rthstewart | Three Sentence Ficathon 2021

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Three Sentence Ficathon 2021

We have now opened a new post, for new prompts! Please leave all new prompts there. You may continue to fill existing prompts here. If you didn't get a prompt filled here, feel free to post it on the new post!

Welcome to the Three Sentence Ficathon!
2 Feb. 2021 See important edit below regarding where to find unfilled prompts.

What is the 3 Sentence Ficathon?
This is an open exchange where you answer a prompt with a fic consisting of only three sentences. It's open to all fandoms and you can post and fill as many prompts as you like, as many times as you want.

What do I do first?
You can start 3SF by posting prompts! When posting a prompt please format it this way:

fandom, character(s), prompt word/sentence.

Only one prompt per comment please. So, for example,

Star Wars, Obi-Wan Kenobi, I don't like sand."

Open ended and anthropomorphic fills are popular too, such as:

Any, Any, "I don't like sand."

or

Earth geography, sand, "I don't like humans very much, either."

What happens after that?
You answer other posters' prompts in three sentences (or more if you can't stop yourself) and fill as many prompts as you want, as many times as you wish. If you see that a prompt you loved has already been filled, go ahead and fill it again! Multiple fills of the same prompt are allowed and even encouraged! (We get really fun stories going this way).

Can I still post if I need more than 3 sentences? Or should I just abuse grammar in ways the English language never contemplated?
Yes. Yes.

But I'm not a member of Dreamwidth
No problem. You can comment anonymously or through open ID

I'm really overwhelmed by all the prompts and how much there is and how fast it goes. I can't read 1,000 prompts and fills. It's too much.
I hear this a lot and it keeps a lot of people from participating. The 3SF is big and it moves fast, especially at first. I get overwhelmed, too, and I'm hosting the thing. With 2020 and 2021 sucking so badly you don't want something that's supposed to be fun cause you anxiety. I have a couple of suggestions for managing the 3SF volume.

First, really, you don't have to read every prompt and fill on every page. You can start at the last page of this and just go forward, or back a page or two. It's fine.
You can come and go as time and energy allow, you don't have to participate the whole time, and it drops off quite a bit by mid-February.
Even after the 3SF and new prompting end, people fill prompts all year long.
You can fill an already filled prompt and you can can leave a prompt that's already been prompted before. People do it all the time.

Always make sure you're looking at top-level comments only, not threaded. That helps a lot. Your screen should look like this.

But shouldn't I read everything to see if someone already prompted the same prompt I want to leave if someone already filled it?
No. Prompt as many times as you want, as much as you want. It doesn't matter if someone prompted the exact same prompt. Go ahead and prompt again!

I left a prompt and no one filled it. Can I prompt it again?
Absolutely!

Can I spread the word?
Yes, please. I generally fail at creating banners and embed codes but if you create one and make it really idiot-proof, I might be able to post and share it. Feel free to cross-post this entry. If you create your own banners or icons, let me know and I'll share!
Please share the 3SF with your followers, friends, and any channels and comms you are active on. I'll post on fandom calendar, Tumblr, and Twitter, but I don't have many connections in other spaces such as Discord.

How long will it go?
The 3SF closes to new prompts on February 28, 2021. The entry stays open permanently and people post fills all year long.

Are there any rules about cross-posting?
Nope, you can post wherever you want, whenever you want. A lot of folks collected their responses together and posted them on AO3 under the 3 sentence fiction tag. 3SFs are a terrific prompt for remixes and could be helpful for Yuletide bears, too.

What about spoilers, content and archive warnings, triggers, pairings, ratings, tags, and squick?

I thought a lot about this. It boils down to reader beware. In my experience, this typically gets too big, moves too fast, and the stories are too short for content warnings and ratings to even apply. It is too big for me to moderate in this way. You should assume spoilers are fair game and that the initial poster and the responder have opted to use no content warnings or tags. This means AO3 content warnings for dubcon, violence, canon character death, underage, etc. COULD be present. I've found personally that I can skim and scroll by stuff that, from the prompt, I can tell isn't my favorite flavor of delicious cake. Use your best judgment and be prepared to skip over things that aren't your thing. In this format, the obligation is on you, the reader, to protect yourself from triggering content.
Some posters do include warnings and spoiler tags in subject lines or include spoiler space, but they don't have to do so.

