![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
edenfallingNow that I am no longer stressed out about my Ouroboros Mix fic, I have finally been able to poke around this year's Three Sentence Ficathon (part 1 and part 2), which is being run by the ever-amazing rthstewart. And I have written a few fills, because why not?
I still don't entirely have this "three sentence" concept down -- you may note that three of the following seven ficlets have four sentences, oh noes!!! -- but compared to the epics I wrote last time, I think I am doing fairly well. :-)
---------------
ailavyn_siniyash, The Dark is Rising, the Dark, banished
home from a terrible dream (135 words)
They fall out of Time, a single moment of despairing fury stretched thin and taut across all eternity, for there is no longer any possibility of change, or regathering, or fruition: nothing but an endless, clawing void, the true vacuum never found in the natural world. The White Rider hears her brother scream, and scream, and scream, one breath caught forever in disharmony with her own, and she cannot grow accustomed to the sound, or tired of it, or even aware of how long they have been screaming.
John, you fool, I would have made you king, she thinks, and thinks, and thinks again, one final point of consciousness crystallized in pain and horror's amber as she falls; she has made him immortal after all, and amidst her breathless, endless scream she almost draws breath to laugh.
---------------
cest_what, Homestuck, Calliope, tricksters
paving stones (185 words)
Calliope has no idea what will lead her brother into surrendering the code for his own juju, but despite her determination to keep interaction with her friends linear, she hasn't been able to resist peeking ahead, hoarding the tiny scraps she can see through the increasing static and interference, and what she sees tells her that her friends are all unhappy in their various ways: some more obviously than others, but all of them restless and aching for a clear path through the tangles of their epic journey.
Calliope understands that yearning down to her blood and bones, understands loneliness and the bitter, gnawing certainty that she will never find the right answer, the right moment, the right trick, to make her brother change his ways and see how much better they could be if they worked together -- and while she knows she can't fix herself, if the pixilated scraps of candy hair and brilliant clothes she's seen really do mean what she hopes they mean, she can fix her friends.
She can make them happy.
And in the end, isn't that what friendship's for?
---------------
ailavyn_siniyash, Dark is Rising, Owen Davies, 'i always knew who you really were'
once upon a myth (220 words)
He knows, of course, that it is all nonsense, that Gwen is merely another note in an age-old tragic song, only an ordinary woman from an ordinary city or farm, trapped in a narrow, loveless marriage with a brute of a man until she gathered her scraps of courage for the sake of a newborn babe and fled seeking a devil she didn't know: that her strangeness is easily explained by the terrible things any man can do to another, beating down a soul with words and deeds for year upon year upon year. There is no need for magic when human cruelty will serve.
But Owen was raised on legends of Arthur, both the pretty tales of chivalry and the older stories that the Saxons and the French left out -- the tales where Arthur was first and foremost king rather than husband or father, and ordered the death of any child who might be his bastard, fate-shrouded son -- and when Gwen speaks with an accent he cannot quite place, when she looks askance at his car and telly and toilet, when she murmurs names in her sleep he thinks he almost understands... well and so, a man can dream of timelost queens and fancy himself a knight, can he not, so long as the work gets done.
---------------
betony, Chronicles of Narnia, Aravis(/Cor) and Ram, tales of Calormen (link to fill)
Scheherazade, After (225 words)
The nursery door swung open with a bare whisper of well-oiled hinges, lamplight spilling warm and gold into the star-lit corridor as Cor leaned against the doorframe; he pressed a finger to his mouth when Aravis glanced his way, not wanting to break the rhythm of her words and startle Ram from his descent into sleep.
"--for once the salt hit the demon's face, the spell was broken and it fled, weeping and wailing in endless hunger, away from the well that brimmed full once more with cool, sweet water; and that is the tale of how Uyacha Tarkheena saved her father's village," Aravis finished, bringing her hands together as if closing a book -- a bare brush of skin to skin rather than the traditional clap -- and Cor held his breath along with her to see if their son would stir.
