#flash back friday

[mrsoulstice]

Jonny Kemp

Just got paid-1987

Flashback Friday

[mxphoebesviewpoint]

#FBF with Take Two by T.B. Markinson and Miranda MacLeod #PRIDE

They were the perfect couple until pride got in the way… Gina Mitchells has a problem. The assistant professor is in charge of her college’s Pride festival committee, and the celebrity grand marshal they’d painstakingly recruited has just blown up the internet with a major scandal. Messing up the festival could ruin her chance to be approved for tenure. There’s exactly one famous person Gina…

[train-harder-to-be-better]

Flash Back Friday. Found this in the company’s mailbox box in 2021. Would you have played?

[ottawarealtor]

Flashback Friday to 8 years ago when working with a first time home buyer mom who got her first home in Canada and wanted to surprise her Daughter. It was a great pleasure to work with such an amazing family to help them get into a brand new built home! Me and the mom did a little surprise for the daughter as we pretended that we were just showing the home to them but truthfully we had already did all the paperwork to make this home theirs. Check out the sweet surprise we did for her and how happy she was! The home itself is always great but its more about the feelings you get inside and the comfort that comes with living inside a place you can call home that really makes people feel great especially when getting their first home. I love working with families :) Your Ottawa Realtor - www.Soldbysorin.com #ottawa #homes #friday #tgif #flashbackfriday #forsale #soldbysorin #happy #firstimehomebuyers #newtocanada #happyclients #surprise #realtor #realestate #ottawarealtor #romanian #ottawarealestate

[wildstar25]

Just another day in the Rak'tika Greatwoods

[Warning for Volume, Flashing imagery, Eye Strain, and General Silliness]

Dances used: Toothless Dance Mine Wanna Dance? 2 Phut Hon Friday Night Bye Bye Bye

[explosiontheory]

FFF310

Fandom: Carmen Sandiego

Words: 329

Rating: T

Warnings: injury description

@flashfictionfridayofficial

@backofthepencil11 @mmaricarmen23 enjoy!

Time passed on, and on, and on. Still no sign of Carmen. She should have met up at the rendezvous already. Player had lost contact over an hour ago. Shadowsan paced outside the van, eyes darting around for any sign of red amidst the shadows.

After an eternity stretched on in anxious purgatory, a streak of crimson did emerge from the darkened alleyway. A slow horror crept in as it became apparent that the scarlet was too much, spread out like a macabre painting, as Carmen stumbles into the street. Shadowsan swiftly made his way over, carefully taking hold as her consciousness slowly fades.

“Carmen, what happened?!” His voice even, despite the red now consuming his clothes.

“Paper… star and Tig…ress teamed up a-again. Got a bit…. cornered…” Carmen stuttered, speech slurring as she bleeds out.

Shadowsan gently lifts her, careful to not cause more injury, and just as swiftly slid into the back of the van. Ivy had gotten the medical kit out, as Shadowsan had Carmen half cradled in his arms. Her back was a colourful mess of pincushioned stars, blood streaking her back. Ivy locked eyes with him, terror written over her face. 

“Carmen?”

“Hmm?”

“You really should’ve been more careful. We can’t lose you.”

“It… could’ve been… worse…”

“I’m not accepting that you made it out ali-“

“I didn’t…. Let them get it…” Carmen was fading faster, voice barely audible as she’s dragged further under. Ivy was trying to remove the stars and stitch the cuts up as fast as possible, yet it didn’t seem fast enough.

“Carmen, your life is much more important than any artefact. You know that, right?”

All he was met with was silence, her chest barely rising as she slips further towards death’s grip. Ivy was still working valiantly on patching up her back, yet that wouldn’t even begin to cover the deep lacerations on her torso. All any of them could do was hope that Carmen could pull through.

[sufferthesea]

Flash Fiction Friday #4 (The Raven Cycle)

Word: No prompt word was chosen for this fic, but it's titled "Similarities" on AO3.

