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 I've been fairly obsessively participating in the Three Sentence Ficathon on Dreamwidth, so here's a round up of all of the three sentence stories I've written so far. It's been a terrific writing exercise, as it's forced me to tell a story in only three sentences, which can be incredibly tricky if you have a lot to say. It's also inspired me to explore other fandoms a little, and to push out of my comfort zone in terms of what I've written. It's an awful lot of fun, and everybody who hasn't checked it out should definitely give it a gander- it's got a little bit of something for everybody, and all of the wonderful authors participating are really good about filling nearly all of the prompts.

Here are all the ficlets I've written, organized by fandom and formatted Title (prompt), with each ficlet immediately below the heading.



Angel: the Series

Nuanced Styles of Negotiation (Angel/Cordy, a complex negotiation)

"Angel, I love you, but I swear to everything that you find holy, that if you do not back down this instant on this, I will rip your guts out through your gaping mouth and beat you with them!" Cordelia growled, advancing on Angel as he did his best to disappear into the shadows on the Hyperion's lobby.

"Boy, that's a, er, nuanced style of negotiation you've picked up, Cordy," Angel stammered, trying miserably to lighter her mood or curry any favor with his girlfriend, but to absolutely no avail.

"Do you hear me?" Cordelia snapped, poking a finger against his chest and pointing at the new drapes Angel had outfitted the lobby with while she was visiting old friends for the weekend, "If you do not get those things out of our lobby, you will be seeing more of your large intestine than you ever wanted to know existed!" Angel could only nod meekly in defeat: no pair of curtains, no matter how good he thought they looked, were worth Cordelia's ire.


Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Survival (Harmony Kendall, any means to an end)

Harmony spotted the young girl, the last soul left outside after dark, from across the park, crumpled limply on a park bench like old laundry. The girl was dark haired and crying loudly enough for Harmony to hear from across the empty space-- so incredibly alive and warm and human, that Harmony could practically imagine what her lifeblood would taste like, thick and bitter in her throat. She'd wanted more fanfare for her first meal, something dramatic and explosive, something that would scream Harmony Kendall, New Queen of the Undead, but a girl had to feed somehow, and Harmony was ready to do whatever she had to to survive.


Circle of Magic (Tamora Pierce)

Electricity (Between Both of Us) (Briar/Tris, electric)

Sometimes, Briar thinks that Tris is the kind of girl who would burn plants for fun, who would light him on fire just to see what happened. Tristan's Chandler is dangerous and angry and forceful and powerful, so close to being some kind of alien goddess that he is half-afraid of her. But, if he is half-afraid of her, then he is also half-in love with her and the way that, when she brushed her fingers down his arm or against the curve of his back, it feels like electricity courses through his veins.  

 


Greek Mythology


I Was Looking For a Breath of Life (Galatea & Pygmalion, Aphrodite's final gift was a mind of my own)

And I was made to love you, but some mornings I'll watch the birds take flight and think that maybe I hate you instead. You fashioned me from stone (but it's the goddess who breathed my life into you) and then you fashioned yourself as my maker, my lover, and my master, as if I was still nothing more than your greatest masterpiece, the one woman you could never hate, as if you still held the power to shape me and create me and to make me stand tall. But when Aphrodite gave me life, she gave me thought, and when I leave your bed in the mornings, I can't watch the birds without thinking that maybe, just maybe, freedom would make me feel real.

Unbreakable (Clytemnestra, I must go on standing/you can't break that/which isn't yours)

Agamemnon never loved her, not like he loved battle, like he loved the clash of spears and swords, the sharp tang of blood, the bitter death cry of those he slew. Clytemnestra didn't need him to love her, didn't depend on anyone to love her, because her spine was stronger than every sword her husband had ever wielded, and her spirit was carved from marble, unbreakable. And she would never need Agamemnon, would never give herself to him, because her own two feet were much safer to stand on than any throned dais, far steadier than the Mycenaean throne Agamemnon gave to her could ever be.



Grimm


(Hank + Nick, hugs)

Hank isn't an incredibly affectionate man, or so his three ex-wives told him. He was never interested in holding hands or playing with hair or stroking lazy fingers down arms or backs.

But, when he finds Nick leaning his head against a wall, collapsed on the dirt outside a house with four murdered children left inside, Hank forgets that he's not a physically affectionate kind of guy and he drops down beside Nick to pull him into a hug.



Inception


Kanji (Saito +/ Ariadne, learning Japanese?)

Saito is not a patient man, but even he has no trouble waiting as he watches Ariadne grow familiar with the strokes and accents of each Japanese character. He thinks Ariadne is beautiful in the same way each kanji she draws is, perfectly imperfect, the way that all beautiful, natural things are. He watches her small, pale hands trace the asyetrical shape of each character he draws for her to see, watches those lovely hands guide the brush against paper with the same gentle precision she traced the lines, and he imagines what it would be like for those same hands to draw shapes against his skin. 

 


Narnia


Aslan's Traveling Circus (Narnia, any, modern AU)

Caspian follows his longtime teacher, Dr. Cornelius, into the tents beyond the big top in a daze, struck by a dizzy sort of awe.

