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>

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♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

we understand Chat, take your time XD

Like a playful cat pushing a bauble around closer and closer to the edge of a table, life hadn't been kind to Orochimaru. Sarutobi saw it about to fall, and instead of snatching the bauble from the cruel thing or putting the pieces together, he gave them to a traitor, convinced it was enough.

Is it any surprise the third Hokage had cut himself and bled on the shards he had swept aside and forgotten until he stumbled over them?

Edited 2021-03-11 23:37 (UTC)

“Cabanela,” said Alma, waving her hand in front of the man’s eyes to try and break his reverie. Get him back to Earth to get something done. This picnic at the park, perhaps, someone would have to lay out the spread eventually. “We’ve been together for three years.”
“So we have, baby, so we haaave…” He grabbed her hand and sneaked a yearning, tender kiss on her knuckles, but, with the poise and chutzpah of your average chicken, in doing so he did not move his head by an inch and kept his eyes firmly trained on the spectacle underway next to the nearest tree. Jowd was doing some warm-ups, lunging and flexing with athletic elegance, in perfect control of his body, its strength, its volume in space. With perfect willingness to put on a little show, too, knowing his audience, lingering on a deep, slow stretch.
“But, see: either some part of me remembers I’ve been wantin’ this for a decade twice over and change, and by now it’s set as deep within my bones as anything ever wiiill...”
Jowd took his shirt off. The sun gleamed on his muscles. Cabanela clapped.
“...or your husband really is that hot.”

Edited 2021-03-13 20:59 (UTC)

Ohh, I can see this!

perfect!!

As they explored Canaan House, the one thing Gideon noticed was that all the other cav/necro pairs were...strangely stooped, and many of them, even the pierced and eyelinered Fourth, had bright white hair. "Harrow," she hissed, "you didn't tell me we'd be stuck with a bunch of old fucks!"
"Oh, Griddle," Harrow whispered back, her face alight with evil glee, "this is just my master plan to get you to admit you're into osteoporosis after all."

AYDGDGHGFF THIS IS NOT WHAT I IMAGINED BUT IT IS BRILLIANT

I see what you mean - I want at least another 20k of this stat!

Awww.

beautiful!!!

Both of you know why you have to keep this a secret; your star is rising too quickly, they'd hound both of you to oblivion if they knew that you were a couple. You're supposed to be practicing, and he's supposed to be training, so you're not supposed to be hiding out here behind the warehouse, leaning against the wall in each other's arms; you're tired of hiding, but you don't know what else to do. All you can do, for now, is enjoy the moment while it lasts, and wonder if there's a future where someday the two of you can just be yourselves, not what the city expects of you.

Ooh, I love the idea that Red and Boxer were an item while they were both still starting out in their respective professions! It lends a great tension to their relationship, plus a little thrill of the forbidden.

But yes, given the stark differences in their class and background, I can definitely see why they have to keep their relationship hidden. For a city that's supposedly all about choice, it's evident even in canon that Cloudbank has very specific expectations about what those choices should be.

And I just adore the line, "hiding out here behind the warehouse, leaning against the wall in each other's arms." It paints such a vivid picture of two lovers trying to snatch a few moments of happiness away from others' judgmental eyes.

Thank you so much for writing this! :D I love it! ❤

Belatedly, thank you very much.

This made me laugh. It's so true!

Susan’s not sold on the idea and she’s not afraid of telling him, wary eyes and the barest hint of tension on her shoulders, but Lucy looks at him like Peter’s hung the moon and the stars, words a mile per hour, scattered haphazardly in half broken sentences entirely lost on her excitement and hope ― Susan’s old enough that recounted battles and hero stories have all but turned into cautionary tales of hurt, and she does not wield it against him, does not sharpen her words nor her gaze, and Lucy’s admiration carries the three of them through the highest points of it, through the news and the costumes and all the gossip ― Susan’s not sold but England is, and Peter shoulders the weight of his title with Lucy’s trust upon his heart like battle armor.

