Three Sentence Ficathon 2023 - Fills
Feb. 5th, 2023 11:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sincereouslyWith one week left to prompt in the Three Sentence Ficathon, I thought I'd collect my promptfills for this year here! Post 1 (found here) is available for fills only; Post 2 (found here) is available for both fills and new prompts for one more week. Fills are welcome on both posts until the next Ficathon starts next January!
Original prompt: Any, any, peckish (A Seeker of the Name)
When you first began to hunt the Name, that niggling little peckishness had been a mere annoyance; it became a constant companion, became a friend, became the only part of you that has not yet melted away like a candle's wax. The gnawing has eaten your stomach now, and still you devour - chestnuts and flesh, and dreams, and hope. Still you are never satisfied.
(This is only right.)
(Hunt as he was hunted.)
(Consume as he was consumed.)
Original prompt: The Golden Girls, Blanche, Her previous lovers.
Dorothy and Sophia would never believe her, but she's never been with a man she didn't love. Well, all right, it might not be what most people think of love - not the kind of always-and-forever love that made you actually want to stay in with them on a Friday night, the kind she had with George - but she always saw something in her men that she loved, whether it was the firm muscles of his rear or the hot spark in his eye or the way he smiled crookedly whenever one of his jokes sent her into peals of laughter, or even just how good he made her feel on and in his arms.
The stories might have been a teensy bit exaggerated and perhaps a bit contradictory over the years, but every woman is entitled to a little mystique and some harmless pleasures, and her stories do her good; whenever she gets to remembering all her lovers she smiles, and shivers, and shimmies into her favorite slinky dress and then she's ready to fall in love all over again.
Original prompt: Any, Any OT3, summarizing each relationship. (Don/Kathy/Cosmo)
They've all got their own rhythm, the three of them. Don's got the control and easy strength that can equally lift Kathy into a graceful spin and launch Cosmo into a playful backflip; Kathy throws her heart into every motion and flies into the air always trusting Cosmo to hold her steady and Don to catch her if she falls; Cosmo nimbly steps in among them all, and while he might sometimes look like he's in the background, the dance would never look quite right without him pulling Don into an old routine or catching Kathy's arm to show her a new step.
They all have their own rhythm, but when they dance together, they're in perfect harmony.
Original prompt: ASOIAF, Joffrey, a good king (Version 1)
His father shows him that a king drives his kingdom, his court, his family with his appetites and his strong arm (and his backhand); his mother teaches him that he should have everything he wants, as anyone of Lannister blood deserves. His grandfather lectures him about moderation every once in while, but Joffrey has read his histories, and he hardly thinks Grandfather showed moderation when he slaughtered the Reynes and the Tarbecks like the dogs they were - he wonders if Grandfather liked it when they begged and screamed, the way Joffrey likes it when Sansa is obviously trying not to cry.
Joffrey knows what a king is - a man who holds a kingdom in his fist and squeezes it as he likes - and he is as good at being a king as he knows to be.
Original prompt: ASOIAF, Joffrey, a good king (Version 2)
Joffrey absolutely hated Winterfell when he first arrived - the rules, the new foster father and mother who made him actually mind those stupid rules, the new foster siblings who never held back from showing him up at lessons, the ugly heart tree and the horrible food and the ever-present awful bloody cold.
But the years passed, and somehow the rules started to feel more reasonable and the cold more comfortable, and when his father died and he came back to King's Landing for the first time since he was six he brought his foster family with him, for he could not imagine being the kind of king the realm needed without their love and their counsel.
And so in the years to come the people talked of the honor of King Joffrey, the king who brought justice to his vassals and his smallfolk and who brought the armies against the terrors from beyond the Wall - as good a king, they all agreed, as any king they knew to be.
Original prompt: ASOIAF, any, genderswap (f!Viserys III)
Her first husband would have given her a queen's crown, for the day Viserra was born her father had made Rhaegar marry his newborn sister, and if Rhaegar had only given her a chance to grow up she knows she would have made a good consort to his reign, two true Targaryens the way it is always meant to be.
