Category: Flash

Flash: Dorian and the Ice Queen

Erin Penn

freedigitalphotos.net

Rating: Mature

That ass, damn girl. Dorian didn’t mind the cold or wait at all as the female bent over once again, rearranging the unlit lanterns just so in the snow. Maybe he shouldn’t be admiring her, or maybe because she was a supervillain, objectifying her isn’t as immoral as, say, Jameeka in Human Resources. Either way the Ice Queen had one of the finest asses in the state. Perfect heart shape.

He had been a little disappointed when he first arrived to find she wasn’t wearing the impractical catsuit and high heels costume. But the tight white skiing pants, turtleneck sweater, quilted jacket, and fur-lined cap made a fine substitute, at least according his libido. Especially when she bent over, and she had been bending over a lot in the last half an hour. A couple of steps in one direction in the snow in knee-high boots, adjusting something, sometimes burying something, sometimes removing debris, and then she would be moving again. She had said to arrive around midnight, more or less, but not to bother if he was later than one. And not to bother her if she was already there.

Guess she figured I would scope out the area. It’s not like they trusted each other – villain to hero. But that didn’t make the lust go away. She bent forward again and he bit his tongue to keep from moaning. He imagined grabbing that fine white Ice Queen ass, the soft moon-pale flesh slightly red on either cheek after his broad hands had warmed them up with a couple of smacks for being bad. The woman was always bad. Maybe even handcuffs, if he had them. Then she look over her shoulder, her ash-blonde hair in a failing braid like it is now, wisps and stray tresses framing her ice-blue eyes, and say…

 “I’m ready for you now.”

 Her voice soft and husky from effort.

 “Hey Revenger, alley-alley-alley-out.” The Ice Queen stood brushing the snow off her white leather gloves, clapping them. “You can come now.”

 Come, she said come…not…cum. Dorian shook his head to clear out the last of the fantasy. He nearly missed the snow falling from the gloves, hover in the moonlight, take on the sparkle of new snow, and fly in a dozen directions. Before he had dropped from the tree where he was hiding, every step, footprint, handprint, and symbol she had made was erased.

 So much for his theory, based on the lack of snow tracks when he had initially arrived, that she had flown in. He was positive she was a flyer, but no one had ever recorded it. The agency records were woefully blank on her abilities, as they are on any unregistered hero or uncaptured villain, some temperature control at the cold end of the spectrum, possible telekinesis abilities, and, unproven, magic. Magic itself being unproven. So far everyone had tested psychic, technological, or natural mutant.

 Her file was nearly as slim on suspected crimes. He had written most of the entries himself and none of them had enough evidence for a legal arrest warrant, let alone a court conviction. Plenty of photos thanks to her saving his bacon when King Khaos attacked the museum, but no real information. Street thugs were silent about her.

 (words 545; first published 8/18/19)

Flash: Bumping into Dorian

Erin Penn

freedigitalphotos.net

 

I recognized him. Oh god, why did I have to bump into him? “I’m so sorry.” I dropped my eyes as he steadied me by holding my shoulders.

 

At six foot and a bit, he stood out even more for his perfect build, great abs, wide shoulders, tapered waist, strong legs, and great abs. Did I mention great abs? I was staring at them right now through the thin layer of cotton of his shirt. I could do my wash on those abs. My hand wash. All day. My hands all day on those abs. Wow, what a suit of Teflon armor will hide.

 

“It’s all right.” He smiled down. I felt the smile. Never thought the Revenger could smile, especially at me, the Ice Queen. “The museum is crowded today with the opening.”

 

I wanted to look up and smile back. Smile into those green eyes I glimpsed for just a second. Eyes normally hid by red goggles, at least any time our paths crossed before. A part of me really wanted to look back up into those eyes and drown in them.

 

Not good, not good, not good at all.

 

His hands slipped down a bit, just past the capped sleeves of my summer dress as he pushed me back a step, touching my flesh, before he dropped them all together. Electric shocks went through me and I caught a name, the name he thought of himself by. Just like my mother said would happen.

 

So not good.

 

Dorian. I really like the name. It suits him.

 

“Thanks.” I said, keeping my blue eyes firmly on his perfect, mouth-watering abs. Meeting his eyes right now would be beyond not good.

 

I still had bruises from our battle last week. Well, skirmish. Okay, he tossed me through a window to get at the Overbearer and I flew away like bat out of hell once I was outside the building. But, I had bruises, big purple, green, and yellow ones.