The Magnificent, they call him.

(Stupid, is what Edmund says, instead, voice flat, eyes furious, mouth twisted in a snarl of what Peter cannot say for sure it is anger ― stupid, but he lets Peter in nonetheless, stitches in place wounds Peter hadn’t dared look too close at, watches him like a hawk until Peter’s done with dinner, shares his bed without an uttered word of complaint ― stupid, is what Edmund bites, bitter, unkind, but he curls against Peter’s back like a five-year-old boy, scared of thunder and the rain and the cold, forehead pressed against Peter’s spine, stuttered breath against Peter’s skin, and doesn’t let go.)

Edited 2021-05-05 15:28 (UTC)

It’s an ugly, hideous little thing, protruding ribs and scarred face, an ear shorther than the other and mean claws that draw blood from Lucy’s tentative, hopeful fingers when she reaches out for it the first time ― it’s an ugly, furious little beast that grows three sizes when Peter tries to corner it, that growls and prowls like it’s ready to strike, and it falls upon Susan to be the reasonable one and tell them to leave it be. It’s ugly and dirty and it follows Edmund like a shadow, angrier than it has any job being, with sharp eyes and a broken fang Edmund does his best to keep his fingers away from ― it trots after him with purpose, crooked tail swishing back and forth like he’s angered it, and it does not mind his bitterness, his wit or his silence ― it watches and it approaches, too pointy teeth showing whenever Edmund dares looking back at it, as if dissatisfied with such a bold gesture, with such blatant disregard for it’s wariness and viciousness.

It's an ugly, hideous little thing, beastly beyond what’s reasonable and more violent than it has any reason being, but it curls against his chest on the nights Edmund cannot bring himself to breathe with ease, paws it’s way to him with no teeth nor claws nor blood ― it does not purr, does not allow him to touch it unless it is for leaving, but it is warm and gentle and it does not leave.

In the wake of their coronation, heavy lies the crown upon Peter’s head ― rightful ruler, Son of Adam, High King, barely a teenager and shouldering the weight of waging war, a sword on his hand, the lives he’s taken and the friends he’s lost, the life left behind to a wooden wardrobe to face a deadly winter and fulfill a prophecy he hadn’t known of, of words he could barely understand in a world so unlike his own he might as well have lost everything twice over instead of once. Heavy lies the crown and the trust, the love and admiration in Lucy’s eyes, the brighter-than-sunlight smile she throws his way, the confidence in Susan’s mouth, the satisfaction and pride he knows she feels ― heavy lies his heart upon his chest when Edmund’s eyes do not meet his, not quite, not yet, and the gentle smile he wears is but a far cry from the one Peter remembers, not full of sneer and malice but a warmth Peter has yet to acquaintance himself with again.

King Edmund, the Just ― once a gentle boy, then a beastly bully, now not quite either but yet to be decided, Peter reaches out not to an once traitor nor an once estranged sibling, but a gentler middle ground, someone he wants to hold dearly, to not let go of ever again ― Edmund’s fingers interlace with his own, holding tight, and Peter breathes out hope.

Susan Pevensie does not weep ― she doesn’t wear the crown anymore, doesn’t think she could, can, would ― not like this, not ever, not after all the pain and crawling her way back to light, to the closest resemblance of a home, of normalcy, of safety and warmth and happiness when all she had was torn from hopeful, feeble, gentle fingers ―, but the weight of it has never left.

Susan Pevensie does not weep, for she was a warrior long before she was a Queen, and grief had been etched into her bones long before hope became the last thing she held on to, praying to a god who did not listen ― she did not give in to it then, and she won’t give in to it now.

(Susan does not weep, but hope crumbles inside her chest like a card castle blown by the wind, sharp edges and cutting wounds she has no intent of tending to ― gentleness dies in an explosion of fire and metal and all she’s left with is a hollow place where her siblings should’ve been.)