But Rhaegar had spurned her, broken her destiny and her family for the sake of the Stark girl, and so today she takes a second husband for a queen's crown. But not a consort's crown, not this time, she thinks as she winds her silver hair into a braid and pins it in place, this time I get the khal and his ten thousand Dothraki, and I get to sit on the Iron Throne and watch the Usurper burn to ash at my feet, and I get a golden crown, yes, everything that is the dragon's, it's going to be mine.
Original prompt: ASOIAF/GOT, any Arryn, Spirit (Jeyne Arryn)
Some fools say that the Eyrie is one of the harshest and most barren seats in all the Seven Kingdoms, but they do not know it as Jeyne does.
From atop the Giant's Lance she can take the falcon's view of her lands, tracing her life's path in the ridges and dips below - the high crag where the Stone Crows killed her father and brothers, just north of the river against whose banks she'd trapped her almost-usurper cousin and ended his ambitions, which tumbled into the lush green valley full of swaying wheat, where Jeyne could just barely see the small lake where she'd first promised Jessamyn her love.
The howling mountain winds wax and wane like the Vale itself is breathing, and when Jeyne breathes with them she can fancy that she and the very spirit of the Vale have become one.
Original prompt: ASOIAF/GOT, any, Dothraki Dragons (Irri)
It is known that dragons are terrible and evil creatures, magic-made perversions of beasts, who swallow horses whole and char the mother earth so fiercely that for years no grass can grow upon it. It is known that they are long gone, along with the silver-haired bloodmages who made them - that is, until three eggs crack in a pyre and turn the world upside down.
Irri also knows that a brave girl can leave sheep for a dragon and slowly win it to her side, and so when the khaleesi vanishes she takes any meat she can find and brings it to the pyramid where the dragons wait.
Original prompt: Any, any, bodyswap (Han & Luke)
"You tell me to stretch out with my feelings one more time and I'll kill you before the worm gets around to it," Han muttered, ignoring his own face frowning back at him.
Luke leaned back against the wall of their cell, rubbing the side of his head like he was getting a headache. Han, admittedly, could not blame him. Theoretically, escaping the Hutt who captured them should have been as easy as telling the guard to open up the door, or maybe breaking into the fiddly inner workings of the door lock. Unfortunately, both things required the Force, and due to some godsforsaken Sith machination Han currently controlled the body with the Force sensitivity, and the Force did not seem to like Han very much. After the third time he'd tried to sway the guard and accidentally sent them into an attack frenzy instead, the feeling was mutual.
Han squeezed his eyes shut and slumped back against the door, tuning out the buzz of awareness - of Luke, of the guard, of the people on the street above this prison - as best he could. Thinking like a Jedi was getting him nowhere. Think like a criminal, then. What could he use to break the lock? The cell was completely bare, and even Han trying to break down the walls with the Force had only put shallow scratches in them. What else did he have?
Only what you take with you.
Luke had sidled over while Han was thinking, and gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. Han looked over at Luke's hand - formerly Han's own - on his shoulder, and an idea struck him.
"Are you breaking my hand?" Luke said incredulously as Han popped open the panel on his mechanical right hand and fished out a few thin metal pieces, plus some wiring for good measure.
"Look, right now it's my hand anyway," Han said, squinting as he maneuvered the makeshift lockpick. One of the attempted door breakdowns had created a small gap, just wide enough to allow one of the wire pieces through and let Han finagle the mechanism.
Of course, it wasn't easy to do with one hand now out of commission. Han looked over at Luke and raised his eyebrows, and Luke might not be able to read emotions in the Force right now but he still got the message very clearly.
"All right," he said, shuffling beside Han and slotting the metal pieces into place, "but as soon as we're back to the Falcon you're fixing it back to normal, okay?"
"Deal," Han replied, grinning as the lock clicked and the door hissed unlocked. The next few steps might be tricky, but between the two of them - as long as you help us out for once, Han thought to the Force - they ought to get out of it just fine. Same as always.
