Riona (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rionaleonhart) wrote2026-01-18 11:48 am
rionaleonhart) wrote2026-01-18 11:48 am
Making My Fandom Everyone Else's Problem.
The annual Three-Sentence Ficathon is underway; you can find the prompt post here! This is my favourite fandom event of the year; it's always a blast.
Of course, this time, I've been neck-deep in a specific fandom when the ficathon has rolled around. I apologise to everyone for turning every prompt into an excuse to write for the Goes Wrong Show.
I've got a few ficlets from elsewhere I haven't yet posted here, so I'll share those before launching into the ficathon:
Final Fantasy XIII, Lightning/Snow, 330 words. First posted here, in response to the prompt 'missing Serah'.
“So much for your devotion to Serah.”
“Lightning—”
“How long has it been since she turned to crystal? You couldn’t wait to kiss the first person you saw with the same hair colour.”
“Lightning, you kissed me.”
Lightning stands there, breathing hard. Refusing to look at him. Disgusted with Snow, disgusted with herself.
She was trying to find Serah inside him, somehow. She never understood what Serah saw in this guy. Maybe, by following in her footsteps, she could get some kind of insight into her sister; maybe she could get closer to Serah, somehow, now that it’s too late to talk to her.
She hasn’t found anything. She’s betrayed her sister, and she doesn’t have anything to show for it.
“Are you gonna tell me what that was about?” Snow asks. “I feel like we should talk about this.”
She feels sick. She wants to get out of the room, out of Hope’s house, out of Palumpolum, out of Cocoon. She wants to claw her way out of her own skin and be someone else.
“Maybe we all deserve to be Cie’th,” Lightning mutters.
“That doesn’t really answer my question,” Snow says.
Lightning shoots a glare at him.
“Anyway,” Snow says, “what we deserve doesn’t matter.” He smiles at her; it’s like he hasn’t even noticed how much she hates everything about this moment. “Serah told us to save Cocoon. So we’re gonna do it, right?”
Maybe that’s what Serah liked about him: the way he can hear maybe we should give up and die and still respond with a smile and a cheesy line. Lightning doesn’t really understand it.
As much as she hates to admit it, though, he might have a point. It’s not like she can refuse any wish of Serah’s, after what she just did.
“If we can,” she says.
“Hey, that’s the spirit,” Snow says. “That’s... kind of the spirit, anyway.” A pause. “So... are we going to talk about what just happened?”
Lightning turns away. “No.”
Taskmaster, s20 cast, 120 words. First posted on Tumblr, in response to fecklesheckleshacklesschmeckles' prompt '*anything* taskmaster s20 finale pirate au :3'.
“Are Maisie and Reece arguing again?” Ania asks, looking up to the helm.
“They both think they’re the captain,” Phil says, cheerfully. “Maisie wants to steer us into that storm.”
Ania takes a moment to contemplate that. “That sounds bad. So Reece is trying to talk her out of it?”
“Nah,” Phil says. “Reece wants to go through the storm as well. They’re arguing about how to angle the sails.”
For a moment they just stand there, watching Maisie and Reece snap at each other. It’s looking a lot like someone might end up getting thrown overboard.
“Should someone tell them Sanjeev is the captain?” Ania asks. “And that we could just... not go through the storm?”
Phil shrugs. “It’s a laugh, innit?”
Danganronpa, Komaeda/Kokichi, 350 words. First posted on Tumblr, in response to anonymous prompt 'do you remember when you did the Nagito komeda x everyone fic for thh and sdr2? if you were to do one for v3, what would the Nagito and kokichi scene look like?'
Nagito’s doorbell rings in the evening. He’s always delighted to receive a visit from one of his talented classmates, although Miu’s manner of speech can be... a little much for him.
He opens the door. “Ah, good evening, Kokichi.”
“Yeah, hi,” Kokichi says. “So how do you get this incredible luck? ’Cause, I’ll be honest, it’s super unfair that you’re the only one who has it.”
Nagito blinks, a little taken aback. “How do you... get it?”
“I want,” Kokichi says, exaggeratedly slowly, “your luck. How do I get it?”
“It’s a worthless talent, but it is still technically a talent,” Nagito says. “It’s not something that can be gained. It’s something you’re born with.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m sure Kaede could play the piano the second she was born,” Kokichi says. “I’m sure Kaito came out of the womb super great at being an astronaut. He hasn’t even been to space.”
“Kaede would have needed to learn the piano, of course,” Nagito admits. “But her innate talent—”
“I don’t care,” Kokichi interrupts him. “Just to be clear, I’m not actually asking to hear your weird worldview. I’m making fun of you.”
That’s certainly clear enough. Nagito falls silent.
“Anyway. The luck.” Kokichi folds his arms. “You suuuuure there’s no way to transfer it? Maybe you’re just keeping it for yourself.”
