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shallownessAgain, all ficlets: one original fiction, one Mansfield Park, and one undisclosed fandom. Anything over 100 words will also be posted at AO3 and, where suitable, ff.net.
the dance that mattered, Original, OFC/OMC. Written for Written for the threesentenceficathon prompt ‘any, any, dance’ 107 words.
It is not the stateliest dance she dances that night, neither is it one of the lively jigs that are not much different from those that the commoners dance outside the palace. But it is the one that the princess will replay over and over in her mind when she retires to her bed that night, and the next morning too, every step flowing, every gesture meaningful until her father and king commands her attendance. She falters in her imagined step when she hears that she will be given to another, a man of higher rank, with whom she danced two forgettable quadrilles, for her kingdom’s sake.
Desired. Mansfield Park. Mary Crawford, Mary Crawford/Original Male Characters, Mary Crawford/Edmund Bertram. Triple fill for the threesentenceficathon prompt 'Any, Any, I woke up sexy (again)' 219 words.
Mary Crawford had but turned fifteen when it first happened, not that she realised when she woke up, well-rested, full of energy, deciding she would wear her new blue gown and ordering the maid to try a new hairstyle in its honour. Her consideration and her maid’s work on her toilette were rewarded later that morning when the Admiral's friend paused and paid her a compliment. She knew that it was a compliment, even if she did not quite understand what he meant by his words, and so she laughed and took note of the way his gaze lingered on her.
Mary Crawford let her hands rest on the strings of her harp, several years later. She smiled, well pleased with her performance as she sensed Edmund Bertram's gaze upon her, its intensity saying far more than all his solemn utterances. He was a man, after all.
Mary Crawford visited her favourite modiste and took out some of her consternation at the name of Bertram there. The results were worth it, and from then on she took care to direct her considerable charms at only the elder sons who looked at her in that familiar, desiring way. She weighed them and their purses up, made her choice and secured him so that she would be Mary Crawford no more.
Possibilities. Undisclosed fandom (revealed in fill). OFCs. Written for the threesentenceficathon prompt 'any, any, valkyries and amazons' 133 words
Neither of her parents can have read the prospectus, Jane thinks – but this is not true, her Mumsy read it but it was after she'd had her 'first little tipple', although admittedly her Papa only looked at the fees – and anyhow, she can’t ask them, because only the chauffeur brought her to the train station. Jane looks around the platform again more carefully, and although she's wearing the same clothes as the others, she's not wearing them the same way - no scorch marks, no ladders like the girls only a little older than her, no buttons undone and skirts taken up like the older girls. A thrill runs through her as she realises that she too could learn to be a terror, be that a warrior or a siren, at St Trinian’s.
the dance that mattered, Original, OFC/OMC. Written for Written for the threesentenceficathon prompt ‘any, any, dance’ 107 words.
It is not the stateliest dance she dances that night, neither is it one of the lively jigs that are not much different from those that the commoners dance outside the palace. But it is the one that the princess will replay over and over in her mind when she retires to her bed that night, and the next morning too, every step flowing, every gesture meaningful until her father and king commands her attendance. She falters in her imagined step when she hears that she will be given to another, a man of higher rank, with whom she danced two forgettable quadrilles, for her kingdom’s sake.
Desired. Mansfield Park. Mary Crawford, Mary Crawford/Original Male Characters, Mary Crawford/Edmund Bertram. Triple fill for the threesentenceficathon prompt 'Any, Any, I woke up sexy (again)' 219 words.
Mary Crawford had but turned fifteen when it first happened, not that she realised when she woke up, well-rested, full of energy, deciding she would wear her new blue gown and ordering the maid to try a new hairstyle in its honour. Her consideration and her maid’s work on her toilette were rewarded later that morning when the Admiral's friend paused and paid her a compliment. She knew that it was a compliment, even if she did not quite understand what he meant by his words, and so she laughed and took note of the way his gaze lingered on her.
Mary Crawford let her hands rest on the strings of her harp, several years later. She smiled, well pleased with her performance as she sensed Edmund Bertram's gaze upon her, its intensity saying far more than all his solemn utterances. He was a man, after all.
Mary Crawford visited her favourite modiste and took out some of her consternation at the name of Bertram there. The results were worth it, and from then on she took care to direct her considerable charms at only the elder sons who looked at her in that familiar, desiring way. She weighed them and their purses up, made her choice and secured him so that she would be Mary Crawford no more.
Possibilities. Undisclosed fandom (revealed in fill). OFCs. Written for the threesentenceficathon prompt 'any, any, valkyries and amazons' 133 words
Neither of her parents can have read the prospectus, Jane thinks – but this is not true, her Mumsy read it but it was after she'd had her 'first little tipple', although admittedly her Papa only looked at the fees – and anyhow, she can’t ask them, because only the chauffeur brought her to the train station. Jane looks around the platform again more carefully, and although she's wearing the same clothes as the others, she's not wearing them the same way - no scorch marks, no ladders like the girls only a little older than her, no buttons undone and skirts taken up like the older girls. A thrill runs through her as she realises that she too could learn to be a terror, be that a warrior or a siren, at St Trinian’s.
