Time for more Three Sentence Ficathon fills!
Here is the old ficathon post (still open for fills and comments! just not new prompts), and here is the new ficathon post (open for everything).
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( 61. ) For![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
silveradept: Any, any, the post-apocalyptic library and mercenaries setting described in this general thread about the sacredness of books and the library as an institution that nobody messes with, written 2/24/20
A Kind of Paradise Enow (750 words)
Original fiction. Also, this got a little out of hand...
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( cut for length )
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( 62. ) Forkalira: any, any, brushing/braiding/putting up someone else's hair, written 2/24/20
Social Grooming in Primates (235 words)
Fandom = The Magnus Archives
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Jon's had a hard time dealing with his own hair since-- since Prentiss, really; some of the worm scars and the resulting bandages were in places that made lifting his arms that high, or brushing his hair with more than the barest, cat-whisker strokes, nearly impossible; but it got worse after Michael stabbed him, and Jude burned him, and now the Buried has fucked his shoulders once again and he just lets the whole untidy mess hang and tangle as it will for lack of anyone to ask for help.
It doesn't occur to him until two days later, when Daisy wanders past with her own hair a mess of tangles (though mostly clean of dirt; he knows, suddenly, exactly how long she sat, shaking, in the steadily cooling shower until the water no longer ran brown when she mashed the back of her head against the tiled walls), that he's not the only person having trouble, and that maybe he does have someone to ask after all.
It's just this once, he thinks that first time, but there's something so intensely solid and reassuring about hands running through another person's hair, about caring and being cared for, that it becomes a pattern: every day or two, Daisy wanders into his office with a comb, a brush, and a new handful of soft, bright-colored hair ties, and they take turns making each other feel human.
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( 63. ) Forkalira: any, any, bloody footprints, written 2/24/20
Do You Hear the People Sing? (215 words)
Fandom = The Magnus Archives. Contains violence.
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Working retail is a war, and Reva doesn't know why nobody else can see it -- really see it, not just smile and sigh and say things like, "Yeah, it sure feels like hell some days, doesn't it?" but feel the snarling tension that snaps between every clerk and stocker and helpless return desk staffer and all the customers who invade the Walmart and want nothing more than to trample the staff underfoot and crush them under the weight of too much work and never enough time or money or support.
But she keeps talking, and talking, and slowly her words fall into rhythm and the others nod and clap along, finally solid at her back, and when Mrs. Fucking Macready from down Deer Lick Road comes in Thursday morning demanding a refund like she doesn't charge Reva and her parents twice the market rate for rent even though she's sitting pretty on her husband's life insurance payout, Reva snaps and screams and lunges forward, and her troops fall in behind her for the charge.
When the battle is over, the store finally still and the loudspeakers singing only static, Reva marches through the shattered doors with only a trail of bloody footprints in her wake, but it's okay.
She'll raise a new army soon enough.
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( 64. ) Forredfiona99: Any, any, extra day's holiday, written 2/25/20
Domestic Bliss (260 words)
Fandom = The Magnus Archives. Six sentences.
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"So what pronouncement did the terrible eldritch forces behind the Magnus Institute have for you at this hour of the morning?" Georgie asked as Jon dropped back into his chair and set his cell phone on their wobbly kitchen table with an expression halfway between calculation and a scowl. The Admiral promptly reclaimed Jon's lap as his rightful territory and Jon, well-trained, began stroking the soft gray fur between his ears.
"The computer system is down so all the researchers have been given an optional day off," Jon said, "which is ridiculous -- yes, computers are useful but the books are still there, the phone lines are functional, and it's not like I've forgotten how to take notes with pen and paper -- but I think Rosie was strongly implying that they'd prefer me not to come in."
"Considering you'd nearly overworked yourself into pneumonia before I convinced you to use your sick leave, I'd say she has a point," Georgie said tartly, then smiled, and shrugged, and added, "Besides which, if you're that desperate to research probably made-up spooky stories, I have some episode backgrounds that could use a bit of fleshing out -- and don't pretend that you won't enjoy the chance to indulge the Admiral all day."
"I don't know why I ever thought we'd still work as roommates after we broke up," Jon grumbled, but it was for show and Georgie knew that he knew that she knew it.
"Drink your tea, grumpy-guts," she said, and ruffled his hair to watch him and the Admiral hiss in mutual affront.
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( 65. ) Foreagleoftheninth: Any, any, turning into a giant snake never helps, written 2/25/20
Serpens Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus (100 words)
Original fiction. Also, please forgive the Latin; I used Google Translate. *headdesk*
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"But everyone knows turning into a giant snake is why both Dread Sorcerer Ralyard and the Blue Witch of Aloesse lost their last battles -- why should I learn a spell that never helps?"
"Certainly it's no use in a fight, but I wouldn't say turning into a giant snake never helps," the sorceress told her apprentice. "If one has a decent grasp of warming charms and a large enough room, I've found that not only does one get the best sleep of one's life in reptile form, vanishingly few people are willing to wake a giant snake from a nap."
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( 66. ) Forkurosakiami01: any, any, "don't worry, you're with us now", written 2/25/20
When the Earth Shall Claim Your Limbs (610 words)
Fandom = The Magnus Archives. Contains body horror and someone buried alive.
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( cut for length )
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And now I will finish my breakfast before heading off to work, where I will valiantly pretend I am a functional human being who is not coming down with a nasty cold. Ugh.
Don't work service industry jobs, people. They're not good for your health.
