3sentencefic | Three Sentence Ficathon 2016!

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Three Sentence Ficathon 2016!

(Because one didn't seem to have started this year, and I admit to wanting very much to participate in one of these challenges!)
Presenting the Three Sentence Ficathon 2016!

The Steps:
1. Prompt the fandom/pairing/situation of your heart, preferably in the following format: fandom, character/pairing, prompt word/sentence. .
2. Find a prompt by someone else (or heck, your own) that catches your interest.
3. Fill the prompt in no more than three sentences. (NB: This is really more of a guideline
4. Revel in reading the (hopefully large) amounts of fics thereby produced.
5. PROFIT!

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So glad you liked it! I like to think that Sam is special enough, I guess, to show Gabriel some new things :)

Oh, this was lovely! I love how John just holds Harold at the end :) Thank you!

Just based on the prompt, I'm assuming that this wasn't supposed to be happy, but it turned out uglier than anticipated. It's also, thankfully, not canon.

"Not a traitor," she mumbles over and over like a mantra; she's black and blue they wanted to hurt Gildarts Clive, a man so far out of their league it's hilarious. She almost wonders how they learned he was her father because it's obvious they know; that's why she has broken bones and bruises and a voice in her head that just won't stop. It's the voice that bothers her the most, despite all of her other injuries, because she can't keep it out of her head or prove that it isn't true, that she isn't a traitor or a bad daughter or any of the other things it claims; she mumbles on, hoping her cracking voice can drown it out.

any, any&any, I'll be there

Hornblower series by CS Forester, Horatio Hornblower, restless heart

Star Wars (Legends), Mara Jade, any

Star Wars X-wing (Legends), Rogue or Wraith Squadron, hijinks

As much as he loved the wind in his hair, the salt spray on his face, the sound of his nephew's carefree laugh and the light that permeated everything, Bilbo yearned for the end of the journey.

Ironic, perhaps (although Gandalf might call it fitting), but Bilbo had long since made his peace with his own contrary nature, always pining for home when on the road and wistfully gazing down the road when safe at home, and so forth... all very unlike a Hobbit to be sure, but then there was the Tookish side to account for.

In any case, Bilbo's hairy feet positively itched for a road beneath them, for warm earth and cool grass and new lands to explore -- and wasn't it a marvel that he had the breath, the stamina, the spring in his step (that is, if there were anywhere to step to aboard a ship, even an Elvish one), and so Bilbo peered eagerly over the rail for the first sight of the West, the lights of Valinor, and the next adventure.

Cassandra never really got close to another human being after her parents died, being what she was, and the last thought in her mind was that becoming a Judge would change that, especially when she was partnered with Dredd, a Judge absolutely infamous for being standoffish and hard to read.

But somehow, months after that bloody day at Peach Trees where he saw something in her that even she wasn’t quite sure she could see, she’d gotten past all the barriers he erected to keep him from getting too close to anyone else, through all the layers of bullshit that gave him his less than pleasant reputation in the rest of the Justice Department.

She thinks about these things sometimes as they undress each other after a long shift, hands wandering and stroking in ways that still seem like part of a pleasant fever dream, and she can’t help but be thankfully for whatever it was that allowed her to have something good like this in a world she knows firsthand can be overwhelmingly dark even on the best of days.

Supernatural, Meg, what could have been

The Sheriff's clumsy frigate had more firepower, but it was about as accurate as hurling an asteroid at an apple -- more force than finesse -- and Robin scoffed as rolled his stolen yacht between twin laser flares. He flipped the comm switch, a little breathless (belying its name, the Stork was fast!), and sent a tight-beam transmission back to Sherwood Starbase. "Marian, my love, I know I promised you the moon -- but what would you think about a gem of an asteroid right out of the Nottingham Belt?"
--
Marian shook her head but allowed herself a fond, tolerant smile, since Robin wasn't there to see. "I'll grant your motives are noble, for the people of Ainglund are sorely in need of ore... but what, pray tell, would you do with a whole asteroid?" she asked even as she peered out the viewport, taking care to disguise the anxiety that threatened the calm timbre of her voice with every flash of light from the duelling ships in orbit. No pilot was more nimble, no gunner more skilled, but it always worried her when Robin's reach exceeded his grasp -- sooner or later, John Prince and his greedy cohorts would dangle a bait her beloved could not resist; and they would not be the only ones to suffer for it, for the shipping coalition had a stranglehold on the planet that even Robin and his squadron of Merrimen starfighters could not break.
--
"I'll use the asteroid to bowl for freighters in the shipping lanes," boasted Robin, his mind only half on the repartee as he dodged laser blast after laser blast -- and was that a concussion missile? -- my, but the Sheriff was getting cranky in his old age.

"Never fear, love, I'll run rings around him like a gas giant... say, that's rather apropos of the good Sheriff's girth, wouldn't you say, Little John?"

The hulking alien in the gun turret let loose a volley and growled, "just listen to the lady for once in your life, Rob, and leave the shiny rocks alone -- please?"

This is lovely. I appreciate how you built up to the 'fever dream' and contrast it to the rest of her life.