Why is 3SF split among several posts? That seems confusing.
It is confusing and we always lose momentum once we have to move to a second post. The reason is because at 5,000 comments to a single post, DW installs a human test CAPTCHA, which is a pain for users. So, once this entry gets to the upper 4,000 comments, I open a new post. If you've been waiting until things slow down to participate, when we open a second post is often a good place to join.

If I have questions, what do I do?
I'm rthstewart everywhere, here, Twitter, Tumblr, gmail and AO3.

A special thank you to

conuly .
Last year, Conuly started logging all unfilled prompts.
This year's (2021) unfilled prompts are here.
Last year's (2020) unfilled prompts are here.

Conuly asks that you not reply, as they want to be able to edit and add more prompts to the list.
Conuly does this just because they are an awesome person but should you want to write them fic in thanks, you can find a birthday wish list here.

Here is the 3SF 2021 Friending Meme to show of your new DW account.

Here, have some icons and banners and let me know if you've created your own!

text box you can try to cut and paste

<a href="https://rthstewart.dreamwidth.org/166704.html" _fcksavedurl="https://rthstewart.dreamwidth.org/166704.html" _fcksavedurl="https://rthstewart.dreamwidth.org/166704.html" _fcksavedurl="https://rthstewart.dreamwidth.org/166704.html" target="_blank"><img src=" https://imgur.com/f3B21LX.png?2" _fcksavedurl=" https://imgur.com/f3B21LX.png?2" _fcksavedurl=" https://imgur.com/f3B21LX?2" _fcksavedurl=" https://imgur.com/f3B21LX.png?2" alt="" /></a>

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Am I the only one who thinks we need MORE beer, not less?

Oh my god you're right, he's absolutely thinking of it as the sort of thing royalty does, the sort of thing his cousins either have done or would obviously do.

Yessss I am loving poor baffled Erich so much

OH that is SO CUTE and sad, it really is a marshwiggle sort of lullaby

All my years in an actual marketing job have led up to this one moment

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.

Edited 2021-02-07 04:36 (UTC)

Thank you! I consider it a high compliment indeed when someone unaware of the canon/fandom still enjoys my writing. I really liked the prompt poem and I couldn't help but think of like, turning loneliness into a new part of one's life.

In short, Henry defects to join the player's army from the other side of a war. So there's a number of obstacles to getting close to other characters. Like if Henry is unmarried at the end of the game, the epilogue blurb reads "After [endboss]'s demise, Henry made a cold, clean break with history, never to stain its pages again." So a lot of ppl interpreted this as implying suicide, which makes sense but im bias and like. hasnt this guy suffered enough. so i like to think henry just became a hermit to disney princess it up in the woods.

I love how poetic this is - sort of mystical and dreamy too, with emphasis on a push-pull connection between them and with the Force itself. Lovely!

Adrien flops face-first onto his bed and growls into his pillow; once the sound of Nathalie's heels has changed from staccato on the staircase to andante across the floor, he rolls over and tells Plagg, "I'm moving to Normandy to work on a dairy farm."

"I don't know, I don't think you have the muscle for that," Plagg says, laughing, "or the right sort of nose."

"Ha, ha," deadpans Adrien (amused more than annoyed, if only because Plagg understands why Adrien will not, in fact, be reducing his physical activity in order to make his clothes need less tailoring), "but just think: so much less bullshit."

Camembert is a controlled-designation-of-origin cheese; guess where its place of origin is

So cute! Bail's great as the exasperated but loving dad, and the twins obviously have a lot of fun getting up to mischief together. I also like Dagobah as a threat for good behavior, haha.

YEEESSSSS, omg, this is amazing. I love it! All the sweetness!

I also love this so, so much. Seeing Peter floundering in this moment makes so much SENSE. As does his wanting people to care for, without the scholarly piece. I'm articulating why I love this very badly, but I do! It's so heartwarming.

