger, fear, and disbelief hit me all at the same time when I recognized who stood on the porch.

    “What the actual fuck?” I stepped back and tried to decide what to do. Did I leave him standing there or open the door? He was the one I’d been avoiding in the first place.

    I opted to open the door.

    I scowled. “What the hell are you doing here?”

    Trigger shrugged. “You needed backup and the club needed to send someone. I seized the opportunity and volunteered.” He spread his hands. “I’m it, darlin’. I’m your backup.”

    “I’m not in the mood for games, Trigger. You should go back to Colorado.”

    “Not gonna happen, darlin’. Everyone else is pretty busy these days, so I’m it or nothin’.”

    “Guess it’s gonna be nothing then.” But he stopped me from closing the door.

    250 ineligible #ConcreteAngelsMC words

  5. Ronan didn’t look up at the the sharp rap on the door. When his brother and second in command walked in without invitation, he ignored Mickey.

    “You’re not answerin’ the phone.” Mick sounded put out.

    He didn’t look up. “I’m busy.”

    Mick settled into a chair across from him. “With what?”

    Recognizing the mocking tone, he shuffled some papers. “Work.”

    “When did the girl become work?”

    “What girl?”

    “The one ya’ve got stashed upstairs under lock’n key.”

    “She’s always been business.”

    “Uh huh.”

    He did look up then. “She’s collateral. That’s business.”

    “And those big blue eyes and tears mean nothin’?”

    Ronan shrugged. They really didn’t. The girl was young and spoiled. She held no interest. “Business, Mick. That’s all.”

    “Sure she is.” He dragged out the first word.

    “I’m not in the mood for games. What is it you really want?”

    “Ya need to change the guard on her before she gets her hooks sunk into one’o the boys. She’s a pretty little thing and pitiful. Not all of us are as hard-hearted as you, boyo.”


    “Not namin’ names but while you might not see it, she is a treat to the eye.”

    “Egan.” Ronan spat the name and Mick winced. “Let me guess. He’s been takin’ extra guard shifts.” He didn’t wait for acknowledgment before pushing out of his chair. “I’m done with this shite. Get the girl’s father. We’ll take what’s due out of his hide and send the chit home.”

    Mick grinned. “Finally. Some action.”
    250 Moonstruck Mafia WIP words

  6. A long day of business meetings had the cherry on top of being stuck in traffic for an hour. Nick had eventually given up when his cab was three blocks from home, paid the driver, and walked the rest of the way in the rain.

    “Honey, I’m home.” No answer came to his call as he kicked off his shoes and dropped his briefcase on the bench where it would wait until later. “Katrina?” he said a bit louder. Exhausted, Nick just wanted to eat dinner, watch some tv, maybe talk his wife into helping him get off, and then go to sleep. He needed today to be over. Katrina’s purse and keys were on the table by the door, and he could see that the oven had a casserole in there with the dial set to warm. She wouldn’t have left the oven on if she went out. “Kat, I’m not in the mood for games.”

    The intercom buzzed to life near his position in the hall. “I’m not playing games, sir.” The light for the bedroom illuminated as she spoke and then went dark.

    He crossed the house and found her kneeling naked on the rug in front of the bed. The only thing she wore besides her smile was a collar. “Welcome home, sir. I thought you could use some stress relief after a hard day.”

    Now this… This was a game Nick was happy to play.

    240 Words

  7. I opened the door to Liam and his two bodyguards.
    “I’m not in the mood for games. I said no!!”
    “Neither am I, Jezzy,” Liam exclaimed.
    The two goons moved into my space.
    “Hand over the medallion.”
    “It’s not a medallion and it does belong to you; it’s mine by birthright.”
    “ A technicality,” Liam responded.
    “We wield it when it needs to be used and not before. Can there really be no reconciliation?”
    “Jessabelle, I’ve tried every possible diplomacy tactic. They won’t listen, they continue to attack our citizens. Now our people will be starved.”
    “They’ve blocked the gates that bring food to our citizens. If our people survive, they will be taken by the Henday and drawn and quartered then their heads will be placed on a pike.”
    “You just wanted me to make this decision myself. They’ve brought this on themselves, so be it. I must prepare the ritual, is the spot ready?
    “I love you Jessabelle and I’m sorry we have to do this; but whatever happens we’re in this together.”
    I kissed him, we went to the field; I said the words lifted the staff and the sky darkened the earth shook, Hendayam was destroyed.
    My eyes filled with tears and I swore I never wield it again but that was seven years ago and now Trentam threatens or people I may have to use my legacy again. I wish my grandmother had told me that my legacy is really I AM DEATH!
    249 Words

  8. Lord Kader scowled over his steepled knobby fingers and across his impressive stone table. His blood hadn’t boiled like this in centuries. Anger was politically disadvantageous. But the presence of a booster seat in his grand study was damn near enough to send him into a rage. The human looking coolly back at him didn’t make maintaining his composure any easier. The sultan’s puppet.

