#fff308

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

Faulty Intelligence

Mycroft believes that everyone has a price. The evidence he has collected and his experiences during the years tell him that much.

His brother used to be the easiest to cajole. Before he started school, mind you. After three months in the presence of other children, Sherlock became suspicious of everything and everyone, suspecting foul play always. Even from his beloved big brother. Mycroft admits it broke his heart. In fact, his heart has been broken so many times over the years, he’s surprised it still beats. 

All this heartbreak has everything to do with Sherlock, of course. No other human being will ever be able to shatter him like his baby brother did and still does. 

He was reluctant to re-live these moments. Not when his brain was buzzing with activity. For the first time since he was a boy himself, someone other than his brother had rendered him almost speechless; surprised beyond belief admittedly.

When surveillance of an ex-army doctor, unassuming at first glance, moved in with his brother after an encounter that lasted mere minutes, Mycroft’s hackles rose. Sherlock’s work ensured that he was approached by all sorts of…people, and this man could be an assassin for all the oldest Holmes brother knew. 

He didn’t trust anyone to deal with this. Granted, he let Anthea pick the good doctor (was he good?) up, but he interrogated John Watson himself. 

Which didn’t go quite as expected.

Mycroft Holmes was used to people turning into blabbering idiots under his supercilious behaviour and intense scrutiny. Doctor Watson was not among those idiots. He actually stated that he didn’t find Mycroft the least bit intimidating. (The audacity of the man!)

Mycroft had done his research meticulously as he always did. He knew that the doctor didn’t exactly roll in dough, to put it politely, and yet he refused the money Mycroft was offering him to keep an eye on Sherlock. To give himself some peace when he wasn’t around to ensure his brother’s safety.

Spying, wasn’t a word he was willing to use, but the distaste on John Watson’s face suggested that he had spat it out like a fire-breathing dragon.

Loyal should be the man’s middle name instead of Hamish, he thought to himself back then. 

It is still a valid word to use four years later.

Mycroft straightens his tie, makes sure his boutonniere is in place, and walks to stand beside his brother, waiting for the loyal doctor to appear. 

The doctor who in half-an-hour will be Mycroft’s brother-in-law.

---------------------------------------------------------------

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[renee-writer]

The Longest Day

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial #308 prompt The Price of Freedom

WC: 130

CW: Descriptions of war

Picture via Pinterest

The price of peace was paid in the blood of thousands of young men. So many stormed the beach on that longest day. Eighty-one years ago, men barely old enough to shave entered France via Normandy. The ocean turned from blue to red as their blood flowed. Still, the greatest generation kept coming. Men after men, full of grit and determination, trudging through their fallen soldiers towards the German infantry.

They refused to back down knowing the price of freedom was worth the cost.  They fought so their children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren wouldn't have too. 

They fought to stop the camps. 

They fought…

Now it is our turn. The children of their children’s children. Now matter the cost, the cost of freedom is worth it. It is always worth it.

[baubeautyandthegeek]

The Price Of Freedom - Michaela 'Kiki' Kell/Devon DeWitt

A/N: Second fic for the latest prompt from @flashfictionfridayofficial

The price of peace. Michaela considers it quietly. She’s lost it all, or so it seems, but then she doesn’t have to keep her guard up. She doesn’t have to pretend to not prefer other people than her husband. She is free. At peace. Devon watches her, a quiet watchfulness that makes it hard to make a choice what to do next. She walks away alone, at first, the price of peace is lonely, it seems. Then, after a month, she sees it. The last message she’d wanted to see. Simone’s father, Devon’s father, has died. Simone will be fine, she has Peter, but Devon is alone. She finds her back where it all started. At the dock for the ferry. Devon’s breathing catches and Kiki finds she moves to take her hand, her voice softer, more honest than before. “You don’t have to face them alone.” Once they arrive it’s clearer, the price of peace, of happiness, is facing the past. The mistakes she’s made. Devon curls into her arms when it’s all over, finally, finally whispering the words she’s most wanted to hear. “Take me home.” They walk away together, Devon finding peace with Kiki, even when Kiki seems still a little nervous. She’s not used to this, to peace, not true peace. She learns, slowly, to adapt. To trust someone, really trust them. In the end, she decides, it’s worth it.

