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Jan. 2nd, 2019 02:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
last_havenPart three of me collecting my fills from the 3 Sentence Ficathon parts one and two.
The first prompt was any, any, life counseling with the voice in your head which I decided to fill with Undertale and some Frisk+Chara. The second prompt was Narnia, Susan, she was used to never saying goodbye, the link has parts one and two which I will post here in its entirety. The third prompt was Any fandom, any characters/pairing, cold hands which I used for The Ancient Magus Bride with Chise/Elias. The fourth prompt was Greek Mythology, Hades/Persephone, Hades wearing a crown of flowers. The fifth prompt was Greek Mythology, Persephone, the world blooms/for the last time. The sixth prompt was Labyrinth, any, "the Labyrinth has a sense of humour". The seventh prompt was any, any +/ any, this is the end and that's ok which I used to fill with Undertale and Asriel+Frisk. The eighth prompt was any, barely even friends, then somebody bends, unexpectedly which I filled with Undertale and Frisk+Chara. The ninth prompt was Any fandom, any characters, let's do this again sometime which I used for Greek Mythology and Aphrodite/Ares.
Have I ever steered you wrong?
"Well, there was the one time you tried to convince me that drinking vanilla straight out of the bottle would taste good."
That was hilarious and besides the point. Now, eat the ghost pepper.
"Are you sure about this?"
Look. Which of us an actual ghost here? Now, eat it. It will be good for me.
I wanted to note I actually extended this a little bit from my AO3 version, if you're wondering why it's different there. Read it here if you want.
1. There is only their mother to see them off from the train station, but Susan is not surprised; most of their school friends have already been evacuated and have already said their goodbyes. There is an emptiness, however, where Laura should have been--Laura who ran faster than any of the boys, Laura who laughed at even the silliest jokes, Laura who pressed a kiss to Susan's cheek after Janice poured paint on Susan's dress and sneered. Kind, lovely Laura, whose house disappeared into a crater after the bombing one night.
Let Peter and Edmund grumble about being sent away; Susan is glad to be leaving London and only hopes the hole in her heart remains here as she travels to the countryside.
2. Lucy's cordial can't save everyone after the battle is done; the dying are spread too far for even the most lionhearted girl to reach them all. That's what Susan reminds herself as she cups the handful of petals left behind as Sinoe disappears from her grasp, the spear in her belly falling with a dull thump against the grass. She'd only just got the epimeliad's head onto her lap when she breathed her last without a single word passed between them. She remembers Laura, bright and smiling, and remembers whispering, soothing Sinoe, and wonders that if maybe she could have just gotten to either of them sooner, then maybe this emptiness wouldn't be chewing away at her insides.
3. They all come tumbling out of the wardrobe, like falling ninepins; Susan needs a moment to collect herself. She turns and looks back at the wardrobe and thinks about how Mister Tumnus is going to be sitting down to the tea party she'd invited him to and wonder where they were. She thinks about Owain, who was the best dancer in the court, who had kissed her so sweetly, who she whispered to Lucy about in a fit of girlish glee because if there was any man she would take as husband, then it had to be him. She thinks about all the people who are going to be wondering just where they are right about now and she feels the emptiness yawning open inside her again.
4. In spite of the fact that she did wave and wish them well, Susan still feels cheated and empty when she gets the phone call of the derailing, the most horrific train crash in recent memory they say. She got to kiss Edmund and Lucy's cheeks, give Peter's hand a passing squeeze, and hugged her parents before they left, but as she sits at the funeral, she wants to wrench the coffins open and demand something more. But there's only this--five coffins, one of which only really contains pieces, and that sticks in her craw too--and the emptiness.
One would think she would be used to this, but that's a foolish thought, because it can never be enough.
5. The emptiness aches, but Susan grows and grows around it, like a wound finally scabbing over. She picks up a brush and her lipstick, goes into business with a friend of hers who has a camera, and gets on with her life. Sometimes she thinks about her brushes, her tools, thinks about how Jill and Polly once sneered at them, and that pain is still there; but she has grown, if only in a crooked way, and she can put the hurt behind her.
It's not enough, but it will do.
6. It's funny, the things that are helpful. It's not the goodbyes she does get, it's not the promises to stay and stay safe, it's not even the hellos. It's this: the quiet of the morning in the bedroom while London shakes itself awake, the warmth on the other side of the bed as she reaches over and grabs onto Grace's nightgown, even the foul taste of Grace's morning breath.
The emptiness is always there, but it feels a little smaller in those moments.