Lucy knows it because she’s not yet quick enough to dodge ― associates it to shrieking laughter that bubbles up her throat, breathless pleas and promises of surrender, but there is no mercy to be found on Edmund’s cold fingers when he tackles her with a joyous war cry, poking her nonstop until either defeat is fully admitted to or Peter joins in and becomes the next unwilling victim.

Susan takes notice for deft movements, steady hands that help her fix her makeup with a skill Peter’s never quite mastered, thumbs that wipe stains of paint off her lips with a touch that rivals steel itself ― a touch that resembles the biting cold of winter winds, unforgiving snow, neverending white plains where death once took over ― and Susan, ever the gentle, presses a kiss against frosty knuckles to thank him for the gesture.

Peter holds the knowledge to the highest regard, trust given and received in return ― a younger brother tucked in against his chest on winter nights, fisted fingers that tremble against his shirt, and the coldness of Edmund’s touch is both a warning and a reminder none of them will ever be able to look away from.

Here’s what Narnia sings about the High King: he’s just and courageous, of unparalled wisdowm and immense kindness ― he’s gentle and warm and fair in judgment, and no living thing under his protection shall ever come to harm.

Here’s what Narnia says about the Magnificent: he charges into war unafraid, a battle cry on his lips and his sword held high ― no enemy is too strong or mighty, no odds are ever too risky, no army will ever be his downfall.

Here’s what Narnia doesn’t know: Peter’s a boy turned King, innocence washed away by the blood on his hands, and the salt of the earth where his tears once fell is the only witness to his cries.

(something of a follow-up to this)

Edmund hates it with a passion that scares him ― a bone deep resentment that pulls him apart at the seams, cracked bits and pieces he can’t find it in himself to tend to, a heavy weight he cannot name nested upon his heart, twisted around his ribs, winter that has settled itself into his bones and cannot give him anything but misery and rage.

The Magnificent, they call Peter, and it feels as much an offense as it does as a joke.

(Stupid, Edmund calls him, because you terrify me is not an option, because he cannot stomach I was afraid, because I cannot bear to see you hurt lodges itself in his throat and does not leave, a heavy lump he cannot swallow through ― stupid, because Peter makes his way into his apartment with unsteady feet and a weak smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and what Edmund sees of his skin is an amalgamation of purples and blues ― stupid, because Peter doesn’t say a word of complaint, doesn’t whimper, doesn’t backhand him across the head when Edmund rasps out yet another selfish, bitter comment when tending to his wounds ― stupid, because Edmund curls against his back and feels like a little kid all over again, terrified of losing his older brother, words on his mouth he cannot bring himself to say, and Peter still leaves in the morning.)

oh ouch

ouch ouch ouch

Aw, Poppy! I love that she's the one they can all go to to talk, though. It makes sense since she's probably seen a lot from her medical examinations that others might not, plus she's very protective of her patients. Thank you <3

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Page 217 of 222

Three Sentence Ficathon 2021

no subject

Re: Miraculous Ladybug, Physics in the Shower, Ladybug, Chat Noir, and Frightningale (just off scree

no subject

Ghost Trick, Cabanela/Alma/Jowd (double drabble)

no subject

Re: much ado about nothing - crossdressing

no subject

no subject

Re: I fear this is very much a teaser of what the fic COULD be

Re: Oxventures

Re: MCU, Thor & Loki

Secret (Transistor, Red/Boxer, SFW)

Re: Secret (Transistor, Red/Boxer, SFW)

Re: Fill: Entreaty

Re: It's Not The Strong Case Lilo Thinks It Is

in search of something (Narnia)

fogged mirrors (Narnia, not canon compliant)

heartbroken, heartaching, heartdriven (Narnia)

to survive grief (Narnia)

redemption lies plainly in truth (Narnia)

what an honor (Narnia)

little brother (Narnia, not canon compliant)

Re: what an honor (Narnia)

Re: little brother (Narnia, not canon compliant)

Re: Trauma Repeats