Pairings: Adam x Ronan, past Adam x Blue, Blue x Gansey

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse

Adam often wondered who he liked first, Blue or Ronan. And if his liking of one influenced the liking of the other. As much as they would kill him if he ever admitted this out loud to either of them, Blue and Ronan were two sides of the same coin. Even if they couldn’t see it, or wouldn’t, Adam could. And he did, often. 

For one thing, they both had short tempers. The first time they met Blue, they had all been in Nino’s, and Gansey had volunteered to speak to Blue on Adam’s behalf, even though Adam had begged him not to. Adam could tell just from a single look that Blue was not interested in Aglionby boys. And he’d been right, for the most part. Blue had cursed Gansey up and down right there in the restaurant, not even worried that she was going to get fired. 

Maybe that was the first time that Adam realized, even subconsciously, that she was like Ronan. Ronan would drop f-bombs all day long without a care, except if he was in the presence of his brother Matthew. But if he were around teachers or parents or the other Aglionby boys? Ronan’s vocabulary was more colorful than the tiny rainbow bracelet he’d quietly added to his stack of leather bands not long after their first summer as a couple. 

A second thing they have in common is that they’re outsiders. Or outcasts. No, Adam is an outcast. He’s never fit in, felt popular or cool, never been welcomed with open arms by someone who didn’t want something from him. Blue had her own group of friends. She never tried hard to fit in. She actually worked out to stand out, which was something Adam could never wrap his head around. Ronan was the same. Ronan never tried to be like Declan or like Matthew. He never tried to be like Gansey or Noah or anyone at Aglionby. The only person he really tried to be like was his father, Niall. That was another thing Adam couldn’t wrap his head around. How could anyone want to be like their father? But Ronan’s father was not like Adam’s father. There were plenty of Robert Parrishes in the world, but Niall Lynch was not one of them. He was a good one. A good father, a good husband, a good man. Aside from all the scheming and black market stuff. 

And, Adam supposed, Blue wanted to be like her mother, Maura. Maura Sargent was an admirable woman. She was a better mother than his own ever was. She allowed her daughter to be unique, but also let her know that she was still part of something. Part of a family, part of a business, part of a community. Adam was part of a white trash trailer in a poor part of town, a punching bag, a doormat, a 5-minute sex session (if that) turned into an 18-year commitment. 

As rare as good fathers were, good mothers seemed to be even rarer to Adam. He could understand the abuse, to a point. He was worthless, wasn’t he? He was stupid, and he was a burden, and he was trying to be somebody he wasn’t when he enrolled in Aglionby and started hanging out with Gansey and Noah and Ronan (and, eventually, Blue). But his mother had been a different creature. She’d been silent most of the time. Or she’d asked Adam to appease his father. To apologize. To shut up and take it. To bow down at the altar of Robert Parrish’s rage and provide himself as a human sacrifice for an unobtainable redemption. Maura Sargent wasn’t like that. She had scrounged and bled and cried for her daughter. She had fought for her daughter. She had sacrificed herself for her daughter. And Gansey’s mother, and Ronan’s mother, and perhaps even Noah’s mother (though the information they had on Noah’s parents was as nonexistent as Noah’s heartbeat). All of them were good people, good women, good mothers. Mothers that would go to the end of the earth for their children. Mothers that would die for them. That would kill for them. 

A third thing, if Adam is still counting, is that Blue and Ronan always had their own sense of style. He supposed this probably fell under the second item, but he liked to count it separate. Blue’s handmade clothes and untamed hair and the car she shared with who-knew-how-many women. Ronan’s muscle tees and unkempt uniform and the tattoo covering his back, up his neck, black ink spilling across pale skin that Adam knows by heart now. No one could make Blue or Ronan wear normal clothes, even if they tried. In fact, the mere suggestion that their clothes weren’t normal would probably end pretty badly for anyone involved. 