7. With Grace's hand in her own, the emptiness is bearable. She has a tether as she walks in this world while the decades roll on; she feels safe and anchored, even when she's alone.
Complacent, the emptiness ambushes her on the morning she rolled over and found Grace's hand cold.
8. Grace is in the ground, near the plot of Susan's family because Susan knows they would have welcomed her in life, so she knows they will do so in death. Susan is old now, has been for a long time, so she knows this hole inside her as near as a friend, like it is just another mourner here at the funeral. It's funny, but maybe it's tolerable now because this is just one more funeral, one more missed goodbye.
9. But maybe this is the truth: Susan's own goodbye is not long in waiting. One day, she falls in the garden; she's dead not long after hitting the ground, and she knows no pain. More than that, though, she knows no fear--this time, she didn't miss the goodbye.
His hands are always hidden by his gloves, so it is a rare sight to see them bare as she sits down next to him. He's trimming and cleaning his nails, such an oddly, humanly mundane task, but he's having trouble with one nail in particular, so she takes the knife in one hand and one of his massive hands in her own.
She could remark on a great many things about them--the size, the scales that shrink so small on his palm that his flesh there feels more like pebbled lizard skin than scales--but instead she frowns and murmurs "they're so cold."
He must think she dislikes it, so he starts to say something and pull his hand back; since this isn't what she meant at all, she holds on, her dragon curse strength keeping him still. Calling on a seed of heat from the curse's memory of dragon flame from years before, she takes her free palm and presses it against his, sending the heat into every scale and tendon.
"Ah," he murmurs after a moment, curling his fingers around hers, "it's warm."
She smiles and holds onto his hand until she drifts off against his side.
"Here," she says, jamming something onto his head and then conjures a mirror because they both know that he'd take whatever it is off his head if he can't examine it soon.
A ring of giant wine red roses, delicate cherry pink blossoms, dark dahlias, and even a few sprigs of cypress (his plant) rests on his brow--it is a work of excellent handicraft and a labor of love.
It is wilting already on his head, as does every plant he ever touches.
He purses his lips and touches the blossoms, smiling to himself as he hears her gasp as the blossoms crystallize from plants to gems. "These," he murmurs as she laughs in delight at the sparkling crown, "will last longer."
She beams; he reminds himself to make her a matching one before she goes home this spring.
"I'll see you next spring," her mother says and Persephone's smile turns a little wry and wistful under her veil.
Her mother is still hopeful, still dreaming that humanity will come back to them. But Persephone knows the truth; Mother Gaea is tired beneath them and no seed will ever take root in her soil again.
Persephone turns and enters the Underworld, knowing that she will never return, but that is alright--it's finally time for her to stay at her post, on her throne, from here until darkness ever after.
It's impossible to have a good storming off in Labyrinth. One moment, he, the damn King of this place who aught to be able to have one good dramatic exit damn it, turns on his heel and means to stride off and leave Sarah squawking in his dust. He goes to turn a corner and just finds himself on the other side of the room as Sarah whips around, staring at him in confusion.
He'd love to curse the Labyrinth blue for this petty silliness, but for now he can only pretend he meant to do this as he tosses up a hand and shouts "and one more thing-!"
"I just wanted to let you know," they whisper, voice soft and crackling like static, "that we're leaving now."
With or without you goes unsaid, but a chuckle still manages to force its way out of his tight throat as he says "It's about time."
It's about time echoes in his mind as Frisk finally lets go of his hand and walks away.
Funny; his body feels so light now. It's about time indeed.
Chara has no love for humanity anymore, nevermind patience; it must be a cruelly ironic hell that they've landed in where they must follow around this fumbling human as they stumble through the Ruins.
And yet, despite their fears and almost certainty, this child never harms anyone, not even when their mother (theirs and Asriel's and now theirs) burns them to death.
Chara watches silently as Frisk weeps from fear into their hands, considers this strange feeling in what used to be their chest, and crouches down next to their curled up form. "It is not impossible, you know," they murmur, swallowing tightly when Frisk looks up to them, "but you will never succeed if you give up now. Now, get up. We have work to do should you want to escape."
She stretches and smiles as she catches him watching her curtain of hair falling down her back. She is Beauty, made to be admired, and it's nice to be noticed without having to swat away fumbling hands for once.
There is much she likes about him: he is beautiful too, in his own way, but more than that, he is Passion (like calls to like), he knows where Pain and Pleasure dip and overlap, and he doesn't fuss when others climb into her bed.
She leans across her marriage bed--but who could call being all but sacrificed to appease wounded pride and anger a proper marriage, call it Love?--and whispers an invitation for him to return before she shoves him off the bed (he laughs as he flops on the ground).
