[Fanfic] Three Sentence Ficathon
Fandom: Various (Anthropomorphic, Inception, Circle of Magic, Original, His Dark Materials)
Author: plalligator
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Various (Hero/Claudio, girl!Arthur/Eames, Briar/Tris,)
Rating/Warnings: PG, none
Notes: Written for the 2011 Three Sentence Ficathon, run by the extremely fantastic caramelsilver here.
I was introduced to this ficathon through pageleaf who was introduced to by grim_lupine
And I'm really glad, cause it was SO much fun and there were a lot of really awesome people participating.
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Chemistry, halogens, protecting the nobles
They call themselves the Royal Guard, half-joking to cover up the seriousness. It's not as if the nobles need protecting--no one can force them to do anything they don't want to. But when your life is that volatile, you gotta have something steady at your back.
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Much Ado About Nothing, Hero/Claudio, I've proven myself to you and now it's your turn
"Remember what you did to me," she whispers, mouth warm against the curve of his ear, breath ghosting out; "Remember how you were so quick to doubt, husband. Trust for trust, husband, lie for lie, value for value. Death for death. I died because of you. You shamed me where all could see." And she won't let him forget that for the rest of his life, for he is now hers to do with as she might please. Old Hero is dead, she thinks; Long live the new.
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Inception, alwaysagirl!Arthur/Eames, I dreamed a lot bigger
He takes her in, sleek and dark hair slicked back, charcoal pencil skirt and diamond cufflinks glittering at her wrists and thinks: "Well, that's the last time I ever assume people are the same on the job as off." She flashes him a smile, her cheeks dimpling.
"I've always dreamed bigger, Mr. Eames," she says, "a lot bigger than you could know; but...I could show you," and he sees it in her eyes, her fascination with impossible paradoxes and spiraling logistics of dream architecture and thinks he might be a little in love.
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Original, any, because here, Bullet, here is where the world ends, every time
"Well, this is it," he thinks as he scrambles over the wall and hits the ground running; they're right behind him and they have guns. They'll shoot him in the back as he runs without hesitating, and it's going to end here just like it did seventy years ago when he leaped in front of the gun out of sheer, stupid instinct to protect her and ended up dying in the mud and rain. Ah, well, he knows when he's cornered and can't get out, he'll bleed to death on the ground again and his only thought is of Natya and how far and wide and long she'll have to search this time--
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Circle of Magic, Briar/Tris, he's taller than she is, but what does that mean? she's the one who makes him feel safe
"Height only matters to people who care too much about appearances," she says loftily, not looking up from her book, "I've always been the shortest of us four--why do you bring it up, anyway?" and he fiddles with the cuff of his sleeve and glares at a tendril of ivy trying to sneak through the window before answering: "It's just funny, is all."
He thinks he sees her dart a glance at him, but she doesn't say anything, and he thinks she's forgotten by the time she startles him in reply: "You weren't yelling in your sleep last night," she says mildly, "I would have heard if you were."
"You may not be the tallest, but you sure are the smartest, Coppercurls," he finally answers, because how is he supposed to tell her that it's because he can feel her through their bond, all crackly and electric and spiky, simmering with power, and that she burns the bad memories away just by being near?
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His Dark Materials, Serafina Pekkala, skies
Me-him and me-I and you-me and me-her and Serafina and Kaisa and Serafina-Kaisa and us up with the winds and the clouds as our fellow travelers. There is the sliding curve of blue in a thousand shades, polished and always so far above and there is the spread of wings, a goose's wings. And it goes on, the sky does, not just to the horizon but up; it does not confine us, is not a dome to go up to so far and no further until we can brush it with our fingers (wings) and come away with color on their tips, instead fades upward until there is nothing but blue and cold and air thin as the silk dress I wear, as Kaisa's lightest feather.
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His Dark Materials, Asriel, first sight
"Get that blood off the floor, Mrs. Costa," says the lord, his eyes burning with triumph and the hot blood of the wild young thing he is, as he sits and plants his muddy boots up on a table, sitting the squalling baby on his legs; he peers at her as she howls, waving her little fists in the air and as her daemon stumbles around as a kitten with its little needle-claws and velvet paws, mewling. "Stop that noise, child!" he orders, and holds her up, inspecting her like he would some prized good and she stares back at him rather mulishly, eyes wide and accusing. "Hmph," he says, "plain little thing aren't you? Scrawy; none of your mother's beauty, no sign you're any child of mine, just a healthy set of lungs; I do wonder if you'll amount to anything."
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His Dark Materials, Marissa Coulter, as a young girl
Her mother's mother taught her mother, and her mother taught Marisa; that is, how to be dainty and gentle and ladylike, and everything a girl in good society should know. Marisa learns fast and obediently, without a single flaw, a perfect little girl, a perfect little daughter, her daemon as a butterfly fluttering demurely on her shoulder.
It's not until he settles into the golden monkey's form that she begins to realize the merits of an iron fist in a silk glove.