Kotetsu woke up to the warm weight of an arm wrapped around him and Bunny's steady breathing against the bare skin of his shoulder. He smiled to himself; no matter how far apart they started the night, he usually ended up with Bunny snuggled up against him by morning, sleepy-soft in a way that was so at odds with how closed off he could be otherwise.

He lifted Bunny's hand to his mouth to kiss his knuckles, and then closed his eyes and settled back into the embrace.

♥ ♥ ♥

Beautiful!

If your Duffle doesn’t go thump in the night, you may need Coriakin’s Percussor. As the Chief himself says, “It’s guaranteed to put stars in your eyes and curl your toes!” That’s right, Chief, we couldn’t have said it better ourselves.

Any, any, mango, raspberry, black currant

omfg this is hilarious!!

It's a great prompt! Thank you! :D

Thank you!

Thank you!! Heh, yeah, it was the first thing I thought of - he's probably going to love lighter/no gravity once he gets used to it. (I also have a mobility impairment, and wouldn't mind having less gravity every now and then!)

Thank you! :) It's an excellent prompt.

I didn't expect this to go the way it did and I mean that in the best possible way because I love it a lot. Sam and Bucky doing karaoke is way too delightful a scenario and they definitely would get competitive about it. I would pay to see this in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier lol

Wonderful job! Thanks for picking and filling my prompt! :D

Caspian admired Epona and then Susan and Peter dragged him, through the weaving and swaying revelers, back to the Wood. A throng of drunken, rowdy Fauns and Satyrs surrounded them and drew them into a dark thicket of dense, trembling trees. “Father Pan,” Susan called as they were spun into a wild dance.

Father Pan was reclining in a bower, roaring drunk and enveloped by ecstatic, adoring Satyrs and Fauns. Caspian was whirled about with the Beings of the Wood, held in strong burly arms and clasped against rough, hairy chests. As two grinning Satyrs tried to pull him down to join them in Pan’s bower, Susan danced between them and pulled him away.

“Should I have bowed to him?” Caspian asked, worried that he might have offended the god.

“Not unless you were prepared to pleasure him,” Peter said, drinking deeply from a skin someone has thrust at him.

“And Father Pan won’t remember!” Susan assured him. “His business is exclusively with the Fauns and Satyrs and except for the very occasional Revel, he’s rarely seen.”

She raised the skin to her lip, took a sip, and started coughing. “Ugh, Peter, you know I can’t abide Satyr drink.”

Peter took the skin back and another sip, but was quite solemn. “It may seem frivolous, but devotion to Father Pan is most serious, and he reliably comes to Narnia only when a Faun or Satyr dies. After a Faun or Satyr's spirit goes to Aslan’s country and his body is returned to their Mother trees. Pan will come and take the body and eventually return his child into this world in the likeness of the one who died.”

Caspian dusted the coarse reddish hair from his shirt and Peter took another deep drink from skin – it smelled very potent.

“So, where next, Su?”

“The bonfire. I have a feeling we might see an old friend there.”

They lead him toward the light and heat of the fires that had been lit, passing an old man, who was asleep on a dozing donkey – both were twined in grape vines.

“Silenus,” Peter said. “He usually arrives with Bacchus to bless the grapes for a Revel. Raise your next glass in his honor.”

In one of the outer fires, Peter excused the Dwarfs who had been smoking their pipes and gestured for Susan. “You knew him best.”

Susan drew him forward and down to the ground, to kneel before the fire. It was warm, but not uncomfortable and, with each pop and crack of the tinder, embers and ash spiraled up above them.

“If it please you, my lord,” Susan said.

“It does not, Gentle but not Gentled Susan,” came a very cranky voice from inside the fire.

The speaker crawled out from the blaze. He was a squat, black, lizard-like creature, mottled with brilliant yellow and orange spots. Fire glowed under his dark, crackling skin and his flat tongue darted out of his mouth. He turned his head and his black eye fixed on Caspian.

"Oh, it's you. Took you long enough.”

“My lord,” Caspian replied.