The first prompt was any, any, life counseling with the voice in your head which I decided to fill with Undertale and some Frisk+Chara. The second prompt was Narnia, Susan, she was used to never saying goodbye, the link has parts one and two which I will post here in its entirety. The third prompt was Any fandom, any characters/pairing, cold hands which I used for The Ancient Magus Bride with Chise/Elias. The fourth prompt was Greek Mythology, Hades/Persephone, Hades wearing a crown of flowers. The fifth prompt was Greek Mythology, Persephone, the world blooms/for the last time. The sixth prompt was Labyrinth, any, "the Labyrinth has a sense of humour". The seventh prompt was any, any +/ any, this is the end and that's ok which I used to fill with Undertale and Asriel+Frisk. The eighth prompt was any, barely even friends, then somebody bends, unexpectedly which I filled with Undertale and Frisk+Chara. The ninth prompt was Any fandom, any characters, let's do this again sometime which I used for Greek Mythology and Aphrodite/Ares.
Have I ever steered you wrong?
"Well, there was the one time you tried to convince me that drinking vanilla straight out of the bottle would taste good."
That was hilarious and besides the point. Now, eat the ghost pepper.
"Are you sure about this?"
Look. Which of us an actual ghost here? Now, eat it. It will be good for me.
I wanted to note I actually extended this a little bit from my AO3 version, if you're wondering why it's different there. Read it here if you want.
1. There is only their mother to see them off from the train station, but Susan is not surprised; most of their school friends have already been evacuated and have already said their goodbyes. There is an emptiness, however, where Laura should have been--Laura who ran faster than any of the boys, Laura who laughed at even the silliest jokes, Laura who pressed a kiss to Susan's cheek after Janice poured paint on Susan's dress and sneered. Kind, lovely Laura, whose house disappeared into a crater after the bombing one night.
Let Peter and Edmund grumble about being sent away; Susan is glad to be leaving London and only hopes the hole in her heart remains here as she travels to the countryside.
2. Lucy's cordial can't save everyone after the battle is done; the dying are spread too far for even the most lionhearted girl to reach them all. That's what Susan reminds herself as she cups the handful of petals left behind as Sinoe disappears from her grasp, the spear in her belly falling with a dull thump against the grass. She'd only just got the epimeliad's head onto her lap when she breathed her last without a single word passed between them. She remembers Laura, bright and smiling, and remembers whispering, soothing Sinoe, and wonders that if maybe she could have just gotten to either of them sooner, then maybe this emptiness wouldn't be chewing away at her insides.
3. They all come tumbling out of the wardrobe, like falling ninepins; Susan needs a moment to collect herself. She turns and looks back at the wardrobe and thinks about how Mister Tumnus is going to be sitting down to the tea party she'd invited him to and wonder where they were. She thinks about Owain, who was the best dancer in the court, who had kissed her so sweetly, who she whispered to Lucy about in a fit of girlish glee because if there was any man she would take as husband, then it had to be him. She thinks about all the people who are going to be wondering just where they are right about now and she feels the emptiness yawning open inside her again.
4. In spite of the fact that she did wave and wish them well, Susan still feels cheated and empty when she gets the phone call of the derailing, the most horrific train crash in recent memory they say. She got to kiss Edmund and Lucy's cheeks, give Peter's hand a passing squeeze, and hugged her parents before they left, but as she sits at the funeral, she wants to wrench the coffins open and demand something more. But there's only this--five coffins, one of which only really contains pieces, and that sticks in her craw too--and the emptiness.
One would think she would be used to this, but that's a foolish thought, because it can never be enough.
5. The emptiness aches, but Susan grows and grows around it, like a wound finally scabbing over. She picks up a brush and her lipstick, goes into business with a friend of hers who has a camera, and gets on with her life. Sometimes she thinks about her brushes, her tools, thinks about how Jill and Polly once sneered at them, and that pain is still there; but she has grown, if only in a crooked way, and she can put the hurt behind her.
It's not enough, but it will do.
6. It's funny, the things that are helpful. It's not the goodbyes she does get, it's not the promises to stay and stay safe, it's not even the hellos. It's this: the quiet of the morning in the bedroom while London shakes itself awake, the warmth on the other side of the bed as she reaches over and grabs onto Grace's nightgown, even the foul taste of Grace's morning breath.
The emptiness is always there, but it feels a little smaller in those moments.
7. With Grace's hand in her own, the emptiness is bearable. She has a tether as she walks in this world while the decades roll on; she feels safe and anchored, even when she's alone.