"May I present my pupil, Caspian?" Dr. Cornelius asks, looking questioningly at four young men and women standing in front of the motley crew of circus performers as if they were royalty, as he brags, with a proud smile, "The finest swordsman I've ever trained."

"Well, let's see what you've got, Caspian," the oldest (who can only be Peter, the lion tamer) smirks, and the two young women (Susan, the sharpshooter, and Lucy, the medium) exchange looks with the fourth (undoubtedly Edmund, the sword swallower), just as Peter announces, "After all, we're going to need someone to take over Aslan's Traveling Circus, now that our time here is almost up."


Look How It Shines for You (Susan, all that is gold does not glitter)

For her 24th birthday, Richard, her painfully ordinary boyfriend, gives her a golden watch, with her name etched into the surface. It's a lovely watch, slim and delicate on her wrist (a wrist he likes to call ladylike and elegant, a wrist that once wore a guard instead of a watch, a wrist that drew a golden bow and could shoot arrows true enough to knock leaves from trees) and it shines dully when she walks with him under the pale Earth sun. Susan wishes she treasured it, wishes that she could look at the lovely, delicate watch and see it shine gold, but every time she glimpses it, the dull, yellowish watch recalls the bright gleam of her bow (polished so brightly that it seemed to glimmer in the sunlight), the sparkling glow of the golden sands at Cair Paravel, and the proud shine of her crown, and, trying to forget the feeling of the golden Narnian sun on her akin, Susan thinks that nothing in this world could ever be so lovely as the kingdom she could never return to.


(You've Got to) Carry That Weight (Edmund or Susan, I do my best but I'm made of mistakes)

Edmund tries (oh, how he tries), but he feels eternally like Sisyphus, pushing the same damn boulder uphill forever, never stopping and never truly making any headway. And he's been trying so hard to right his greatest, darkest wrong, trying to make up for one truly horrific lapse in judgement (a child's selfish, terrible choice), with years of good deeds, he's been trying to teach his kingdom that his is not a bad man, that he has fallen but once, pulled low by the mingled tastes of Turkish Delight and of glorious, rebellious freedom. But no matter how deeply Edmund tries to bury memories of his involvement with the White Witch, they still rise to the surface like corpses and he, and every creature within his country's borders, watches the youngest king closely, just waiting to see if he'll fall once more.



Once Upon a Time


Girls with Claws (Ruby, integrating two lives)


Some nights, Ruby has dreams of killing Peter, of ripping him to warm, bleeding shreds with her human teeth. When she wakes up, gasping like a drowning woman, she checks her hands for blood, her teeth for fangs, before she can lie back down and try to go back to sleep, reassuring herself that she is human right now, that she is Ruby, not Red. For the rest of these nights, she lies awake wondering where Ruby ends and where Little Red Riding Hood begins (and, in the back of her mind, she wonders if she is a wolf or a woman or something else entirely) or if neither one of them begin or end at all but melt into each other like water and dirt, because she has memories she can't remember making, and the claws she left in the Enchanted Forest have started to grow back.

Supernatural

Death's Door (Tessa, just doing her job)

"But I don't want to leave, I like it here," the little girl, the top of her head barely reaching Tessa's hip, insists, her wide green eyes watering as she looks around the corner of the staircase past Tessa.

"I know, but it's time to go," Tessa whispers sadly and takes the little girl's hand in her own, promising, "They'll come see you, soon enough.'

"Promise?" the small girl asks hopefully, staring longingly at the young redheaded couple crying together on the couch beyond the stairs, and Tessa nods mournfully, because she knows it will not be too long before she'll return to this same house.

The West Wing

(And Maybe) You're Gonna Be the One That Saves Me (Sam/Josh, I don't want to feel like this anymore.)

"Josh, are you alright?" Sam asked quietly, cautiously, dropping down beside Josh on his office couch and noticing Josh's tensed shoulders, the exhausted bruises hanging below his eyes like weighty shadows, the way Josh startled, almost imperceptibly, at the sound of Sam's voice.

It had been a few months since Rosslyn, a few months since a bullet ripped through his chest as easily as if he was woven from tissue paper skin and twigs for bones, and Josh had spent endless moments shouting to the heavens, to Donna, to Leo, to CJ, even to his goddamn shrink that yes, I am alright, yes, I am coping, yes, I feel safe, but he was tired of feeling like this, tired of hiding behind lies just because they were easier on his tongue than the truth.

"I don't think so, Sam" Josh whispered weakly and dropped his head against the steady slope of Sam's shoulder, wishing they could share strength and courage as easily as their bodies exchanged heat, because, even though he felt safe under Sam's arm, it was so hard to tell the truth, "and I just want to feel okay again."


The Deputy White House Communications Director Club (Sam Seaborn/Will Bailey, kindred spirits)

"This used to be my office, you know," Sam remarked casually, sitting on the edge of Will's desk to watch him type and listing all of the other things like this (an office, a career, a bed) he and Will had shared.

"Yes," Will nodded, not looking away from the speech he was tweaking for the sixth time that day, "and, very briefly, it belonged to a goat CJ put in here."

"I like that you have my office," Sam smiled, running his hand across Will's shoulders, and was quiet, because, if he knew Will (and he did, as well as he knew English punctuation or his own name) then he would want to keep editing his (probably perfect) speech, until it sang.
 

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