Original prompt: Any, any, meeting your dark mirror universe self (Leia vs. dark!Leia)
"I don't think you and your pitiful little rebellion know what you're dealing with," the Empress drawled, the yellow irises of her eyes catching the bright red beam of her lightsaber as she stared at Leia; with her free hand she twisted a strand of her familiar dark hair out of the way of her horribly familiar face, in a gesture Leia had seen thousands of times in her own mirror.
Looking at the Empress was about as disorienting as falling into this universe in the first place had been...but Leia had her own advantages, from her weapons to her friends to her strange recognition of the storm of rage and passion and determination she sensed from her enemy's all-too-familiar heart.
"I think I know exactly who I'm dealing with," Leia snarled, igniting her own saber's blade, "the question is, do you?"
Original prompt: any, any, sedoretu (Luke/Mara/Leia/Han)
Somewhere in the evening, while they were working out the logistics for a tricky run, Han looked up from the endless piles of flimsi, a weirdly soft look on his face as he said, "You gotta admit it all worked out pretty good, right?"
Mara's first instinct was to ask where the hell that came from, but she looked across the room and understood - their Morning wife and Chief of State smiled triumphantly down at her datapad as she worked yet another crisis out, her feet in the lap of their Morning husband as he chatted to the twins over a grainy holo connection about an old Jedi artifact he'd just found, and they themselves sat together with their handwriting overlapping on scratch-sheets and all their belongings comfortably strewn together - a scene Mara could never have imagined when Han had first casually asked her what she knew about sedoretu and she had been half-waiting for the trap to spring.
After all these years - after hundreds of dejarik games and sparring matches and rescues in battle, after thousands of kisses - Mara finally had it in her to grin back at him, and throw her arm around his shoulder, and say, "You know what, this time I think you're right."
Original prompt: Stardew Valley, any, learning beauty again (Leah)
Zuzu City seeped into Leah like the exhaust fumes that clung to her clothes, like Kel's long-suffering sighs burrowing into Leah's heart whenever Leah procrastinated on a work project to chase the ever-fainter spark of art inside her.
If she stayed there any longer the fumes and the sighs would suffocate her, and so Leah escaped to a world of quiet snows and soft breezes laden with butterflies. The soft rains of Stardew Valley have finally washed the city out of her soul, and when she studies the woods around her, all she can see is the beauty of possibilities.
Fallen London
Original prompt: Any, any, peckish (A Seeker of the Name)
When you first began to hunt the Name, that niggling little peckishness had been a mere annoyance; it became a constant companion, became a friend, became the only part of you that has not yet melted away like a candle's wax. The gnawing has eaten your stomach now, and still you devour - chestnuts and flesh, and dreams, and hope. Still you are never satisfied.
(This is only right.)
(Hunt as he was hunted.)
(Consume as he was consumed.)
Golden Girls
Original prompt: The Golden Girls, Blanche, Her previous lovers.
Dorothy and Sophia would never believe her, but she's never been with a man she didn't love. Well, all right, it might not be what most people think of love - not the kind of always-and-forever love that made you actually want to stay in with them on a Friday night, the kind she had with George - but she always saw something in her men that she loved, whether it was the firm muscles of his rear or the hot spark in his eye or the way he smiled crookedly whenever one of his jokes sent her into peals of laughter, or even just how good he made her feel on and in his arms.
The stories might have been a teensy bit exaggerated and perhaps a bit contradictory over the years, but every woman is entitled to a little mystique and some harmless pleasures, and her stories do her good; whenever she gets to remembering all her lovers she smiles, and shivers, and shimmies into her favorite slinky dress and then she's ready to fall in love all over again.
Singin' in the Rain
Original prompt: Any, Any OT3, summarizing each relationship. (Don/Kathy/Cosmo)
They've all got their own rhythm, the three of them. Don's got the control and easy strength that can equally lift Kathy into a graceful spin and launch Cosmo into a playful backflip; Kathy throws her heart into every motion and flies into the air always trusting Cosmo to hold her steady and Don to catch her if she falls; Cosmo nimbly steps in among them all, and while he might sometimes look like he's in the background, the dance would never look quite right without him pulling Don into an old routine or catching Kathy's arm to show her a new step.
They all have their own rhythm, but when they dance together, they're in perfect harmony.
