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3 sentence ficathon fills
Written for Three Sentence Ficathon, my fills so far! These are nice and bite-sized, so pretty easy to fit in around my other writing when I feel like writing a little bit of fic (though sometimes they go longer).
1. Agent Carter, Jack Thompson, time loop (about 200 wds)
Time After Time
The best thing about getting to work early, in Peggy's opinion, was that she could get more work done without constant interruptions. She had vaguely noted that Jack was already in, but hadn't paid him much mind. She had just opened the case file for the Dougherty case and was thinking about getting up to get herself a cup of tea when a shadow fell across her desk and Jack smacked a cup of tea onto it. Some of it slopped out.
"Thank you?" Peggy said warily, reaching for it. She took a cautious sip, bracing herself, but to her astonishment it was perfectly brewed with just a hint of lemon and sugar, exactly as she normally took it. She opened her mouth.
"When did I learn to make tea?" Jack said. "Yeah, you wouldn't believe me if I told you. It's the waitress, by the way," he added, pointing to the case file. "The waitress did it."
"What makes you think so?" Peggy asked.
"I'm not explaining this to you again, Peggy!" Jack snapped and stomped off toward his office.
Okay then, she thought.
"Good morning to you too, Jack!" she called after him.
"Knew you were going to say that!" Jack yelled back and slammed his office door.
It was apparently going to be one of those kinds of days.
2. any, any, deal with the devil - posted on AO3:
Zero Gravity Dance with the Devil
The Expanse, post-season 5, contains major spoilers, Drummer-centric, 800 wds.
3. MCU, Carol & Yon-Rogg, the inevitable result of sparring practice (111 wds)
"I didn't mean to break your ribs."
Yon-Rogg scowled at her while the medic applied a healing matrix to his side. Vers kept her head down, hands clasped in her lap, but she kept peeking up at him, and she was somehow managing to nail the simultaneous look of being both slightly guilty and not exactly repentant.
"It's my fault more than yours," he said, and ruthlessly crushed any awareness of how literally true that was. "And what's our goal for the next sparring session?"
"Not throwing the teacher through any more buildings," Vers recited dutifully.
"That's right." He might have to look into having her power suppressor turned up.
4. The Expanse, Erich, hanging with the Roci crew (200 wds)
Set after season 5, lightly spoilery.
Feels Like Flying
"You tap the heels together, like this," Naomi says, and demonstrates.
Erich copies her clumsily, and feels the grav boots take hold. He'll have to practice that, but in private, not under the watchful eyes of a lifelong Belter who is probably laughing at the awkward Earthborn behind her quiet smile. He hates being bad at things. Or more to the point, he can't afford to be. Appearing weak, being bad at things, failing would have been the death of him as a child, slower and smaller than most of the rest, and no less so as a gang leader who had won his position through ruthless force and had to watch his back constantly against underlings who might be having delusions of seizing Erich's place at the top of the Baltimore underworld hierarchy.
But he does like zero G. He never really wasted time thinking about it; there was no point, it wasn't like he ever meant to go to space, and he always got around fine in Earth's gravity.
But on Earth, walking was never effortless. This is another thing he wishes he could enjoy without having eyes on him: the strangely satisfying joy of floating dolphinlike through the ship's corridors, in a body as graceful and well-suited to the environment as anyone else's.
5. any, any, discovery of a secret notebook (Iron Fist, Ward, post-season-one, about 800 wds)
He actually finds it after Danny comes back. Well, technically, after Danny comes, and then leaves, skipping off with Colleen on a road trip of responsibility avoidance. Trust Danny to get out of work by any means possible.
It's in a box of things from the townhouse.
With Joy gone, and Dad, and Danny, Ward has no interest in hanging onto the place. He wants it gone, with all its associated baggage, as if he could unload every part of his past as easily as giving the townhouse keys to a real estate agent.
He originally meant to sell it all-inclusive—furniture, photos, keepsakes, the whole enchilada. But then he gets to thinking that there might be something that will come back to bite him in the ass someday. God knows what is in there; there could be anything from listening devices to Dad and Wendell's old patent paperwork from the early days of Rand.
In reality, there's not much worth keeping. They've never been a sentimental family, and Joy was always ruthless about purging unnecessary junk. Actually, he's surprised that she kept that stupid, ugly, all-important bowl of Danny's, come to think of it.
But in the bottom of a box of old papers that are mostly destined for the shredder, he finds the notebook.
It would be obviously Danny's even if it didn't have Danny's name written on it in the clumsy, careful printing of a child. It's plastered in stickers of Pokemon and Dragonball Z and dogs and dinosaurs and rainbows, and it's rumpled like it got wet and dried out a few times. A large blotch of some kind of old stain (grape juice, Coke, who knows) discolors the corner.