But Adam wondered over and over again: who did he like first? Did he like Ronan first, deep down, buried under the trauma and fear and self-hatred? Did it come out twisted when he saw Blue, so much like Ronan in her spitfire attitude and unbridled rage? Or did he always like Blue, truly and honestly, but did it dwindle when he realized he wasn’t her true love? Was Blue the unlucky recipient of Adam’s projected love for Ronan? Just caught in the crosshairs of his identity crisis, among all his other crises? He hates to think that what he felt for Blue hadn’t been real. He did care about her. Still does. But he also hates to think that he had loved Ronan the whole time and didn’t even see it because he couldn’t accept that part of himself. (That was, he knew Robert Parrish couldn’t accept that part of himself. And he feared that Gansey couldn’t accept that part of himself. And he wondered if Ronan would ever – could ever – feel the same way. What if he didn’t? What if Ronan had been disgusted by him? What if he’d turned that rage onto Adam one final time, one final explosive time, and blew up every shred of a relationship between them? But it didn’t happen, and Adam had to remind himself that over and over again. He had to make sure he didn’t catastrophize, or else he really would go insane.) 

Adam could probably wonder about this his whole life. It became his version of the “chicken or the egg”, and it used to eat him alive. Blue or Ronan? Blue or Ronan? But it never mattered. He was never Blue’s true love, and he ended up with Ronan. Everyone was happy (at least, as happy as they could be given the circumstances), and they were free. Blue was free to love Gansey. Adam was free to love Ronan. And Adam could feel miserable for not being Blue’s first love, but he won’t, because he was Ronan’s. 

[seekers-who-are-lovers]

Time is on their side

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial for the prompt #FFF290 - midnight distractions. Thank you once again. I finally got around with the continuation of this fiction that I’ve been meaning to write for months now. I think it was @ynxnyx who asked me about the birthday thing. (If not, apologies for the tag. 😟)

—

Fandom: Yatagarasu: The Raven Does Not Choose Its Master

Characters: Nazukihiko (Wakamiya, the crown prince), Yukiya, and brief appearances of Yukichi, Yukima, brief mention of the Great Tengu and Sumio

Word count: 1095

A HUGE full moon shone brightly tonight. So entranced was Nazukihiko that time unknowingly passed him by as he gazed at it. Seated at the engawa with his arms hugging his legs, he could see his shadow clearly. It was also quiet in the annex. This was the second time in half a year that he and Sumio were alone again. Upon their agreement, Yukiya had to stay for a whole weekend in Taruhi to celebrate his 14th birthday. He trusted that the boy would return the day after tomorrow.

The young prince could not say no to Lady Azusa’s request. After all, Yukiya deserved a short breather after meeting all his master’s demands and doing what he asked of him. He proved that he was indispensable when he was in the Ravine. It was one of those things that Yukiya must learn if he had to serve him as his right-hand man once he ascended the throne.

But something was nagging Wakamiya. He could not understand it at all. Did not even want to acknowledge it. Not quite. He missed his attendant. Yukiya became a permanent fixture in his life that it was impossible not to feel the void he had created when he was not beside him.

He stood up, went to his room, opened one of the drawers of the Chinese red cabinet, and took an object beneath his folded undergarments. It was kept in a paulownia box tied in a silk. Nazukihiko unwrapped the ribbon, opened the Kiribako, and removed the object inside. Encased in a bell jar to protect it from the moist that prevailed in Yamauchi was a functioning miniature Victorian travel watch that the Great Tengu had given him when he turned 14.

“I was in an auction house for the third time when I won this beauty. I was testing the waters how far I could go. Perhaps, out of hubris. I do not know. Besides, it was my one and only hobby if one would call it that. But I ended up owning so many of them, it would not hurt if I gave one away for a friend,” Nazukihiko was astonished receiving a present from the Tengu, which regarded him as a friend. Jun Tanimura found the way to navigate around humans, business or otherwise, that he and his Tengu clan became Nazukihiko’s lifeline in the Outside World.