[leighrobertsreads]

El precio de la paz (FFF 308 - The Price of Peace)

@flashfictionfridayofficial

Fandom: Encanto Pairing: Bruno/Mirabel (felonious incest in most of the US… can legally marry in Colombia) Word count: 291

Also available on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66266989

Inspired by @heartniche’s “City of Angels” series, an Encanto Bruno & Mirabel, then Bruno/Mirabel, mistaken identity AU set in modern Los Angeles and Bogotá:

Post by @heartniche · 1 image

💬 4  🔁 12  ❤️ 31 · One scorching Los Angeles summer, Bruno parks his yellow fruit truck in front of a UCLA medical center. Mirabel, a homesi

Bruno had not set foot in a church in over three decades until the fateful Lenten Sunday that saw all of the Madrigal family secrets explode, and saw no good reason to bother with it again after that.

… until his mother grasped his and Mirabel’s hands from her hospital bed while recovering from that surgery that he still didn’t fully understand, and instead of excoriating them once more for their sins with each other and against the family, implored them to get married. Despite decades of faithful telenovela viewership, he’d forgotten something kind of important about Colombia: their relationship would be merely scandalous, not felonious. Mamá had apparently decided that a Church-sanctioned avunculate marriage would be less damaging for both la Familia Madrigal’s fortunes and possibly their souls than trying to sweep it all under the rug, as she would have before.

So there Bruno was, attending Mass every Sunday with Mirabel at the parish church nearest to “her” temporary apartment - at least until the Bishop of Pereira, who happened to be the brother-in-law of a Familia Madrigal board member, granted that dispensation. Despite having as little interest in what that priest in charge of their pre-marital catechesis had to say during the weekly service as he did when he was a fidgety child and sullen teenager, Bruno bore it with a far more cheerful attitude. Mirabel’s hand squeezed his any time his lack of attention turned to dozing off, which was far more pleasant than getting his ear pinched.

With that, plus the spackling and painting of a few rooms at the diocesan orphanage, the price of peace with his mother and the rest of the family was turning out to be far lower than Bruno could have ever imagined.

[ginneke]

it's Friday, which means it's time for a new @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt, and for once I've finished within 12 hours.

This isn't fanfiction; instead it's 50:50 fiction/autobiographical wishful thinking.

--

The sorrowful strains of most bitter calamity carry down the hall, ebbing and rising like the moaning wind through bedraggled trees: "Aouuuu-ouuuu-aouou—"

"I know," I tell my shadow; "I know. You're unloved and mistreated. You've never known a scrap of kindness in your whole life. I bet you've never been fed either." A glance through into the kitchen reveals that for the lie it is: the dish I'd set out not five minutes ago is suspiciously, tellingly empty. Truly, this is the most neglected beast to have ever lived.

(The said beast takes advantage of my momentary hesitation to map figure-eights around my ankles, tail lashing, still wailing.)

"You're not having second-dinner."

The beast pauses in its quest to discover the secrets of perpetual motion. A little louder: "Aouou-aou—"

I sidestep the complaints, and make for the sofa. The wailing creature continues to pursue. No sooner have I sat down than a little weight leaps into the space next to me, and immediately starts a sharp procession across my lap, still litigating my many, many crimes.

I try placation — "I know, you're right, I'm sorry." I try negotiation — "What is it, hmm? What do you want?" I try, in my clumsy human way, to trill responses to the persistent meows and mrrps my companion has to offer.

(I don't offer the t-r-e-a-t-s word yet. That's the tactic for when all else has failed.)

And after a minute or so more of this, my shadow climbs back down into the space by my side, front legs propped up on my lap, hind-legs and belly hunkering down over my unguarded hand in a clear hostage situation.

"Oh, that's your hand now?" 

I reach across with the other and tousle that soft little head, gently cup and scrunch from cheek around to little triangle ear; the beast answers with a rumbling purr peppered with strange, hitching squeaks. Of course, that turns into a sound of reproach when I dare to lift my spare hand away. That's me told: no checking my phone, then. I press a kiss between those triangle ears and settle back into the rhythm of petting, bolstered by the motor-loud purrs, which show no sign of abating.

If this is to be the price of peace, then surrendering the free use of my hands is practically a bargain....

A twitch of the tail is all the warning I am given: mercurial in temperament, the beast suddenly stands up and withdraws, though not without first aiming a nip at my no-longer-captive wrist.