There's some kind of pressure in Ward's chest that is a little bit like grief, although it can't be grief because Danny isn't dead, he knows that now. But it's a strange feeling, holding a piece of their childhoods like this.
He flips open the first page. More stickers, all over the inside of the cover and most of the first page. On the part not completely papered in stickers, there is the same careful printing: PROPERY OF DANNY RAND. KEEP OUT WARD.
Ward's name is underlined a bunch of times and punctuated with an exclamation point that has a fucking flower for the dot.
He laughs; he can't help it. "You were such a weird kid," he mutters. Suppressing a bizarre urge to correct the spelling of property, he turns the page.
He's not sure exactly what this is, but it soon becomes clear that it's some sort of weird mix of scrapbook and schoolwork and diary and God only knows what else, a snapshot of Danny's ten-year-old ADHD brain on school-lined writing paper. There are leaves glued into it, approximately fifty billion stickers, pages of cursive writing practice, pasted pictures from magazines, unfinished and badly spelled limericks ("My best frend is Joy and she's neet/We are going to play in the street"), a list of all the birds he saw that day, another list titled MY FAVRIT NAMES FOR A DOG (Ward and Joy's names are both on the list, which Ward decides to take as the compliment it's probably meant to be), a lot of enthusiastic and terrible drawings in felt marker and crayon ...
It's strangely fun to look at. Ward doesn't feel nostalgic about his childhood, or at least he never thought he did, but sometimes nostalgia will catch him under the ribs at the weirdest times anyway, and this is one of those times.
It's also unbelievably Danny. It's like looking straight into Danny's mind, sunny and cheerful and incapable of keeping a coherent thought in his head for five minutes in a row.
In fact, it's a little too much that way. He's not even a quarter of the way into the notebook before he closes it.
It's not that he thinks Danny would mind; Danny doesn't have a single filter, and he would probably give Ward his cheerful and enthusiastic permission to look through it as much as he wants.
But ... it seems rude anyway. Like an invasion of privacy.
He puts it carefully in the small pile of things to keep, to give it back to Danny the next time he sees him. Maybe they could look through it together.
1. Agent Carter, Jack Thompson, time loop (about 200 wds)
Time After Time
The best thing about getting to work early, in Peggy's opinion, was that she could get more work done without constant interruptions. She had vaguely noted that Jack was already in, but hadn't paid him much mind. She had just opened the case file for the Dougherty case and was thinking about getting up to get herself a cup of tea when a shadow fell across her desk and Jack smacked a cup of tea onto it. Some of it slopped out.
"Thank you?" Peggy said warily, reaching for it. She took a cautious sip, bracing herself, but to her astonishment it was perfectly brewed with just a hint of lemon and sugar, exactly as she normally took it. She opened her mouth.
"When did I learn to make tea?" Jack said. "Yeah, you wouldn't believe me if I told you. It's the waitress, by the way," he added, pointing to the case file. "The waitress did it."
"What makes you think so?" Peggy asked.
"I'm not explaining this to you again, Peggy!" Jack snapped and stomped off toward his office.
Okay then, she thought.
"Good morning to you too, Jack!" she called after him.
"Knew you were going to say that!" Jack yelled back and slammed his office door.
It was apparently going to be one of those kinds of days.
2. any, any, deal with the devil - posted on AO3:
Zero Gravity Dance with the Devil
The Expanse, post-season 5, contains major spoilers, Drummer-centric, 800 wds.
3. MCU, Carol & Yon-Rogg, the inevitable result of sparring practice (111 wds)
"I didn't mean to break your ribs."
Yon-Rogg scowled at her while the medic applied a healing matrix to his side. Vers kept her head down, hands clasped in her lap, but she kept peeking up at him, and she was somehow managing to nail the simultaneous look of being both slightly guilty and not exactly repentant.
"It's my fault more than yours," he said, and ruthlessly crushed any awareness of how literally true that was. "And what's our goal for the next sparring session?"
"Not throwing the teacher through any more buildings," Vers recited dutifully.
"That's right." He might have to look into having her power suppressor turned up.
4. The Expanse, Erich, hanging with the Roci crew (200 wds)
Set after season 5, lightly spoilery.
Feels Like Flying
"You tap the heels together, like this," Naomi says, and demonstrates.
Erich copies her clumsily, and feels the grav boots take hold. He'll have to practice that, but in private, not under the watchful eyes of a lifelong Belter who is probably laughing at the awkward Earthborn behind her quiet smile. He hates being bad at things. Or more to the point, he can't afford to be. Appearing weak, being bad at things, failing would have been the death of him as a child, slower and smaller than most of the rest, and no less so as a gang leader who had won his position through ruthless force and had to watch his back constantly against underlings who might be having delusions of seizing Erich's place at the top of the Baltimore underworld hierarchy.