He looked at the watch. It said 11:46 pm. Exactly 14 minutes before Yukiya’s birthday. He replaced it on the box then went to his study and grabbed a piece of paper. Next to it was the ink he prepared in the late evening. Thankful that it was not entirely dried up, he took his feather pen and wrote something down in his neat handwriting.

He jerked his head in the direction of his futon. After spreading it on the floor he started to roll it. It resembled a giant sushi or a sleeping person. He covered it with a blanket for the finishing touch, lest Sumio would check him out as soon as he returned from his mission. The crown prince did it a hundred times before that his friend-cum-personal guard scolded him for being careless. He was a furaibo, a wanderer, Sumio said. He also called it his midnight distractions, who knew as much as this habit of his master and close friend.

Nazukihiko discarded his kimono and placed it on top of the blanket. Wearing only his feather robe he walked toward the cliff overlooking the central town, a feast of lights and greenery dancing before his very eyes. He touched his chest securing the Kiribako inside his robe. From the platform he quickly jumped and transformed into a huge raven that one could never had imagined. Flapping his wings he surged into the sky and headed towards the Northern Territory.

—

Yukiya counted the house lizards on the ceiling. Lethargy prompted him to go to bed early but honestly, he could not sleep.

Next to him were his two brothers snoring. He could see their faces clearly through the shadow of the moon that shone flawlessly. Right now, a total silence reigned in the mansion, but tomorrow, ruckus and laughter would replace that.

Somehow, he was not used to it at all, that is, being the center of attention. He always relegated himself as much as possible in the background where everyone would leave him alone.

Yukima asked him what he he was doing in the court. Yukichi, on the other hand, wanted to know how the prince exactly looked like.

“Is he kind? Is he caring? Does he treat you well? Or is he scary?” Yukichi was full of questions, Yukiya dared not to answer them all.

“He cannot wait to kick me out. But one year is one year, Yukichi. And I am a man of my word,” he assured his younger brother.

“If he does not like the way you serve him, then why torture yourself?” Yukima was indignant that Yukiya was willing to sacrifice himself.

“It is as if you do not know me at all, brother,” Yukiya told him with confidence. “I never give up without a fight.” His face gave way to his usual impish expression that vanished quickly when he looked at the sky. Yukima noticed the quick change on his brother’s eyes.

Yukiya was utterly surprised when Wakamiya agreed to it. After all what they experienced together and that encounter at the terrace of the Sunrise Palace’s Main Shrine, the thought of leaving the young prince alone with Sumio-san made him feel restless.

Careful not to make a sound he pulled his futon close to the engawa to have an unobstructed view of the moon.

She is so huge tonight. How pretty she is. Yukiya marveled at it feeling his eyes turned heavy.

—

Nazukihiko found him the moment he descended quietly to the Taruhi mansion. Transforming into human again, he tiptoed to the opened door. Yukiya harbored between sleep and dream that a pair of cold hands finally calmed him down. The prince traced the eyes, the nose, and the lips in front of him. The urge to breathe the boy’s scent was overwhelming. He put the box and the letter between Yukiya’s hands, held them longer than he should be and gazed at his attendant once more.

“I am looking forward to seeing you again tomorrow, Yukiya. Please return to me. Time is on our side.”

The prince quickly left as soon as he uttered the words from the letter.

~tbc~

[whatgaviiformes]

Fic: A Promise Returned (FFF221)

@flashfictionfridayofficial - my first one! [#FFF221 Spine in a Twist]

Thunderbirds are Go! Characters: Gordon, Virgil Summary: Gordon sees things for what they are, and won’t take no for an answer - content warning: back injury, mentions of chronic pain Words: 887

*****

Virgil awoke with his heart in his throat – because sleeping it off hadn’t worked. Still sore from the rescue two days before, his back twinged in rebellion of him simply blinking. He was loath to imagine the severity of its protest once the rest of his muscles started working, when he actually stepped out of bed to grace the day.