I am so delighted by this, I can't even say - the fun things about the traditional story are translated so well. I loved was that a concussion missile? -- my, but the Sheriff was getting cranky in his old age. And Little John is an alien! And Marian is the sensible one! Smashing.

Years stretch before him, treacherous paths carved through a world he no longer knows, paths he has no choice but to follow, no matter how much he loathes his surroundings blurring together in an endless gray haze of faces and landscapes and incomprehensible languages, lonely futures he never could have imagined always lying ahead. He walks, stepping in and out of people's lives with the cold ease of his sharp blade through tender skin, slicing through any bonds that dare try entwining themselves around him, then brushing them aside like cobwebs hanging in the echoing chambers of his heart.

Until he meets Henry, who walks away first.

Harry Potter, Dudley, learning

He’d been obsessed, fittingly or perhaps ironically so given his name, ever since he saw them in fourth year during the Triwizard Tournament; no one else, not his friends or family, ever knew because he knew Malfoys weren’t supposed to get involved in anything so mundane or dangerous as dealing with magical creatures, but he just couldn’t help wanting.

After the war, he had to restart his life and find some sort of direction, something away from the shame and fear that had become his entire state of being the past few years, and the only thing he could imagine doing was following his dream; it wasn’t like the Malfoy name mattered much anymore, and a chance to leave the country and start something with something entirely new sounded like the best possible option.

He arrived at the Romanian dragon reserve, where no one knew or cared who he was, as a rookie dragon trainer with a lighter heart than he’d had perhaps ever in his life; this was what he wanted, this was what he needed, this was what he’d been dreaming of for years.

He's fifteen when two dementors come by Privet Drive and he sees himself as he really is; Harry saves him not because he wants to but because he can't leave someone behind.

He's seventeen when Harry leaves for good, to save the world from a madman with a funny name; in that last moment, he realizes that if Harry dies, he will miss him.

He says nothing as he drives away from home and spells light up the night like so many fireworks; all he can do is stay quiet and hope his cousin is still alive.

Glad you liked it!

Oh, this was exactly what I wanted! Thank you :)

They're proof he's lived, despite everything else that's happened through his life - they're proof he's survived, survived and triumphed, but still...

Still, he stares at them in the mirror, traces them with his fingertips; he hates them and fears them, resents them and is proud of them in turn, and they are a constant reminder that he's out of place of the team. How could he compete with everyone there - with all those young ones, Natasha and Clint and Steve, with a literal god-like figure, even with Bruce, amazing Bruce who remains so strong and in control... there's little he can do, and sometimes...

...sometimes, he feels like he's the old man on the team, the odd man out, and he feels the scars tight across his chest at team meetings, and he waits to be left behind.

I like it! Being accused of treason would, I think, be very frustrating.

She hates to see her, hates to see the reflection of herself, if she had ever been taken and molded by uncaring and cruel hands, and hates that she feels hatred instead of sympathy.

Neither feeling stops her from blocking Dottie, every action, every slip of hand she tries, taking almost vicious satisfaction in caging Dottie in - they may have to work together, again, but Peggy is not letting Dottie slip through her fingers this time.

"Well," Dottie breathes, breath fanning over Peggy's cheek as Peggy straddles her, pins Dottie's arms over Dottie's head, "now that you have me..." and Peggy hates that she can feel a flush rising, hates that she's responding like this, hates that it's Dottie making her feel this way, "...what will you do to me?" - and Peggy has no answer, meets those wolf-eyes in a pretty lamb-face, ignores the heat of arousal curling low, and waits for Sousa to bring the handcuffs.

EDIT: fixed a typo, sorry!

Edited 2016-03-26 19:15 (UTC)

Very nice. I like "not because he wants to but because he can't leave someone behind."

I love this, especially relating Tony's scars to his isolation

Jessica dragged the back of her hand across her mouth, smearing red over her pale skin, and she turned around. Her knuckles were bruised and cut, blood dripped from a slice on her forehead to gum her eyelashes together, and her teeth are stained red from one-too-many punches in the mouth, but her opponents are down, and they are not getting up any time soon.

She turns around to the girl she heard screaming, the reason she ducked into this alley in the first place, only to have the teenager shrink away, eyes wide and terrified, and Jessica can't help but smile bitterly - what else did she expect?

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Page 14 of 18

Three Sentence Ficathon 2016!

Re: Fill

Re: building your wings (Person of Interest, Finch/Reese)

Fill: Fairy Tail, Cana

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The road goes ever on and on (The Hobbit)

Fill

no subject

(This got out of hand fast...)

Re: Fill

Re: (This got out of hand fast...)

Forever, Adam & Henry

no subject

Fill (Harry Potter, Draco)

Fill

Re: Fill

Re: Fill

Fill: MCU (Avengers), Tony Stark, Scars (are a permanent reminder)

Re: Fill: Fairy Tail, Cana

Fill: Agent Carter, Peggy/Dottie, You Won't Get Away (this time)

Re: Fill

Re: Fill: MCU (Avengers), Tony Stark, Scars (are a permanent reminder)

Fill: Jessica Jones, Jessica, The Stuff of Nightmares