I have been playing a little over at
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caramelsilver's
Three Sentence Ficathon. Come join in! The more people making and filling prompts, the more fun it is for everyone!
Anyway, here are the six fills I have written so far.
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( 1. ) For
idhren24:
Harry Potter, Madame Pince, user-centered institution, written 11/29/15 [
AO3 version]
gentility is relative (150 words)
Her library serves two mutually incompatible purposes: to provide appropriate instructional aid for underage wizards, and to hold the most complete repository of magical knowledge in northwestern Europe. Irma has petitioned for
decades to split the collection -- or at the very least, move the restricted section into a separate room where she can establish security protocols with proper teeth -- but those two purposes are written into the school charter and would need a unanimous vote from the Board of Governors to make the most minor official alterations, and Dumbledore won't circumvent them on this issue.
Perhaps the next Headmaster will be more open to the notion that the Founders never anticipated the effects of so many magical books confined in such close proximity. Until then, Irma does what she can to protect her books from her students, and vice versa.
She has managed thirteen years since the last accidental death.
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( 2. ) For
killing_kurare:
Labyrinth, Jareth/Sarah, He returns at night, written 11/29/15 [
AO3 version]
good night till it be morrow (150 words)
The air feels different in the mornings after Jareth visits: a crisp, green sensation, like wind blowing over leaves and stone and icy water, regardless of the actual weather. Sarah rolls sideways on her bed at dawn and buries her face in a pillow that bears a faint and fading trace of ozone and feathers; that scent and the touch of the Labyrinth in the air are the only signs that anyone had come to visit, let alone shared wine and kisses and slept beside her, and for an aching moment she wishes...
But then she sighs, and shuffles through her shoebox apartment in search of coffee and her laptop, and submerges herself back into mundane life rather than resent his absence; she has her responsibilities and deadlines as Jareth has his own, and neither wants to risk their hard-won peace by dragging its terms into the light of day.
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( 3. ) For
runespoor7:
Naruto, Sasuke/Sakura or Naruto/Sasuke/Sakura or Sakura gen, you've always been a/ good girl, smart girl, pretty girl, lucky girl, written 12/1/15 [
AO3 version]
life lessons (200 words exactly)
Be good, be smart, be pretty, be lucky: a kunoichi's instruction manual.
Sakura can manage smart in her sleep, though likely not the way the advice is meant; knowing precisely how to take apart the human body (and stitch it back together) is not the clever, subtle manipulation of social strings that girls are guided toward mastering. She'll never think of herself as pretty, but she's learned not to blush and demur when Sasuke and Naruto call her that; if they see a part of herself that she can't find, she's willing to trust their judgment as she knows they trust hers when it comes to their own hidden sides. Goodness is a matter of perspective and circumstance, and she knows perfectly well her moral compass swings more toward retribution and the cold dictates of stop-loss logic than she likes to let show; skill, though, has never been a problem, so by that interpretation she's three for three.
As for luck? She's lived through ten lifetimes of misfortune, but she won through. She has Naruto and Sasuke back, to guard her as she guards them in turn. Let the whole world turn against them; they can make their own fate.
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( 4. ) For
celeste9:
Mad Max: Fury Road, Max/Furiosa, small comforts, written 12/1/15 [
AO3 version]
reciprocity (100 words exactly)
Furiosa wakes fast and cold, stretches out the inevitable aches and strains from sleeping upright in the Rig's cab, and frowns when she finds less pain than she expected. Something soft and heavy slithers down the back of the seat, lands on the gearshift with a muffled thump: the Fool's jacket, the one he reclaimed with such vehemence from the war boy, folded into a makeshift pillow for her while she slept.
She glances over at the driver's seat, sees the furrowed line between his tired eyes, and gives the man the returned comfort of not mentioning his small kindness.
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( 5. ) For
killing_kurare:
Sailor Moon, Haruka/Michiru, dinner, written 12/1/15 [
AO3 version]
at the stroke of midnight (150 words)
Part of being a professional musician on Michiru's level is maintaining contact with the right parts of society: the ones who pay for tickets and donations to keep orchestras and concert halls in the black. Haruka hated the artificiality of it all at first; hated biting her tongue while Michiru gently and politely redirected insulting conversational threads into equally offensive but more financially productive directions; hated the improbable clothes, the uncomfortable shoes, and the score or clashing perfumes; hated the way even the food at charity dinners and fancy restaurants seemed to ooze self-satisfied superiority.
She still hates all those things, but she's learned to let her anger go and wait for the moment Michiru meets her eyes and nods, and they slip away, laughing, to mount Haruka's motorcycle and roar off through the night: two princesses turned back into ordinary women in search of cheap, greasy takeout and the lived-in comfort of their own home.
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( 6. ) For
anonymous:
Inception, Arthur/Ariadne, they love it when it rains, because they can share an umbrella, written 12/1/15 [
AO3 version]
like silence, but not empty (125 words)
"I designed a happy childhood memory," Ariadne said, staring up at the sodden sky of their latest mark's subconscious with a disgruntled expression. "What's happy about rain?"
Arthur checked his watch -- nearly thirty minutes before they needed to meet Eames outside the mark's hometown library; he could spare a handful for indulgence -- and retrieved a previously non-existent umbrella from his satchel. He shook it open, then wrapped his arm around Ariadne's shoulder and leaned in for a kiss when she joined him under its shelter. "I can think of a few things," he said as the rain fell in a curtain of silver streaks and white noise around the umbrella's rim, closing them into a tiny private world where only they were real.
Ariadne smiled.
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(Yes, I am aware that only three of these are actually three-sentence ficlets. Shush. I do what I want.)
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