"You are late tonight, O my beloved, despite your promises, and so you missed the meat and breath of the tale," Aravis murmured, rising from her seat beside the low, cushion-strewn bed with a sharp gleam in her eyes, "but it so happens that I may be persuaded to recite the words anew, for a price."
Cor took her offered hands -- scar-wreathed and strong, marked with the callus of swords and horses and perfume imported from beyond the desert -- and drew her close for a kiss.
---------------
betony, Harry Potter, Fleur Delacour & Viktor Krum & Harry Potter, the next Triwizard Tournament
why break a winning streak? (100 words)
"Fancy a private wager?" Harry whispers from the corner of his mouth, careful not to move his lips enough for anyone with Omnioculars to see as he and the other (surviving) champions wave gamely from seats in the gilded balcony that overlooks one of Beauxbatons' many elaborate courtyards.
Fleur and Krum exchange a long stare under cover of turning and waving at various sectors of the crowd, favoring students and spectators alike with false, professional smiles.
"Called on account of death," they say in chorus, and Harry cannot stop his own plastic smile from twisting into something painful and true.
---------------
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
with_rainfall, Any fandom, any/any/any/any, orgies (link to fill)
an idea so bad it's AWESOME (175 words)
"You know," Jake remarked much later, "while I can't look back on that trickster interlude without feeling a complete ass, I sometimes wonder if our mad selves might not have had one decent idea in a sea of... of..." -- "Disney acid sequence?" "Horror?" "Complete bullshit?" Roxy, Jane, and Dirk offered, respectively, dropping words into Jake's flailing hands in hope that some might fit -- "of complete bullshit, yes, thank you, Strider."
Jane's stomach roiled at the memory of the things she'd said and done under the influence of Calliope's juju -- it had been a horror story, in her view; losing control of herself had always been a recurring nightmare, even before the game -- but she couldn't help asking: "That idea being?"
"Romantic angst is poppycock; instead, we should stop worrying about couples and boyfriends and whatnot and just all have sex together," Jake proclaimed, throwing his arms over Dirk's and Roxy's shoulders and beaming as if he'd found the answer to the ultimate riddle.
Jane facepalmed, but a treacherous part of her mind couldn't help wondering about logistics.
---------------
psyche29, Narnia, Susan (+/ any), come someone, make my heavy heart light
here comes the sun (160 words)
Winter is long and dreary, as if all England mourns with her -- and perhaps that is true in a way, her own loss mirrored and magnified across a whole country torn and starved by the grinding ache of war -- but even magic cannot prevent the seasons' turn in the end, and crocuses begin to shove their tiny heads through the gray and muddy soil and burst into defiant bloom.
A gust of wind swirls the hem of Susan's coat, slips chill fingers through her hair, threads gently between her gloved fingers as if tugging her toward the nearby trees to join their swaying dance.
For a moment she resists, all too conscious that she is in public under watching eyes, but when she relents and twirls, raising her arms above her head in the pure joy of motion, she cannot help but laugh; and when she stills and resumes her walk, the people she passes do not judge, but smile.
---------------
Tomorrow I may even venture to leave some prompts, but for now, I am off to sleep.
rthstewart. And I have written a few fills, because why not?I still don't entirely have this "three sentence" concept down -- you may note that three of the following seven ficlets have four sentences, oh noes!!! -- but compared to the epics I wrote last time, I think I am doing fairly well. :-)
---------------
ailavyn_siniyash, The Dark is Rising, the Dark, banishedhome from a terrible dream (135 words)
They fall out of Time, a single moment of despairing fury stretched thin and taut across all eternity, for there is no longer any possibility of change, or regathering, or fruition: nothing but an endless, clawing void, the true vacuum never found in the natural world. The White Rider hears her brother scream, and scream, and scream, one breath caught forever in disharmony with her own, and she cannot grow accustomed to the sound, or tired of it, or even aware of how long they have been screaming.