“If I knew, I’d tell you,” Nagito says. “But there’s no way to my knowledge.”
“If I kill you, maybe I get your power,” Kokichi says. “It’s pretty obvious no one’s tried that.”
The suggestion makes Nagito’s heart beat faster. Is he about to be a victim, a stepping stone; will his death lay the foundations for the others to reach new heights? “I suppose I can’t say for certain that wouldn’t work.”
“Or I might get it if I make out with you,” Kokichi suggests. “I’m willing to bet no one’s tried that either.”
Nagito nods. “I’m happy to cooperate with either plan.”
“Yeah, I bet you are,” Kokichi says. “Well, I’m not as much of a freak as you, so let’s do the making out first.”
Deltarune, Kris and Noelle, 500 words. First posted on Tumblr, in response to darktetradualies' prompt 'Hi!! i love your kriselle fics so much... may i ask for ur own interpretation of kris coming to visit noelle on her porch in the weird route?'
Kris doesn’t know why they came here. A part of them wants to ring the doorbell, talk to Noelle, try to explain, but...
It’s too late at night for a visit to seem normal. And they can’t explain, not really, not in any way that could help. And, if they did ring the bell...
Well. Carol might answer, and she’ll have questions Kris isn’t prepared to answer right now.
Kris ends up just lingering out there, looking up at the house. Wondering what Noelle is doing right now. Sleeping, probably.
Or unable to sleep, just like Kris.
They’ve barely thought it before the porch door opens, setting the bells above it jingling softly. Kris goes still.
It’s Noelle. Breathing quickly, one of her hands pressed against her throat. She looks haunted.
Kris, expert in making things worse, has put a hand on her wrist before they’ve had a chance to think about what a bad idea that is.
Noelle jerks away, stares at them. Frozen, deer in the headlights, snapping in an instant from breathing too quickly to not breathing at all.
She’s afraid of Kris. Of course she is. Why would that be a surprise?
Kris has always kind of liked Noelle’s scared expression, played a lot of stupid pranks in the hope of drawing it out. Right now, they just need to see her smile.
“K... Kris?” Noelle whispers.
It wasn’t me. It’s all Kris wants to say. I didn’t want to hurt you. Please believe that I wouldn’t do this to you.
But they would, wouldn’t they? If they really cared that much about keeping Noelle safe, they’d prioritise it over everything else. They’d get rid of the soul permanently; they’d never risk letting it near her again.
A part of Kris wants to believe they’re capable of that, of breaking away from the path they’re on, sacrificing everything for Noelle’s sake.
A much larger part of Kris knows that they’re just going to get home and shove the soul back between their own ribs, and all they’ll be able to do is hope that Noelle won’t suffer too badly as a result.
They tell her it was a prank, in the end. Maybe that’s cowardly; maybe a better person would own up to the reality of what they’ve done to her.
Kris can live with that. They’ve run out of room for self-loathing.
-
The conversation doesn’t change anything. Kris puts the soul back in their chest just the same, and it ends up hurting Noelle more than ever.
Kris doubles over in Noelle’s bathroom, panting and gasping, a wrecked trashcan at their feet.
It didn’t change anything. But, for a moment, on that porch, they saw Noelle smile again. That means something, doesn’t it?
Kris can barely breathe through the bile in their throat. Noelle’s fingernails have left sharp little crescents on their hands and arms.
It means something. It has to. It has to mean something.
Hundred Line/Danganronpa, Yugamu/Komaeda, 150 words, NB sexual surgery. First posted on Tumblr, in response to solspeak's prompt: 'yugamu/anyone?'
“You could be less hard on the... less specialised members of our team.” Yugamu makes the first incision as he speaks, slow and loving, pausing to admire Nagito as he jerks involuntarily against his restraints. “I personally find Takumi and Shouma very charming.”
“They...” Nagito’s voice tails for a moment into quick, unsteady breathing between his teeth; it’s a sound that Yugamu basks in. “They don’t have your talent. Or Tsubasa’s, or... ah—”
“Does that mean they don’t have their own value?” Yugamu licks thoughtfully along the length of the cut, savouring Nagito’s blood on his tongue. “You call yourself untalented, but I can promise I’m as happy to cut you open as I would be with Tsubasa. I was ecstatic when you volunteered.”
“That – ah – that means a great deal to me, but—”
Nagito’s words cut off in a strangled noise as Yugamu forces his tongue deeper.
And now for the actual![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
threesentenceficathon fills!
The Goes Wrong Show, Robert, 70 words. First posted here, in response to the prompt 'art for the sake of art'.
"Some might say it's an extreme way to secure a venue," Robert concedes, securing the rope to the chair, "but it's for art's sake, you see, the noble practice of theatre. It's an honour to have us on your stage, really, Dennis excepted; I'm sure you'll understand once you've seen us perform."
The theatre's owner makes a garbled noise of protest around the gag in his mouth.