“Caspian,” Susan said. “This is Xucoatl, the Fire Lizard and his home is on many worlds. He is very wise, a soothsayer, and riddler.”

Behind him, Peter muttered, “And very vague.”

“Has my cousin showed up yet?" Xucoatl demanded. You can’t miss him. He’s your cousin and a dragon.”

“I don’t have a cousin who…” Caspian began but Xucoatl cut him off crossly.

“No, not you. I was talking to Gentle but not Gentled Susan.”

“We have no cousin who is a dragon, my lord,” Susan answered. Caspian heard Peter say something about “Except Cousin Useless.”

"Hmm. Alright then." Xucoatl stared at him again with unblinking eyes. “And as for you, Caspian, Farer of Seas, dragons are fine, just don’t play with snakes. Come back when you know the one question most important to you that you must have an answer to. But only one.”

“How will I know?” Caspian asked.

“You will.”

Xucoatl turned around and waddled back into the fire.

“He’s always a little unsettling,” Susan said, looping her arm in his. “I’ve seen him several times and he is never wrong but I never understand what he means…”

“Until it’s too late.” Peter whistled suddenly. “Well, that’s interesting.”

Susan craned her neck for a few of the dell opening up beneath them on the wood path. “Oh!”

Embarrassingly, she paused and brushed the hair off his shirt and Peter tried smoothing his hair.

Caspian waved them off. “What is it?”

Peter nodded toward the dell. “A great honour. I wonder who invited them?”

“Who?”

“The Five gods,” Susan replied.

Caspian thought she meant it as an oath, but then understood. These were gods he knew of from his own lessons in history and diplomacy, the five gods of Calormen.

He sedately followed Peter and Susan who had suddenly donned a somber mantle. This wasn’t worship – this was diplomacy.

“Welcome to Narnia,” Susan said. She nodded her head slightly, a welcome, not obeisance. Peter mimicked the Queen and Caspian followed their lead.

Caspian addressed the goddesses first – a tall female appearance, veiled and richly dressed, a small, slight girl, cloaked completely in black, and a plump, darkly skinned, gray haired woman in loose robes crowned with greens and grains. “Mother Azaroth, Lady of the Night, Lady Atanta, I am Caspian.”

“We wished to congratulate Brother Aslan,” Mother Azaroth said in a rich, cultured voice. “As he is pleased, so then are we.”

“Speak for yourself,” the rat muttered. “I didn’t come all the way here to see that bloody cat.”

A small hawk sitting on a branch answered. “Careful, or he’ll eat you. Again.”

“Trickster,” Caspian said, nodding to the rat. More slowly, he nodded a final time. “Lord Tash.”

The Trickster waved a paw. “I’ll be going. Brother Bacchus promised me he’d share.” The rat vanished.

“I shall leave offerings for each of you when I visit your country,” Caspian said. “Until then, thank you.”

“Well said, Caspian of Narnia,” Mother Azaroth replied. The goddesses disappeared.

The hawk – Tash, the god of foresight and farseeing, stared at him a moment longer. His voice was measured and cool when he spoke. “A long life you shall have, Caspian. But not always a happy one. Your pain, though, shall not be come at my hand.”

With that portent, in a flash of light, the hawk disappeared.

Timetagger's vortex spits them out beside the long table at which Adrien is pushing around his plate the first meal Father has deigned in six months to join him for: a woman with an untidy black bun and dark red earrings who (never imply someone looks either fat or pregnant, Adrien remembers Maman teaching him, unless they admit to it themselves) is possibly smuggling a pumpkin under her oversized green tee, and the small child, equally dark-haired and bright-eyed, who wriggles out of the woman's arms, shrieks at their first glimpse of Father, and flees to climb trembling to Adrien's lap.

"What are you doing in my house?" Father asks, glaring icily at the woman even as Adrien tries to simultaneously embrace the child (he's seen old enough photos of his mother: that's her face, almost—his own face—with different coloration) and get a good enough grip that if need be, Adrien can escape with the frightened child.