A Song of Ice and Fire
Original prompt: ASOIAF, Joffrey, a good king (Version 1)
His father shows him that a king drives his kingdom, his court, his family with his appetites and his strong arm (and his backhand); his mother teaches him that he should have everything he wants, as anyone of Lannister blood deserves. His grandfather lectures him about moderation every once in while, but Joffrey has read his histories, and he hardly thinks Grandfather showed moderation when he slaughtered the Reynes and the Tarbecks like the dogs they were - he wonders if Grandfather liked it when they begged and screamed, the way Joffrey likes it when Sansa is obviously trying not to cry.
Joffrey knows what a king is - a man who holds a kingdom in his fist and squeezes it as he likes - and he is as good at being a king as he knows to be.
Original prompt: ASOIAF, Joffrey, a good king (Version 2)
Joffrey absolutely hated Winterfell when he first arrived - the rules, the new foster father and mother who made him actually mind those stupid rules, the new foster siblings who never held back from showing him up at lessons, the ugly heart tree and the horrible food and the ever-present awful bloody cold.
But the years passed, and somehow the rules started to feel more reasonable and the cold more comfortable, and when his father died and he came back to King's Landing for the first time since he was six he brought his foster family with him, for he could not imagine being the kind of king the realm needed without their love and their counsel.
And so in the years to come the people talked of the honor of King Joffrey, the king who brought justice to his vassals and his smallfolk and who brought the armies against the terrors from beyond the Wall - as good a king, they all agreed, as any king they knew to be.
Original prompt: ASOIAF, any, genderswap (f!Viserys III)
Her first husband would have given her a queen's crown, for the day Viserra was born her father had made Rhaegar marry his newborn sister, and if Rhaegar had only given her a chance to grow up she knows she would have made a good consort to his reign, two true Targaryens the way it is always meant to be.
But Rhaegar had spurned her, broken her destiny and her family for the sake of the Stark girl, and so today she takes a second husband for a queen's crown. But not a consort's crown, not this time, she thinks as she winds her silver hair into a braid and pins it in place, this time I get the khal and his ten thousand Dothraki, and I get to sit on the Iron Throne and watch the Usurper burn to ash at my feet, and I get a golden crown, yes, everything that is the dragon's, it's going to be mine.
Original prompt: ASOIAF/GOT, any Arryn, Spirit (Jeyne Arryn)
Some fools say that the Eyrie is one of the harshest and most barren seats in all the Seven Kingdoms, but they do not know it as Jeyne does.
From atop the Giant's Lance she can take the falcon's view of her lands, tracing her life's path in the ridges and dips below - the high crag where the Stone Crows killed her father and brothers, just north of the river against whose banks she'd trapped her almost-usurper cousin and ended his ambitions, which tumbled into the lush green valley full of swaying wheat, where Jeyne could just barely see the small lake where she'd first promised Jessamyn her love.
The howling mountain winds wax and wane like the Vale itself is breathing, and when Jeyne breathes with them she can fancy that she and the very spirit of the Vale have become one.
Original prompt: ASOIAF/GOT, any, Dothraki Dragons (Irri)
It is known that dragons are terrible and evil creatures, magic-made perversions of beasts, who swallow horses whole and char the mother earth so fiercely that for years no grass can grow upon it. It is known that they are long gone, along with the silver-haired bloodmages who made them - that is, until three eggs crack in a pyre and turn the world upside down.
Irri also knows that a brave girl can leave sheep for a dragon and slowly win it to her side, and so when the khaleesi vanishes she takes any meat she can find and brings it to the pyramid where the dragons wait.
Star Wars
Original prompt: Any, any, bodyswap (Han & Luke)
"You tell me to stretch out with my feelings one more time and I'll kill you before the worm gets around to it," Han muttered, ignoring his own face frowning back at him.
Luke leaned back against the wall of their cell, rubbing the side of his head like he was getting a headache. Han, admittedly, could not blame him. Theoretically, escaping the Hutt who captured them should have been as easy as telling the guard to open up the door, or maybe breaking into the fiddly inner workings of the door lock. Unfortunately, both things required the Force, and due to some godsforsaken Sith machination Han currently controlled the body with the Force sensitivity, and the Force did not seem to like Han very much. After the third time he'd tried to sway the guard and accidentally sent them into an attack frenzy instead, the feeling was mutual.