John, you fool, I would have made you king, she thinks, and thinks, and thinks again, one final point of consciousness crystallized in pain and horror's amber as she falls; she has made him immortal after all, and amidst her breathless, endless scream she almost draws breath to laugh.
---------------
cest_what, Homestuck, Calliope, tricksterspaving stones (185 words)
Calliope has no idea what will lead her brother into surrendering the code for his own juju, but despite her determination to keep interaction with her friends linear, she hasn't been able to resist peeking ahead, hoarding the tiny scraps she can see through the increasing static and interference, and what she sees tells her that her friends are all unhappy in their various ways: some more obviously than others, but all of them restless and aching for a clear path through the tangles of their epic journey.
Calliope understands that yearning down to her blood and bones, understands loneliness and the bitter, gnawing certainty that she will never find the right answer, the right moment, the right trick, to make her brother change his ways and see how much better they could be if they worked together -- and while she knows she can't fix herself, if the pixilated scraps of candy hair and brilliant clothes she's seen really do mean what she hopes they mean, she can fix her friends.
She can make them happy.
And in the end, isn't that what friendship's for?
---------------
ailavyn_siniyash, Dark is Rising, Owen Davies, 'i always knew who you really were'once upon a myth (220 words)
He knows, of course, that it is all nonsense, that Gwen is merely another note in an age-old tragic song, only an ordinary woman from an ordinary city or farm, trapped in a narrow, loveless marriage with a brute of a man until she gathered her scraps of courage for the sake of a newborn babe and fled seeking a devil she didn't know: that her strangeness is easily explained by the terrible things any man can do to another, beating down a soul with words and deeds for year upon year upon year. There is no need for magic when human cruelty will serve.
But Owen was raised on legends of Arthur, both the pretty tales of chivalry and the older stories that the Saxons and the French left out -- the tales where Arthur was first and foremost king rather than husband or father, and ordered the death of any child who might be his bastard, fate-shrouded son -- and when Gwen speaks with an accent he cannot quite place, when she looks askance at his car and telly and toilet, when she murmurs names in her sleep he thinks he almost understands... well and so, a man can dream of timelost queens and fancy himself a knight, can he not, so long as the work gets done.
---------------
betony, Chronicles of Narnia, Aravis(/Cor) and Ram, tales of Calormen (link to fill)Scheherazade, After (225 words)
The nursery door swung open with a bare whisper of well-oiled hinges, lamplight spilling warm and gold into the star-lit corridor as Cor leaned against the doorframe; he pressed a finger to his mouth when Aravis glanced his way, not wanting to break the rhythm of her words and startle Ram from his descent into sleep.
"--for once the salt hit the demon's face, the spell was broken and it fled, weeping and wailing in endless hunger, away from the well that brimmed full once more with cool, sweet water; and that is the tale of how Uyacha Tarkheena saved her father's village," Aravis finished, bringing her hands together as if closing a book -- a bare brush of skin to skin rather than the traditional clap -- and Cor held his breath along with her to see if their son would stir.
"You are late tonight, O my beloved, despite your promises, and so you missed the meat and breath of the tale," Aravis murmured, rising from her seat beside the low, cushion-strewn bed with a sharp gleam in her eyes, "but it so happens that I may be persuaded to recite the words anew, for a price."
Cor took her offered hands -- scar-wreathed and strong, marked with the callus of swords and horses and perfume imported from beyond the desert -- and drew her close for a kiss.
---------------
betony, Harry Potter, Fleur Delacour & Viktor Krum & Harry Potter, the next Triwizard Tournamentwhy break a winning streak? (100 words)
"Fancy a private wager?" Harry whispers from the corner of his mouth, careful not to move his lips enough for anyone with Omnioculars to see as he and the other (surviving) champions wave gamely from seats in the gilded balcony that overlooks one of Beauxbatons' many elaborate courtyards.