The woman looks around, familiar blue eyes lingering for a soft moment on Adrien himself before landing on Father and hardening to vivid sapphire: "Apparently I don't live here yet," she returns, circling the table to Adrien, "since my husband looks all of sixteen—" (ouch; Adrien is seventeen plus three hundred eight days, thank you) "—so we'll be leaving; I hope your security cameras got satisfactory images of us, sir," she adds, steering Adrien and their child through the foyer and out, "and do thank Hawkmoth for the opportunity, as it's the only time you'll ever see your grandchildren."

Marinette hears the vortex snarl open and, looking down from her balcony, sees it close: a blond man who wasn't there before crouches with feral protectiveness around someone Marinette therefore can't see, the tension along the man's spine all too familiar, as is the way it eases somewhat at the sound of her gasp.

She rushes downstairs but doesn't beat them into the bakery; "—see that memetacular campaign," the grown-up, entirely unmasked Chat Noir is telling the brunette girl Manon's age (obviously his daughter, they've the same curious tilt to their chin and the same gleam of mischief in green eyes), "I know I wasn't the only Adrien in Paris deeply relieved when the last of those ads came down in 2018, which means the me who lives here is not yet either a baker or a Dupain-Cheng because he's like seventeen, so really, Emme, why would it say anything but Tom and Sabine's?" Chat Noir finishes, noting and ignoring Marinette's mother's skeptical stance and grinning when he spots Marinette.

"Did you get extra handsome between my now and your now just to annoy me," Marinette wonders, snagging three croissants and the mini chocolate éclair her future daughter is staring at hopefully, "wait, sorry, impress me, or—" (because her partner with at least fifteen years' more experience is, among other precious things, a strategic resource she intends to take maximum advantage of) "—are you just that lucky?"

Ladybug—and what does she mean, Adrien knows her name?—is scribbling in a mini sketchbook she had in her pants pocket, stuff she says to read "with mini-me, as soon as possible, and at least half a country away from Hawkmoth and Mayura," when they enter the park and see, at the far corner near their statue, Marinette blushing at an unfamiliar man about this Ladybug's age, who has a somewhat larger child riding on his back as Adrien himself has in his arms. Adrien is about to push Louise back at her mother so he can go rescue Marinette (she's usually too shy to rescue herself from this sort of thing, and it isn't like Adrien objects to strangers thinking he'sMarinette's boyfriend) when Louise yells "Papa!" and the other child shouts "Maman!" even as the man swings them down to Marinette, and Ladybug is dropping pencil and sketchbook to have free hands when her own husband and partner catches her into a deep kiss.

Holy shit, Adrien thinks, attention riveted to the proof all his dreams will come true, and by the time it occurs to him to pick up the sketchbook, Marinette already has: "I know who Hawkmoth and Mayura are," she tells him, voice low and intense, head tilted to show him the dark red earrings she's always worn even as she examines the silver ring she has hardly ever seen him without, "and if you promise to keep your curiosity bagged until we're safely out of range," she adds, turning pink, "I promise you a proper kiss": a bargain too overwhelming for Adrien to answer except by breathing "My lady," and too sappily familiar for Louise and—did they name her Émilie?—to answer except by chorusing "Eww."

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 136 of 222

Three Sentence Ficathon 2021

Re: nsfw

Re: makes three (Jill/Eustace + 1, Narnia)

Re: Leave My Friends Where I Found Them

Re: When the bough breaks

Re: nsfw

Iron Fist, post-season-one, Ward

no subject

no subject

[Miraculous Ladybug] not cowed

no subject

Re: Susan and Tebbitt - TSG AU

Re: Peter is a rock, in more ways than one -- TSG AU

Tiger & Bunny, Barnaby/Kotetsu, Snuggle

no subject

Re: Leverage, Parker/Eliot/Hardison, Something to Share

Re: nsfw

no subject

Re: nsfw

Re: Carol & Yon-Rogg on Hala

Re: Carol & Yon-Rogg on Hala

Re: The Expanse, Erich & Naomi, Feels Like Flying

Re: The Expanse, Erich & Naomi, Feels Like Flying

Re: Karaoke

Father Pan, Xucoatl, the five gods

[Miraculous Ladybug] a stitch in time saves some number of lives