Here is the old ficathon post (still open for fills and comments! just not new prompts), and here is the new ficathon post (open for everything).
---------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------
( 61. ) For
silveradept: Any, any, the post-apocalyptic library and mercenaries setting described in this general thread about the sacredness of books and the library as an institution that nobody messes with, written 2/24/20A Kind of Paradise Enow (750 words)
Original fiction. Also, this got a little out of hand...
-----
( cut for length )
---------------
---------------
( 62. ) For
kalira: any, any, brushing/braiding/putting up someone else's hair, written 2/24/20Social Grooming in Primates (235 words)
Fandom = The Magnus Archives
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Jon's had a hard time dealing with his own hair since-- since Prentiss, really; some of the worm scars and the resulting bandages were in places that made lifting his arms that high, or brushing his hair with more than the barest, cat-whisker strokes, nearly impossible; but it got worse after Michael stabbed him, and Jude burned him, and now the Buried has fucked his shoulders once again and he just lets the whole untidy mess hang and tangle as it will for lack of anyone to ask for help.
It doesn't occur to him until two days later, when Daisy wanders past with her own hair a mess of tangles (though mostly clean of dirt; he knows, suddenly, exactly how long she sat, shaking, in the steadily cooling shower until the water no longer ran brown when she mashed the back of her head against the tiled walls), that he's not the only person having trouble, and that maybe he does have someone to ask after all.
It's just this once, he thinks that first time, but there's something so intensely solid and reassuring about hands running through another person's hair, about caring and being cared for, that it becomes a pattern: every day or two, Daisy wanders into his office with a comb, a brush, and a new handful of soft, bright-colored hair ties, and they take turns making each other feel human.
---------------
---------------
( 63. ) For
kalira: any, any, bloody footprints, written 2/24/20Do You Hear the People Sing? (215 words)
Fandom = The Magnus Archives. Contains violence.
-----
Working retail is a war, and Reva doesn't know why nobody else can see it -- really see it, not just smile and sigh and say things like, "Yeah, it sure feels like hell some days, doesn't it?" but feel the snarling tension that snaps between every clerk and stocker and helpless return desk staffer and all the customers who invade the Walmart and want nothing more than to trample the staff underfoot and crush them under the weight of too much work and never enough time or money or support.
But she keeps talking, and talking, and slowly her words fall into rhythm and the others nod and clap along, finally solid at her back, and when Mrs. Fucking Macready from down Deer Lick Road comes in Thursday morning demanding a refund like she doesn't charge Reva and her parents twice the market rate for rent even though she's sitting pretty on her husband's life insurance payout, Reva snaps and screams and lunges forward, and her troops fall in behind her for the charge.
When the battle is over, the store finally still and the loudspeakers singing only static, Reva marches through the shattered doors with only a trail of bloody footprints in her wake, but it's okay.
She'll raise a new army soon enough.
---------------
---------------
( 64. ) For
redfiona99: Any, any, extra day's holiday, written 2/25/20Domestic Bliss (260 words)
Fandom = The Magnus Archives. Six sentences.
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"So what pronouncement did the terrible eldritch forces behind the Magnus Institute have for you at this hour of the morning?" Georgie asked as Jon dropped back into his chair and set his cell phone on their wobbly kitchen table with an expression halfway between calculation and a scowl. The Admiral promptly reclaimed Jon's lap as his rightful territory and Jon, well-trained, began stroking the soft gray fur between his ears.
"The computer system is down so all the researchers have been given an optional day off," Jon said, "which is ridiculous -- yes, computers are useful but the books are still there, the phone lines are functional, and it's not like I've forgotten how to take notes with pen and paper -- but I think Rosie was strongly implying that they'd prefer me not to come in."
"Considering you'd nearly overworked yourself into pneumonia before I convinced you to use your sick leave, I'd say she has a point," Georgie said tartly, then smiled, and shrugged, and added, "Besides which, if you're that desperate to research probably made-up spooky stories, I have some episode backgrounds that could use a bit of fleshing out -- and don't pretend that you won't enjoy the chance to indulge the Admiral all day."
"I don't know why I ever thought we'd still work as roommates after we broke up," Jon grumbled, but it was for show and Georgie knew that he knew that she knew it.
"Drink your tea, grumpy-guts," she said, and ruffled his hair to watch him and the Admiral hiss in mutual affront.
---------------
---------------
( 65. ) For
eagleoftheninth: Any, any, turning into a giant snake never helps, written 2/25/20Serpens Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus (100 words)
Original fiction. Also, please forgive the Latin; I used Google Translate. *headdesk*
-----
"But everyone knows turning into a giant snake is why both Dread Sorcerer Ralyard and the Blue Witch of Aloesse lost their last battles -- why should I learn a spell that never helps?"
"Certainly it's no use in a fight, but I wouldn't say turning into a giant snake never helps," the sorceress told her apprentice. "If one has a decent grasp of warming charms and a large enough room, I've found that not only does one get the best sleep of one's life in reptile form, vanishingly few people are willing to wake a giant snake from a nap."
---------------
---------------
( 66. ) For
kurosakiami01: any, any, "don't worry, you're with us now", written 2/25/20When the Earth Shall Claim Your Limbs (610 words)
Fandom = The Magnus Archives. Contains body horror and someone buried alive.
-----
( cut for length )
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---------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------
And now I will finish my breakfast before heading off to work, where I will valiantly pretend I am a functional human being who is not coming down with a nasty cold. Ugh.
Don't work service industry jobs, people. They're not good for your health.