Complacent, the emptiness ambushes her on the morning she rolled over and found Grace's hand cold.
8. Grace is in the ground, near the plot of Susan's family because Susan knows they would have welcomed her in life, so she knows they will do so in death. Susan is old now, has been for a long time, so she knows this hole inside her as near as a friend, like it is just another mourner here at the funeral. It's funny, but maybe it's tolerable now because this is just one more funeral, one more missed goodbye.
9. But maybe this is the truth: Susan's own goodbye is not long in waiting. One day, she falls in the garden; she's dead not long after hitting the ground, and she knows no pain. More than that, though, she knows no fear--this time, she didn't miss the goodbye.
His hands are always hidden by his gloves, so it is a rare sight to see them bare as she sits down next to him. He's trimming and cleaning his nails, such an oddly, humanly mundane task, but he's having trouble with one nail in particular, so she takes the knife in one hand and one of his massive hands in her own.
She could remark on a great many things about them--the size, the scales that shrink so small on his palm that his flesh there feels more like pebbled lizard skin than scales--but instead she frowns and murmurs "they're so cold."
He must think she dislikes it, so he starts to say something and pull his hand back; since this isn't what she meant at all, she holds on, her dragon curse strength keeping him still. Calling on a seed of heat from the curse's memory of dragon flame from years before, she takes her free palm and presses it against his, sending the heat into every scale and tendon.
"Ah," he murmurs after a moment, curling his fingers around hers, "it's warm."
She smiles and holds onto his hand until she drifts off against his side.
"Here," she says, jamming something onto his head and then conjures a mirror because they both know that he'd take whatever it is off his head if he can't examine it soon.
A ring of giant wine red roses, delicate cherry pink blossoms, dark dahlias, and even a few sprigs of cypress (his plant) rests on his brow--it is a work of excellent handicraft and a labor of love.
It is wilting already on his head, as does every plant he ever touches.
He purses his lips and touches the blossoms, smiling to himself as he hears her gasp as the blossoms crystallize from plants to gems. "These," he murmurs as she laughs in delight at the sparkling crown, "will last longer."
She beams; he reminds himself to make her a matching one before she goes home this spring.
"I'll see you next spring," her mother says and Persephone's smile turns a little wry and wistful under her veil.
Her mother is still hopeful, still dreaming that humanity will come back to them. But Persephone knows the truth; Mother Gaea is tired beneath them and no seed will ever take root in her soil again.
Persephone turns and enters the Underworld, knowing that she will never return, but that is alright--it's finally time for her to stay at her post, on her throne, from here until darkness ever after.
It's impossible to have a good storming off in Labyrinth. One moment, he, the damn King of this place who aught to be able to have one good dramatic exit damn it, turns on his heel and means to stride off and leave Sarah squawking in his dust. He goes to turn a corner and just finds himself on the other side of the room as Sarah whips around, staring at him in confusion.
He'd love to curse the Labyrinth blue for this petty silliness, but for now he can only pretend he meant to do this as he tosses up a hand and shouts "and one more thing-!"
"I just wanted to let you know," they whisper, voice soft and crackling like static, "that we're leaving now."
With or without you goes unsaid, but a chuckle still manages to force its way out of his tight throat as he says "It's about time."
It's about time echoes in his mind as Frisk finally lets go of his hand and walks away.
Funny; his body feels so light now. It's about time indeed.
Chara has no love for humanity anymore, nevermind patience; it must be a cruelly ironic hell that they've landed in where they must follow around this fumbling human as they stumble through the Ruins.
And yet, despite their fears and almost certainty, this child never harms anyone, not even when their mother (theirs and Asriel's and now theirs) burns them to death.
Chara watches silently as Frisk weeps from fear into their hands, considers this strange feeling in what used to be their chest, and crouches down next to their curled up form. "It is not impossible, you know," they murmur, swallowing tightly when Frisk looks up to them, "but you will never succeed if you give up now. Now, get up. We have work to do should you want to escape."
She stretches and smiles as she catches him watching her curtain of hair falling down her back. She is Beauty, made to be admired, and it's nice to be noticed without having to swat away fumbling hands for once.
There is much she likes about him: he is beautiful too, in his own way, but more than that, he is Passion (like calls to like), he knows where Pain and Pleasure dip and overlap, and he doesn't fuss when others climb into her bed.
She leans across her marriage bed--but who could call being all but sacrificed to appease wounded pride and anger a proper marriage, call it Love?--and whispers an invitation for him to return before she shoves him off the bed (he laughs as he flops on the ground).