 

I, for one, am not build for hand-to-hand. At five foot flat footed, five-six in the ridiculous heels I wear with my barely there fur, crystals, and silver chain mail outfit, I don’t have a chance … physically … against someone like the Revenger. One of the reason I am not a costumed hero.

 

Magically, psychically, I can go toe-to-toe with the best. With a great deal of preparation.

 

I hide the psychic part. Just like the layer of skin-tight white silk covering every inch of me under the fur and simulated diamonds hides my skin from the casual brushes when my psych is at full throttle. I limit the magic to just cold and water magic. At least all overt magic. Most think I just have a ice machine tucked in somewhere; best speculation by the press was the boobs were fake, disguising the power pack. My twins aren’t fake. But I ain’t telling. I ain’t telling about the magic or mind reading either.

 

A girl has to keep her secrets.

 

Especially from a hero like the Revenger.

 

Secrets that should not come between soul mates.

 

Oh, this is so not good.

 

The abs moved away from my sight. I swallow hard before going back to pickpocketing my way through the crowd, getting this week’s spending cash. Once I had enough wallets tucked into my roaring twenties style clutch purse, beaded of course, which was much bigger on the inside thanks to a little dimensional folding, I debated cutting my losses rather than run into the Revenger again, Dorian again. He of the green eyes to drown in and the abs for my hand wash.

 

But I had actually come to the museum to see the new exhibit, ancient Russia glass. I love historic pieces, especially glass, which carried special magics I could tap into. Covering the week’s grocery and light bill was only a bonus.

 

Just one pass through the special exhibit hall. Who knows when I will have another chance.


(words 663; first published 4/9/14; republished new blog format 8/11/19)

Flash: Cleansing Team (Part 2) – Target Up

Erin Penn

Picture from freedigitalphotos.net

A light glow emanated from a twitching hand. A hand that was never supposed to move again.

Unnaturals did not heal when unconscious. Knocked down, all they needed was a final bullet through the brain to put them out of mankind’s misery. … A big bullet.

If they woke up again, Unnaturals were cranky.

Andros tore his fingers loose from the hot metal, leaving being permanent fingerprints, and tried to realign the ammo without taking his eyes off the freak. When she pushed up, the broken bones on her shoulder pushed out even further until she found her balance and stood on the rubble. Ice black eyes holding the heat of stars met his plain brown; both his eyes and hers had tears flowing freely from them. Dust and panic drove his body to produce the salty fluid; Andros could not guess what the Unnatural felt, but her face emotion mimicked compassion.

Rapid fire needles tore up the floor until finding target. Parker must have thrown the now useless rail-gun aside and gone for his secondary weapon. None penetrated the woman.

Her right hand had closed in a fist and the light was growing brighter. Fire started licking up her arm, baking off the blood pattern and scorched her flesh black. The Unnatural took steps, each terrible and graceful, until she was off the bricks, stones, and metal pile which had been formed when she had been blasted through the building mere seconds ago.

Green breams burned through the dust. Dreanna’s laser had a new power pack. A stream of poison, a quarter the volume previously used, joined the dismal response against the Unnatural’s forward movement as Maron brought his reserves online. Andros did not know what the other three were doing, hopefully running for their lives while the rest of the team laid down theirs. Someone had to get the word out.

Andros raised his overheated gun, mirroring the young woman raising her right arm.

Her shoulder was nearly healed. Charred flesh flaked off her arm with baby pink skin showing for a second before burning too.

Too bright to look at, Andros forced his eyes back to her hand again and again trying to make out the stone she had picked up. It was black winking through her fingers … no, not black, but lack of light. A black hole in the middle of fire.

Ignoring his tears, the whimpering voice his mind refused to process, the trembling of every portion of his body but his independent hands, Andros clicked full release and pulled the trigger. The explosion left his gun, condensed amadium, the heaviest alloy known to man, pushed out at Mach four. Time slowed as he watched his barrel shatter and the projectile race sound toward the target.

The fire streamed down her arm back to her hand, brightening the impossible light another magnitude, searing Andros’ eyes open. He saw his fatal projectile nearly reach her.

Then the Unnatural opened her hand.

(Words 496; first published 4/2/2014; republished new blog format 8/4/2019)

Flash: The Secrets of Cats

Erin Penn

Image provided by saphatthachat on FreeDigitalPhotos.net

“The cat slunk by, eyeing me suggestively.” The woman shifted positions, foot to foot. “I’m not saying this right. The expression the cat had said it had a secret, one I would want to know, but it wasn’t going to tell me. But, it might lead me to it.