One thing at a time. Just one, then the next.  Like he’d been doing all day yesterday.

He’d slowly managed to brush his teeth and shave his face and was just peeling his nightshirt off when he heard a knock on his door.

“A moment!” he growled, wrestling the shirt off the rest of the way before throwing on his preferred flannel on his way to the door. “What?”

Gordon ducked underneath Virgil’s arm, assuming that gave him entry, glanced around his dimly lit bedroom before spinning back to narrow his eyes at Virgil’s unbuttoned shirt and unkempt hair. “Remember how you said I could talk to you about anything?”

“Of course.” Virgil closed the door softly to give them privacy.  His siblings all knew the same; he prided himself on being a listening ear, but the reminder coming from Gordon harkened to a promise made long ago. At the time, his younger brother had been wheelchair bound and quiet. Uncharacteristically so. The words were an oath that he’d be there for him always, without judgment. Eventually, he’d managed to get confirmation of what he already knew – that Gordon was holding in emotions surrounding his injuries that desperately had needed to be shared.

For him to call upon the words now? It meant serious business.

“We need to talk about you -.”

“What about me?”

“-and the way you’re walking like you’ve got a spring pulled taut back there.”

“I haven’t.”

“Please,” he scoffed. “You can pretend in front of Alan, smile it away in front of John. Hide from Scott all you want. But you can’t fake it in front of me. You’ve been walking away when Scott’s focused on work, so he won’t notice. But I’ve noticed.”

“It’s not that bad.” Virgil crossed his arms over his chest.

“I’ve already got the plane prepped to fly you to LA.”

Virgil frowned. LA meant Cedars-Sinai. Cedars-Sinai meant Gordon’s spinal doctors.

“I don’t need the hospital.” It definitely wasn’t that bad.

“Virgil!” Gordon mirrored his defensiveness and squared his shoulders as he huffed in exasperation. Moment by moment, Virgil watched him forcefully work to soften his frustration, so that by the time he spoke, it was sincere and without the blaze of fire he knew the aquanaut shared with their eldest brother – under the right circumstances. Virgil was already irritable, but Gordon’s obvious attempt to placate the situation he created in the first place infuriated him. He was about to tell him to kindly find his way out of his bedroom, but Gordon’s tone caught him by surprise.

“It’s me, V.” Gordon placed his hand over his heart, his eyes bright and earnest. “I don’t mention the hospital just for the fun of it. You know that. And I know what a back injury looks like. I lived it. I still live it, every day. Chronic pain is no joke. And I don’t want anyone to have to go through what I went through – not you, not any of our brothers, not even the Hood. So, if you could please just come with me to Tracy One to get your back checked out so you don’t have to join me every morning for yoga, that would be great.

“I haven’t told Scott yet. We don’t even need to mention it unless there’s something to mention, if you want. I’ll ignore John when we leave. I mean, he hates that, but I’ll still do it if it makes you feel more comfortable. But please just come. I can’t make the pain go away, but I know you’re hurting, so let me do this for you and I’ll –“

“Gordon, stop.” Virgil held up his hand, palm side out, his voice crackling with emotion. Because he had been purposefully skirting around Scott’s prying eyes, waiting to move until his brother was fully distracted. And that in itself was proof enough that he knew, deep down, what he was feeling wasn’t normal. He’d been scared of what it meant to admit it to himself.

He had expected he could hide it, that it would just go away after a number of sleeps, but of course, of course, Gordon saw it for what it was.  

“Do you really think it could be that bad?”

“If it’s your spine? I’m not willing to wait to find out.” The compassion and understanding in his brother’s eyes shone brightly. “So you’ll come?”

Virgil lowered his gaze to the floor, “Yes, I’ll go with you. But just so I don’t have to do morning yoga!”