Han squeezed his eyes shut and slumped back against the door, tuning out the buzz of awareness - of Luke, of the guard, of the people on the street above this prison - as best he could. Thinking like a Jedi was getting him nowhere. Think like a criminal, then. What could he use to break the lock? The cell was completely bare, and even Han trying to break down the walls with the Force had only put shallow scratches in them. What else did he have?
Only what you take with you.
Luke had sidled over while Han was thinking, and gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. Han looked over at Luke's hand - formerly Han's own - on his shoulder, and an idea struck him.
"Are you breaking my hand?" Luke said incredulously as Han popped open the panel on his mechanical right hand and fished out a few thin metal pieces, plus some wiring for good measure.
"Look, right now it's my hand anyway," Han said, squinting as he maneuvered the makeshift lockpick. One of the attempted door breakdowns had created a small gap, just wide enough to allow one of the wire pieces through and let Han finagle the mechanism.
Of course, it wasn't easy to do with one hand now out of commission. Han looked over at Luke and raised his eyebrows, and Luke might not be able to read emotions in the Force right now but he still got the message very clearly.
"All right," he said, shuffling beside Han and slotting the metal pieces into place, "but as soon as we're back to the Falcon you're fixing it back to normal, okay?"
"Deal," Han replied, grinning as the lock clicked and the door hissed unlocked. The next few steps might be tricky, but between the two of them - as long as you help us out for once, Han thought to the Force - they ought to get out of it just fine. Same as always.
Original prompt: Any, any, meeting your dark mirror universe self (Leia vs. dark!Leia)
"I don't think you and your pitiful little rebellion know what you're dealing with," the Empress drawled, the yellow irises of her eyes catching the bright red beam of her lightsaber as she stared at Leia; with her free hand she twisted a strand of her familiar dark hair out of the way of her horribly familiar face, in a gesture Leia had seen thousands of times in her own mirror.
Looking at the Empress was about as disorienting as falling into this universe in the first place had been...but Leia had her own advantages, from her weapons to her friends to her strange recognition of the storm of rage and passion and determination she sensed from her enemy's all-too-familiar heart.
"I think I know exactly who I'm dealing with," Leia snarled, igniting her own saber's blade, "the question is, do you?"
Original prompt: any, any, sedoretu (Luke/Mara/Leia/Han)
Somewhere in the evening, while they were working out the logistics for a tricky run, Han looked up from the endless piles of flimsi, a weirdly soft look on his face as he said, "You gotta admit it all worked out pretty good, right?"
Mara's first instinct was to ask where the hell that came from, but she looked across the room and understood - their Morning wife and Chief of State smiled triumphantly down at her datapad as she worked yet another crisis out, her feet in the lap of their Morning husband as he chatted to the twins over a grainy holo connection about an old Jedi artifact he'd just found, and they themselves sat together with their handwriting overlapping on scratch-sheets and all their belongings comfortably strewn together - a scene Mara could never have imagined when Han had first casually asked her what she knew about sedoretu and she had been half-waiting for the trap to spring.
After all these years - after hundreds of dejarik games and sparring matches and rescues in battle, after thousands of kisses - Mara finally had it in her to grin back at him, and throw her arm around his shoulder, and say, "You know what, this time I think you're right."
Stardew Valley
Original prompt: Stardew Valley, any, learning beauty again (Leah)
Zuzu City seeped into Leah like the exhaust fumes that clung to her clothes, like Kel's long-suffering sighs burrowing into Leah's heart whenever Leah procrastinated on a work project to chase the ever-fainter spark of art inside her.
If she stayed there any longer the fumes and the sighs would suffocate her, and so Leah escaped to a world of quiet snows and soft breezes laden with butterflies. The soft rains of Stardew Valley have finally washed the city out of her soul, and when she studies the woods around her, all she can see is the beauty of possibilities.