“That is how I got here.” Maribeth wrapped arms tightly around herself as she waited for the answer from the six people pointing weapons at her. Shivering from the cold as much as fright, she tried to make out faces under the scarfs and furs of the hooded parkas. Her flipflops inadequacies in the ankle-deep snow were matched by her bikini top and the shorts she pulled on to hit the boardwalk. She had spotted the cat going doing an alley behind a seafood restaurant when she went to grab lunch after surfing.

A muffled voice, either emanating from the person directly in front of her holding the old fashion machine gun or from the person to the right holding a crossbow strung with two arrows, one-right on top of the other, asked, “You followed a cat?”

“A cat, yes. About so big,” She took her hands out of her arm pits and gestured, before returning them to the warmest place on her body. She shifted her feet again; they felt more like slush than flesh. “Down an alley.”

She heard laughter behind her.

“Pad.” The voice, clearer this time, came from the crossbow holder and cut like an ice dagger. The laughter stopped instantly. “Girl, go back.”

“I tried. I came out of that tree.” Maribeth risked frostbite again for her fingers, waving at a nearby tree with footprints surrounding it. “I tried and tried. The cat disappeared, and I can’t go home.” She held back sobs, barely, but wasn’t sure how much longer before she broke down entirely.

“Then come.”

The group moved as one, some in high leather boots and others in snow shoes, barely making a sound. Not wanting to be alone, Maribeth followed. One of the group fell behind her.

“Should we mark the tree or something, so I can try later?” she asked.

“We won’t be back.” The one behind her reported.

The college student stopped until the person pushed her, forcing her to follow the trail the others were breaking. “But, how do I get home?”

“That is the cat’s secret.”

(words 398; first published 7/28/2019)

Flash: New Leaf

Erin Penn

From Article : A Graduate Student Created First Man-Made Biological Leaf Which Can Produce Oxygen Just Like a Plant

“Captain wants to know when you’ll be up and running again.” Computer processors judged the XO’s projection within the SoftSuit to how far his voice would carry if the room actually held air and aimed the broadcast accordingly while he ducked another dozen hanging wires and stepped over debris littering the floor to get close enough to carry on a conversation with the department’s senior surviving lieutenant. Whichever of the HardSuits around contained that person.

Normally he would have addressed the lieutenant by name and the software would have closed off a direct communication channel. Normally Cheshire would have known who was in charge as the organizational chart resorted instantly from incoming status reports. Hell, normally the captain would have use her direct link with the ship’s net to know the exact status of everything happening on the colony ship.

But things were far from normal after the Wittzerk attack. And since the captain was integrated with the ship for the trip’s duration, submerged in a gel-bath as the living part of the combination living and artificial intelligence directing the ship through real-time and folded space, one of the elite humans capable to the feat, he was crawling through the guts of the ship on her behalf using a jury-rigged radio to send reports up to the bridge, at least until wires could be reconnected by the scrambling techs, getting his uniform dirty for the first time in decades.

It was exhilarating. He had forgotten what line work was like.

Not something he wanted to do all the time, but acting a TrNaval officer instead of a glorified cruise director for a bunch of sleepers brushed off the spider webs.

The green and yellow HardSuits of Environment and ShipMain swarmed around him as he reached cleared floorspace, but no one stopped. After enjoying the artificial gravity steadiness for a moment, Liquid lost power twice while he was there and he nearly lost his lunch, he barked into his microphone, “Senior, report!”

Two people jumped, one deep green and one eye-searing glow-in-the-dark-of-space yellow, as software directed a more precise message than the previous general broadcast. Cheshire steps ate up the distance between him and the green one, while Hinson’s voice filled his ears. “Primary Gravity functional for the deck one-beta grid, additional maintenance will be required to meet spec, secondary gravity online to spec, trieary gravity … yeah Robert, we stealing parts from that to get prime and second going and until manufacturing is working again ain’t nothing going to get that stuff to work. Three nodes were complete losses. Water will be online in ten more minutes, probably and air pressure in sixteen hours. Too many holes. Stupid frigging shotgun weapon.”

“Thank you ShipMain. Continue, priority on this grid AirProduction and embroyo status tubes.” Hinson was the second best ship maintenance worker so Cheshire let the use of his first name slide. Most of the time they used first names around the colonists awake for transition training; no surprise a good portion of his staff couldn’t switch back to military protocol.

(words 511, first published 7/21/2019)