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Feb. 4th, 2020 09:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
last_havenI have so many of these roundup posts to do for the 3 Sentence Ficathon, so let's get another one tonight.
First up, the prompt was "Star Wars Sequel Trilogy; any; natural history of the vulptex (crystal fox)". Next we have "Any, Any, waltz" so I went with Labyrinth and Sarah/Jareth. For the third, we have "any, any, I don't really love you anymore", so I did Greek mythology and did Hera/Zeus. For the fourth, we have "greek mythology, cupid/psyche, stars". Lastly, we have "Greek mythology, Apollo/Hyacinthus, he doesn't know his own strength".
"It says here, that vulptices are not actually native to here and that because of the salt deposits, their fur--Finn, what are you doing?"
Finn paused, one of the little crystal covered critters raised halfway to his face, and tried not to look as guilty as he suddenly felt. "Well, um--just, um, just checking to see if it's okay!"
As Finn quickly set the animal down, Poe snickered next to him "I'm telling you, if you'd done it, it'd have tasted just like salt," but at least he's kind enough to slip him a credit for being willing to even try the dare.
There are faces leering at her in an all too familiar way, but this time it is not a dream and there is far more at stake than even one baby.
"Whatever you do," Jareth says, his grip on her firm as he leads her into a spin, "just don't let go."
She doesn't need to be told twice, but even if the world has gone topsy turvy in an even bigger way, his hand feels surprisingly warm at her waist.
"And to think," she begins, fighting the urge to curl her lip in disgust, "that I once was able to tolerate you so well."
"Oh, Hera," her husband laughs, dragging her by the hip to his side, "always such a kidder."
There will be bruises on her side tomorrow, but she'll at least get a laugh at his face when she tosses the wad of his shorn locks in it.
The curtains are always drawn at night, so that the light of the moon never intrudes on their bedchamber, but on the night of the new moon, Psyche looks at the night sky. She can't see her own hand against the black of the heavens, so her husband has to point out each constellation by turning her chin to face each one.
His hand feels warm and smooth against her skin--she tries to reassure herself that it must be human no matter what her sisters say.
Still, she hasn't tossed away the dagger they pressed her to take.
"Oof," Apollo huffs as he flops backward, letting his arms land in a beautifully artistic way to frame his face, just as planned. The gasp he hears, however, isn't quite awed and is more terrified.
Curious, he peeks out of one eye and then tries desperately not to laugh as he sees Hyacinthus is gazing at his hands which had playfully shoved Apollo a moment before, eyes horrified as he quietly mutters "what have I done?"
First up, the prompt was "Star Wars Sequel Trilogy; any; natural history of the vulptex (crystal fox)". Next we have "Any, Any, waltz" so I went with Labyrinth and Sarah/Jareth. For the third, we have "any, any, I don't really love you anymore", so I did Greek mythology and did Hera/Zeus. For the fourth, we have "greek mythology, cupid/psyche, stars". Lastly, we have "Greek mythology, Apollo/Hyacinthus, he doesn't know his own strength".
"It says here, that vulptices are not actually native to here and that because of the salt deposits, their fur--Finn, what are you doing?"
Finn paused, one of the little crystal covered critters raised halfway to his face, and tried not to look as guilty as he suddenly felt. "Well, um--just, um, just checking to see if it's okay!"
As Finn quickly set the animal down, Poe snickered next to him "I'm telling you, if you'd done it, it'd have tasted just like salt," but at least he's kind enough to slip him a credit for being willing to even try the dare.
There are faces leering at her in an all too familiar way, but this time it is not a dream and there is far more at stake than even one baby.
"Whatever you do," Jareth says, his grip on her firm as he leads her into a spin, "just don't let go."
She doesn't need to be told twice, but even if the world has gone topsy turvy in an even bigger way, his hand feels surprisingly warm at her waist.
"And to think," she begins, fighting the urge to curl her lip in disgust, "that I once was able to tolerate you so well."
"Oh, Hera," her husband laughs, dragging her by the hip to his side, "always such a kidder."
There will be bruises on her side tomorrow, but she'll at least get a laugh at his face when she tosses the wad of his shorn locks in it.
The curtains are always drawn at night, so that the light of the moon never intrudes on their bedchamber, but on the night of the new moon, Psyche looks at the night sky. She can't see her own hand against the black of the heavens, so her husband has to point out each constellation by turning her chin to face each one.
His hand feels warm and smooth against her skin--she tries to reassure herself that it must be human no matter what her sisters say.
Still, she hasn't tossed away the dagger they pressed her to take.
"Oof," Apollo huffs as he flops backward, letting his arms land in a beautifully artistic way to frame his face, just as planned. The gasp he hears, however, isn't quite awed and is more terrified.
Curious, he peeks out of one eye and then tries desperately not to laugh as he sees Hyacinthus is gazing at his hands which had playfully shoved Apollo a moment before, eyes horrified as he quietly mutters "what have I done?"