    “As a patriot,” Kader rumbled like approaching thunder. “I am in complete support of our mighty navy. However, your proposed budget takes us back to wartime level expenditures. How can you justify that under current geopolitical conditions?”

    Even with the booster seat, Sword Admiral Jasna Saifullah couldn’t reach the surface of the stone table and so kept her hands placidly folded in her lap.

    “The war isn’t over yet.”

    Insolent whelp! Kader could rip her limbs from her body with a mere thought, and yet she acted like she was in control here. He stabbed the papers laid before him with an emphatic finger.

    “Why are we funding a lunatic’s research?! Her former captain repeatedly reported on the danger of her ideas and her unreliability!”

    Was that a hardening of the human’s jaw?

    “Captain Rashid has the intellectual capacity of basalt. I’m not in the mood for games; we didn’t develop the most advanced ship in the Known World to sit on our hands while the other powers carve up Elementia. We need a gun worthy of the Djinn Castle, and Saffi Bashar can develop it.”

    250 Cat’s The Pajamas words

  9. The Choices We Make

    “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not against people having second thoughts— especially after what we’ve been through. I believe in choices and second chances.

    “What I am not for is people who feel the need to force their choices on others. For those of the crew who want to plant themselves on Terafirma, go native and stay put, that’s their choice.

    “For those of us who want to push on, join the Castellated Coalition of Explorers I’m good with that too— other than the fact that the name is pretty redundant and nobody likes the the title – the initials are cool, but I digress.

    “I have no time for people trying to break up the CCE before it even leaves orbit. There are so few of us left at this point, we can’t survive without the other member races— they need us, and we need them.

    “Its not perfect, but when you want to take all the folks from the fleet and strike out on your own— that’s not going to fly, no matter how much you force it.

    “Dress it up, put a flag around it, sing kumbya… you’re still forcing people to do what you want them to do, and I’m not in the mood for games that leave people in danger.

    “So yeah, no I’m not joining the faction. I’m just stalling until the Einherjar get here.”

    I smiled at the man holding a gun on me, as twenty guns were leveled at his head. “Your move.”

    250 words (not including title)

  10. “So good of you to make an appearance, Aeryn,” Queen Aîné said.

    “You didn’t have to use magic, mother.”

    “But I so enjoy it. Besides, you were ignoring my summons.”

    “Why did you summon me? I really don’t have time for this. I’m living in the mortal world and I have a job.”

    The fae queen settled in her throne. “A job? You’re a fae princess.” As if that ended any discussion. “Where is D’arcy?” she continued. “That elf has been avoiding me.”

    Aeryn started to speak when she saw D’arcy peering out from behind a bust in a far corner of the elaborate throne room. She rolled her eyes.

    “Aeryn?” Aîné said, raising an eyebrow and looking around.

    Aeryn cleared her throat. A not so subtle signal to D’arcy who immediately vanished.

    “So tell me, mother. Why am I here? What’s going on?”

    The fae queen looked anxious. Aeryn hadn’t often seen her mother unnerved.

    “Your brother. Half-brother,” Aîné corrected herself. “Ondine is stirring up a rebellion against me.”

    Aeryn closed the gap between them. “Ondine? Ha! I don’t believe it. What did he do?”

    “You will have to ask D’arcy. Where is he hiding? I’m not in the mood for …”

    “Games, Your Majesty?” D’arcy said, becoming visible. He was perched on a pedestal.

    “I was going to say ‘impertinence’ ” Aîné gave him a pointed stare.

    “I’m leaving, mother,” Aeryn said. You don’t need me. Ondine is gutless. He’s all talk.”

    Before she could finish, an explosion rocked the fae court. As the air started to clear, Aeryn was coughing up dust…and looking around frantically for her mother.

    Catherine Verdier
    250 Words (from my YA paranormal fantasy WIP)

  11. #ThursThreads Week 470 is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.