Gordon grinned finally, but with an apology in his expression as he pulled the hoverchair he’d left in the hallway into Virgil’s room. “Yoga not your speed?” he said, in an attempt to distract him.

Virgil grimaced, lowering himself with resignation into the support of the chair that had once been Gordon’s prison for months. He swallowed his fear, and quipped with a pained smile, “No. Mornings aren’t my speed.”

[train-harder-to-be-better]

Flash Back Friday! The Fit Expo Anaheim returns tomorrow for the largest fit expo event in Orange County! Whose going? I’ll see you there!

[drowning-in-cacophony]

ringing out

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial Prompt 283: Calling, Calling Home

[Summary: a woman must decide whether to pick up the phone]

The communicator rings out. She spares a glance to it, the engine running hot underneath her fingertips, the sunset blasting orange through the car’s windows. A subtle trilling sound, low enough that a loud voice would cover it. Loud enough that her breathing hides underneath it, like it’s her heart carved out and placed on display to beat instead of hiding under the floorboards. It’s the same feeling either way. A throbbing, itching at her skull.

The communicator rings seven times before it pauses for this round. It’s been three lots in total though, so she doesn’t have hope it’ll stop there. This is the sort of thing that’s going to persist until the night’s rolled in, or until she’s answered.

The pause hangs in the air, thicker than tension. A weight dropped on her throat. She stares at the dust forming in the corner of the front window, the pattern of the wipers carving an arc, terribly obvious in this brightness. Her hand curls against the wheel, rough leather grip nibbling at her skin. In the pause, her breath sounds louder than ever: it’s almost a relief not to hear her too-short gulps when the communicator kicks in again. The first instrument’s stroke, clashing around her ears, lapping at the interior of the car. The sun’s dying beams bathe it like a gem, sparkles and all, the warmth trying to soften it. Soften the rings, what it all means. Something so beautifully gold can’t be something hard to bear, can it?

Her fingers scream as she grips the wheel tighter, and she relishes the pain if it keeps her head screwed on.

By the third ring through, she’s looking out at the practically abandoned road ahead of her. No other cars have come racing down this coastal road the whole three rounds so far. Isolated, is what it leaves her feeling. Just her alone in the world, the communicator’s incessant calls trying to remind her there’s a home out there. Yet is it a home when someone else is the one calling it that? When your heart swallows a beat at the thought of it? The fourth ring circles out. It’s so neutral, the sound, the same bland utterance. No rise, no fall, no indication of the irritation that might be cloying down the other end, the desperation too, clouding up everything else. Fifth, and her eyes are twitching. The car, still left on running, throbs underneath her legs. A beast that wants to run; here she is shackling it down until she’s come to a decision.

Seven. Pause. She huffs out a breath, harsh in the silence. The communicator doesn’t even look innocent. It just looks inert, a pebble fished out of a lake. The threat it represents burns anyway, more than that setting sun, starting to sparkle its intensity straight into her eyes. Yellow and shuddering dark spots, her vision. It sort of reminds her of pain, sort of reminds her what’s at stake here. If she answers the communicator, she’ll be opening herself to all those dark marks that blinking won’t be able to deal with. Permanent as scars instead; is she really ready to go back to all of that, slinking back like a dog too broken to do anything else with its existence? She answers, she goes home, there won’t be a chance to break contact like this again. She answers, and she’s dragged right back in.

They’ll need her though, because they wouldn’t keep calling if they didn’t. That might not be home, maybe; does she have the right to claim herself another? Just another person going through life, she’d call herself a lie. An investigator running rebel is the truth, a fugitive in all but name, taking this after she’s taken so much other things. The data, the observations, all chartered back to a place that thinks differently to how she’s come to be. The dilemma, then. She’s taken, yet she doesn’t know if she can give to them again, not anymore.

The communicator rings out again. Calling her home.

She stares, one more pointed pulse.

Then she’s turning up the radio and letting the beast run.

[mama-ivy]

A Change in Plans

Warning - mentions of physical abuse and prostitution

Frankie was mad. Like, really, really mad.