"Oh, was I touching the forbidden belly fluff?" I call after the cat's retreating back, too amused to be annoyed, and unable to not laugh when one ear flicks, just briefly, as if to say, Yes. As if it was my fault for having my hand occupy the perfect sprawling-spot, and I had ruined things for both of us.

To a cat, of course, a human is always in the wrong.

[nyamadermont]

The Price of Peace

@flashfictionfridayofficial

#FFF308 The Price of Peace

Avatar: The Legend of Korra

794 words

CW: dementia, aging

“No, Tenzin…”

“Tenzin, please come here…”

“Use your walker, Tenzin…”

“Meelo, would you help your father?”

“Jinora, you’re so patient with him…”

“Tenzin, please sit…”

“Tenzin, it’s right there…”

“Tenzin, stand still, i’ll pick it up…”

...

“Sister Pema, Honored Lin, please bear with me a moment. Let me get him prepared for bed, and I’ll join you in the sitting room.”

The wives looked at each other, and saw each other’s face, drawn and defeated. When Lin dropped her eyes to the floor, Pema placed her hands on her shoulders. Gently, slowly, they guided the wheelchair to the sitting room.

Pema found a spot where they could sit at an angle. Lin was close enough to touch, but didn’t have to be obvious about avoiding eye contact. It was a sign of her distress that she hadn’t wiped away the one tear.

Pema knew better than to draw attention to it.

The silence stretched.

Pema startled when she realized Lin was reaching out for her hand. But even her hand, still so warm, was slack with dejection.

Her heart broke all over again.

They heard the scuff of acolyte shoes at the threshold. Lin startled and jerked her hand away.

It hurt, just like it always had. Even here, where everyone know what they were to each other, Lin still feld the need for propriety.

Pema squelched her sigh. This wasn’t the time.

Brother Yonten stepped around Lin’s wheelchair until he could face them both. Pema gave a passing thought to how little his expression ever changed - rarely smiling, but never frowning, either. His downcast demeanor, as he knelt in front of them, emphasized how unhappy he was to be part of this unwelcome conversation.

“Sister Pema, Master Lin. We are all saddened to see Master Tenzin struggling so frequently with his verbal expression and his kinesthetic balance. I remember watching him demonstrate so many advanced forms to your children and the Harmonic Benders. It hurts to see him unable to stand without support.”

A new tear glistened on Lin’s cheek.

“You have shared with me how difficult it has been to keep him in your family quarters, how often he has stumbled against the steps of the kang in your room. You are wise to recognize that a change is for the best.”

He paused again, granting them time to consider his words. She met his eyes, and the way he gently raised his brow assured her that he shared in their pain.

Beside them, Lin snorted. “I tried that contraption Varrick’s kid sent over, but I couldn’t manage those braces and my wheelchair at the same time. It’s not like I’m that much younger than he is.”

She looked over at Pema, her lips as tightly pressed as they used to be, years and years ago.

Pema reached up to caress Lin’s cheek, and rubbed the tear away. She felt the faintest pressure from Lin before she knew to withdraw her hand.

But when she did, Lin had relaxed the tension in her face, leaving only sadness. They gazed at each other until Lin slowly closed her eyes and turned back toward Brother Yonten.

He inclined his head and continued, “When I left him, Master Tenzin was already asleep. The draught I gave him is very dilute and gentle, but still effective. He is likely to remain asleep for most of the night. One of our staff will check on him every hour tonight, and for the next week. We expect him to experience some disorientation, but that will likely wear off as time goes by.”

He sighed. “Unfortunately, I expect you will experience the same.”

Pema was so focused on the window she could see over Yonten’s shoulder, she was caught off guard by Lin’s sudden grip on her hand.

“Thank you for trusting us with Master Tenzin’s care. My experience in assisting elderly firebenders may be useful, but he will be our first powerful airbender to care for in his elder years. We are not entirely sure how his bending will change as he continues to age.”

Pema very much wanted someone to shake her awake, reassure her that this was all just a bad dream, and that life would return to normal. Her tall, imposing husband, and her tall, imposing wife, both focused on the future, ready at a moment’s notice to answer the call.

But at the sharp squeeze from Lin, Pema looked up, and she breathed away the fantasy of it all.

“It is for the best,” Lin said with resolute regret. “We have to let him stay here, where he can be safe.”

Pema searched Lin’s eyes. “Walking away is the price of the peace we all need.”

The stillness of the moment shrouded them all.