But he does like zero G. He never really wasted time thinking about it; there was no point, it wasn't like he ever meant to go to space, and he always got around fine in Earth's gravity.
But on Earth, walking was never effortless. This is another thing he wishes he could enjoy without having eyes on him: the strangely satisfying joy of floating dolphinlike through the ship's corridors, in a body as graceful and well-suited to the environment as anyone else's.
5. any, any, discovery of a secret notebook (Iron Fist, Ward, post-season-one, about 800 wds)
He actually finds it after Danny comes back. Well, technically, after Danny comes, and then leaves, skipping off with Colleen on a road trip of responsibility avoidance. Trust Danny to get out of work by any means possible.
It's in a box of things from the townhouse.
With Joy gone, and Dad, and Danny, Ward has no interest in hanging onto the place. He wants it gone, with all its associated baggage, as if he could unload every part of his past as easily as giving the townhouse keys to a real estate agent.
He originally meant to sell it all-inclusive—furniture, photos, keepsakes, the whole enchilada. But then he gets to thinking that there might be something that will come back to bite him in the ass someday. God knows what is in there; there could be anything from listening devices to Dad and Wendell's old patent paperwork from the early days of Rand.
In reality, there's not much worth keeping. They've never been a sentimental family, and Joy was always ruthless about purging unnecessary junk. Actually, he's surprised that she kept that stupid, ugly, all-important bowl of Danny's, come to think of it.
But in the bottom of a box of old papers that are mostly destined for the shredder, he finds the notebook.
It would be obviously Danny's even if it didn't have Danny's name written on it in the clumsy, careful printing of a child. It's plastered in stickers of Pokemon and Dragonball Z and dogs and dinosaurs and rainbows, and it's rumpled like it got wet and dried out a few times. A large blotch of some kind of old stain (grape juice, Coke, who knows) discolors the corner.
There's some kind of pressure in Ward's chest that is a little bit like grief, although it can't be grief because Danny isn't dead, he knows that now. But it's a strange feeling, holding a piece of their childhoods like this.
He flips open the first page. More stickers, all over the inside of the cover and most of the first page. On the part not completely papered in stickers, there is the same careful printing: PROPERY OF DANNY RAND. KEEP OUT WARD.
Ward's name is underlined a bunch of times and punctuated with an exclamation point that has a fucking flower for the dot.
He laughs; he can't help it. "You were such a weird kid," he mutters. Suppressing a bizarre urge to correct the spelling of property, he turns the page.
He's not sure exactly what this is, but it soon becomes clear that it's some sort of weird mix of scrapbook and schoolwork and diary and God only knows what else, a snapshot of Danny's ten-year-old ADHD brain on school-lined writing paper. There are leaves glued into it, approximately fifty billion stickers, pages of cursive writing practice, pasted pictures from magazines, unfinished and badly spelled limericks ("My best frend is Joy and she's neet/We are going to play in the street"), a list of all the birds he saw that day, another list titled MY FAVRIT NAMES FOR A DOG (Ward and Joy's names are both on the list, which Ward decides to take as the compliment it's probably meant to be), a lot of enthusiastic and terrible drawings in felt marker and crayon ...
It's strangely fun to look at. Ward doesn't feel nostalgic about his childhood, or at least he never thought he did, but sometimes nostalgia will catch him under the ribs at the weirdest times anyway, and this is one of those times.
It's also unbelievably Danny. It's like looking straight into Danny's mind, sunny and cheerful and incapable of keeping a coherent thought in his head for five minutes in a row.
In fact, it's a little too much that way. He's not even a quarter of the way into the notebook before he closes it.
It's not that he thinks Danny would mind; Danny doesn't have a single filter, and he would probably give Ward his cheerful and enthusiastic permission to look through it as much as he wants.
But ... it seems rude anyway. Like an invasion of privacy.
He puts it carefully in the small pile of things to keep, to give it back to Danny the next time he sees him. Maybe they could look through it together.
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ETA: Aww just read the "Keep out Ward" one :D It fits very well with the show, I can definitely picture Ward finding something like this.
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And I also loved the tiny Carol and Yon-Rogg snippet. Not throwing one's teacher through a building indeed!!
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Predictably I like the one for Iron Fist, but I love what the Agent Carter time loop doesn't explain and you may be interesting me in Captain Marvel despite my general burnout on the MCU.
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The one about Erich took me by surprise. I hadn't given him much thought, except how smart and ruthless he must have been to get where he is.
And I love the Expanse story (and put my comments on AO3).
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