The supposed client was about to become his mark. That’s how mad he was.

He sat in the driver seat of his caddy trying to figure out his next steps. He had found a great hiding spot for the car that hid it from the road but was still close enough to the mark’s house so that he could see what was going on.  He couldn’t get closer than the street, though, because he didn’t want to leave footprints. It had been raining for over six hours and there wasn’t any grass between him and the god-awful trailer that this girl lived in.  He could still hear the thunder rumbling as the storm moved further and further away raining down on the poor people in the neighboring cities.

The rain had done him at least one small favor, the night air was so crisp and clean that he could hear clearly the conversation happening between his client and his mark as they argued on the front porch.

This asshole had come into his office last week with a full payment and a sob story about how his wife was the worst and she abused his kid and she was always high and he was worried about his wellbeing and .. and .. and. The child abuse was what got him. He never went after innocent women and children. Supposedly, this woman wasn’t innocent. So Frankie took the job and the money.

Now he was sitting in his car watching this supposedly horrid woman desperately beg for her pimp to stop sending her out until the leg that he broke fully healed.

He was yelling about johns.

She was crying about the cast.

He was threatening to give her a matching set of casts.

The longer Frankie sat, the more mad he got. But how to get the client-turned-mark into the car without the mark-turned-client seeing him?

Finally, the poor, crying, broken-legged woman went back inside, but not before her pimp slapped her around a bit and threatened her some more.

Frankie sat quietly waiting to see what would happen.

The pimp that had hired him to “disappear” his broken hooker stormed away from the trailer and towards Frankie’s car. Frankie saw his chance and took it.

“Hey. C’mere.”

The new mark smiled at Frankie and came up to the car.

“Get in. I need to finalize some details with you before this goes down.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Frankie waited for him to close himself into the passenger seat and took off down the road. He had already scouted out the drop off point for the supposedly horrid woman. He could still use it if he dug the hole a bit bigger than planned.

@flashfictionfridayofficial

[cosmicbyeol]

anyways… how was your week?? talk about it in my asks!!

[latrodectal]

happy birthday to me 🔥

[onceuponanaromantic]

it's a long story (tell me anyway)

(Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial's prompt FFF226: By Any Other Name. Enjoy!)

Fire licks at her hands where she presses them into the burning hull of the spaceship and curses. Fire twists through the ruins of her jacket, biting at her undershirt as she works through the combustion equations in her head, pulling at the wards to admit her new ward as they spiral rapidly through the atmosphere. She calculates the propulsion through rapidly decreasing oxygen levels and increasing heat, ignoring the light and smoke.

In the last few moments, it takes as she sings to it, using the last of her oxygen. And the darkness takes her.

“Hell of an entrance, Ira.” She wakes to the horrible pungent smell of the healing ward. Herbs and antiseptic make for a terrible combination, but they also make for an efficient combination so she bears with it. “Welcome home.”

A hand pats hers, and she squints at the physician treating her. The rough callouses from scalpel use brush against healing skin. The room spins around her as she tries to see through the haze. “Don’t sit up. The smoke did a number to your lungs and your bloodwork made Healer Kyrie curse all sorts of things when it came in, so I recommend you take their instructions.”

“Rest, Ira.” She doesn’t know what expression her face must be making but it’s enough that Dr Kaiyan laughs. “I know you’re not familiar with the concept but it really will help.”

            “It’s not like Rin is going anywhere.”

            Something beeps in the background. Kaiyan curses.

“I need to go now, but let me know if you need anything and,” she hesitates, “it really is good to see you. I wish it was under better circumstances.”

I love you too, she would have said if she had any voice to say it with, as the door closes.

Let’s talk about a hypothetical situation. Let’s say that you’ve spent years staring at warding because you were never that good at making friends anyway. Let’s say that you tell your older sister, who is also your guardian that there’s a problem. That in twenty years’ time, there’s going to be a problem with the magic because there’s an error in the original flow structure that initially imported magic over from a different world. Say, no one takes either of you seriously because what arrogance, to presume that you knew better than the warders who set up the initial system.