Fleur and Krum exchange a long stare under cover of turning and waving at various sectors of the crowd, favoring students and spectators alike with false, professional smiles.
"Called on account of death," they say in chorus, and Harry cannot stop his own plastic smile from twisting into something painful and true.
---------------
with_rainfall, Any fandom, any/any/any/any, orgies (link to fill)an idea so bad it's AWESOME (175 words)
"You know," Jake remarked much later, "while I can't look back on that trickster interlude without feeling a complete ass, I sometimes wonder if our mad selves might not have had one decent idea in a sea of... of..." -- "Disney acid sequence?" "Horror?" "Complete bullshit?" Roxy, Jane, and Dirk offered, respectively, dropping words into Jake's flailing hands in hope that some might fit -- "of complete bullshit, yes, thank you, Strider."
Jane's stomach roiled at the memory of the things she'd said and done under the influence of Calliope's juju -- it had been a horror story, in her view; losing control of herself had always been a recurring nightmare, even before the game -- but she couldn't help asking: "That idea being?"
"Romantic angst is poppycock; instead, we should stop worrying about couples and boyfriends and whatnot and just all have sex together," Jake proclaimed, throwing his arms over Dirk's and Roxy's shoulders and beaming as if he'd found the answer to the ultimate riddle.
Jane facepalmed, but a treacherous part of her mind couldn't help wondering about logistics.
---------------
psyche29, Narnia, Susan (+/ any), come someone, make my heavy heart lighthere comes the sun (160 words)
Winter is long and dreary, as if all England mourns with her -- and perhaps that is true in a way, her own loss mirrored and magnified across a whole country torn and starved by the grinding ache of war -- but even magic cannot prevent the seasons' turn in the end, and crocuses begin to shove their tiny heads through the gray and muddy soil and burst into defiant bloom.
A gust of wind swirls the hem of Susan's coat, slips chill fingers through her hair, threads gently between her gloved fingers as if tugging her toward the nearby trees to join their swaying dance.
For a moment she resists, all too conscious that she is in public under watching eyes, but when she relents and twirls, raising her arms above her head in the pure joy of motion, she cannot help but laugh; and when she stills and resumes her walk, the people she passes do not judge, but smile.
---------------
Tomorrow I may even venture to leave some prompts, but for now, I am off to sleep.
(no subject)
Date: 2013-03-27 06:41 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-03-28 05:15 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-03-27 12:55 pm (UTC)And I think it must have been painful for Harry, Fleur and Viktor to return to the Tournament, even as guests. There are far too many memories there and of what happened, and of poor Cedric.
(no subject)
Date: 2013-03-28 05:17 am (UTC)Yeah, the Triwizard Tournament is never going to be a comfortable subject for any of those three, and to have to smile and serve as sort of living advertisements... not fun. Not remotely in the same country as fun.
(no subject)
Date: 2013-03-27 02:07 pm (UTC)And the Caliope one... T__T yeah, that is probably exactly how it happened.
(no subject)
Date: 2013-03-28 05:19 am (UTC)Oh Calliope. She means well, she really does, but she does not understand humans half as well as she thinks she does. *pets her* *then pets all the Alpha kids for good measure*
(no subject)
Date: 2013-03-27 02:50 pm (UTC)And reading the kids to sleep! Of course Aravis is still Aravis and will never give up who she is and where she came from.
And the last one made me /cry/.
(no subject)
Date: 2013-03-28 05:31 am (UTC)Of course Aravis is never going to give up Calormene storytelling, among other things. I mean, I understand why people write stories about her adapting to Archenland and adopting parts of her new country's culture, and I certainly don't think she feels any residual loyalty to the Tisroc (or even to her father, given how readily she left home), but I personally can't see her ever rejecting Calormen wholesale.
Sorry about the crying?
(no subject)
Date: 2013-03-27 09:51 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-03-28 05:32 am (UTC)