Say it happens in six years instead of twenty. Say the systems begin to crumble, and there’s panic and there’s no solution to be found. Say your sister by this time is a priestess who finds a way out through an ancient book. Say she twists the magic to rely on her soul through an ancient spell that converts a death into eternal sleep. There’s a way to get out from it, true love’s kiss, but it will undo the original spell.

They hadn’t even bothered to call her. It was just a letter, mixed in with bills and advertisements for other conferences and new boba tea shops popping up in different nebulae. Just a letter with a plain font.

-

“Ira.” Her sister’s fiancée gets up from beside where her sister lies sleeping. “They told me you were back.”

“Right, I don’t think they told you the part where I fell out of the sky.”

Ana grins, despite the dried tear tracks and the wrinkles. “Oh, Kaiyan did mention that too. You look different.”

“You look different too.” She looks down at herself, taking in the stains from where she had been working through the theory again, checking her wards.

If nobody was going to take her seriously, well, she was going to come up with a solution anyway. It’s not like she wanted to be an academic full-time in the first place.

All she had wanted was to keep her sister safe. And it turns out she hadn’t even managed that.

(She hid the grief for her selfishness in balls of pain in her throat. She knew she was selfish. She could have come back earlier. She knew she could have, when her sister first told her the thing she had predicted was happening already. She knew. But it had been so nice, to be someone other than Rin’s sister. To change her hair, to change her name and her eyes and pretend it wasn’t running away when she had left. To refuse to answer Rin’s messages, because it was an old life and it wasn’t like Rin could come after her anyway.)

She notices the ring around Ana’s finger. “Congratulations, by the way.”

Ana breaks her gaze. “We’re not married. Just engaged and well, she thought we should have rings. I thought she told you.”

She swallowed past the lump in her throat.

“Have they found an alternate solution to the problem?” She winces at the harsh change in subject.

Ana spreads her hands. “Have at it.”

She turns away, mind already spinning ahead in threads and numbers and calculations. “And Ira? Come have lunch sometime. It’s been a while.”

It takes her twelve days, running around the city and not sleeping or eating except for a great deal of caffeine and the occasional snack bar. But she solves it. She sets the plan she had been working on for the last three years in progress, and she executes it perfectly.

She gets through the final result long enough for it all to click into place, for her to get to the room in the temple her sister sleeps in, for her to see her sister begin to stir.

“Oh good.” She says, and passes out herself.

            She wakes up to yet another argument being carried out over her. They all turn to her as she wakes, and she blearily glares at them.

            “How did you get over the true love requirement?” “Why isn’t there anything collapsing?”

            “Math.” She squints at them and then goes back to sleep.

            The next time she wakes, it’s to Rin and Ana talking quietly over her. Rin is the first to notice her, even though the premature wrinkles twist at the edges of her face

            “You look different.” It’s been a while. I’m sorry.

            “Hello, stranger.” Rin says, “I’ve missed you. What’s your name now?”

[avatarskywalker78]

I haven't done of these in a while, but here's Fic Back Friday again - or in this case, fic series, because today I am recommending reaching up to touch the sky by @shrinkthisviolet, an excellent series of fics featuring her OC, Morgan Wells, a girl who deserves the WORLD but who goes through so much because she has Eowells as a so-called parent!!! She's a fantastic character whom I love dearly and who you root for and I love her relationships with the cast, especially with Barry, Iris and Tina, and all the stories are so compelling. You will laugh, you will cry, you will be hit in the feels and you will want to yeet Eowells into the sun as I do. You will get your heart broken into a thousand pieces - but believe me, it is absolutely worth it!!!! It's one of the best series I have ever read on AO3 and I can't wait to see where it goes next, and you won't regret it!!!