The Goes Wrong Show, Chris/Robert, 60 words. First posted here, in response to the prompt 'a meet the parents that goes incredibly badly'.
"Robert is a member of our theatre society, which of course is how we met," Chris explains; "Robert, this is my father and—"
"Celia," Robert says, with the air of a man facing a firing squad; Chris whips around to look at him.
"You never called," Mother says, drawing herself up haughtily, "after the hotel," and no, no, no, this cannot possibly be happening.
The Goes Wrong Show, Chris and Robert, 60 words. First posted here, in response to the prompt 'the absolute worst time to discover you have a degradation kink'.
"Fully erect, Chris," Robert hisses in his ear, "on stage."
"Yes," Chris mutters, fighting the urge to crawl into a hole and bury himself, "yes, I'm very aware of the spectacle I just made of myself; it won't happen again."
"Looks like it's happening again right now," Robert remarks, raising his eyebrows, and Chris excuses himself to scream into his dressing-room carpet.
The Goes Wrong Show, Chris and Robert, 80 words. First posted here, in response to the prompt 'wardrobe malfunction'.
"Robert," Chris hisses, grabbing for Robert's shirt, "your trousers are caught on—" but he feels the shirt rip under his hand just as the trousers tear off on the nail, and Robert strides onto the stage wearing nothing but his boots.
"Welcome," Robert says, recovering quickly, "to our all-nude production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat."
Chris swears, quietly and fervently; it works as a cover, he supposes, but now the rest of them are going to have to strip too.
The Goes Wrong Show, Chris and Robert, 180 words. First posted here, in response to the prompt 'did you mean to go and cut so deep?'
His visitor is Robert. It's tempting to tell the hospital staff to send him away, but this is probably a conversation they need to have.
"You attacked me," Chris says, "with a sword."
"The idea was to inflict a reasonably minor injury," Robert says.
"Was it," Chris says, flatly.
"You moved," Robert says. "Unexpectedly, which is why the blade bit slightly deeper than one might hope. I can't be expected to predict your motions, Chris."
"You can't," Chris agrees. "I hoped you might be expected not to attack me with a sword."
"Well, that was unavoidable," Robert says. "Hamlet, Chris. You're going to cast yourself as Hamlet? Insane. It was my duty to inflict one tiny injury, just to free up the role for a more qualified actor."
Chris sighs. "Why are you here, Robert?"
"To apologise," Robert says, stiffly, "and to wish you a swift recovery. I really didn't mean to leave you bedbound beyond performance night."
There's a moment's silence.
"Given that you are, though," Robert says, "I wonder if you might consider me for Macbeth in next week's play."
Most of these are actually three sentences, for a change! We'll see whether that lasts.
Of course, this time, I've been neck-deep in a specific fandom when the ficathon has rolled around. I apologise to everyone for turning every prompt into an excuse to write for the Goes Wrong Show.
I've got a few ficlets from elsewhere I haven't yet posted here, so I'll share those before launching into the ficathon:
Final Fantasy XIII, Lightning/Snow, 330 words. First posted here, in response to the prompt 'missing Serah'.
“So much for your devotion to Serah.”
“Lightning—”
“How long has it been since she turned to crystal? You couldn’t wait to kiss the first person you saw with the same hair colour.”
“Lightning, you kissed me.”
Lightning stands there, breathing hard. Refusing to look at him. Disgusted with Snow, disgusted with herself.
She was trying to find Serah inside him, somehow. She never understood what Serah saw in this guy. Maybe, by following in her footsteps, she could get some kind of insight into her sister; maybe she could get closer to Serah, somehow, now that it’s too late to talk to her.
She hasn’t found anything. She’s betrayed her sister, and she doesn’t have anything to show for it.
“Are you gonna tell me what that was about?” Snow asks. “I feel like we should talk about this.”
She feels sick. She wants to get out of the room, out of Hope’s house, out of Palumpolum, out of Cocoon. She wants to claw her way out of her own skin and be someone else.
“Maybe we all deserve to be Cie’th,” Lightning mutters.
“That doesn’t really answer my question,” Snow says.
Lightning shoots a glare at him.
“Anyway,” Snow says, “what we deserve doesn’t matter.” He smiles at her; it’s like he hasn’t even noticed how much she hates everything about this moment. “Serah told us to save Cocoon. So we’re gonna do it, right?”
Maybe that’s what Serah liked about him: the way he can hear maybe we should give up and die and still respond with a smile and a cheesy line. Lightning doesn’t really understand it.
As much as she hates to admit it, though, he might have a point. It’s not like she can refuse any wish of Serah’s, after what she just did.
“If we can,” she says.
“Hey, that’s the spirit,” Snow says. “That’s... kind of the spirit, anyway.” A pause. “So... are we going to talk about what just happened?”
Lightning turns away. “No.”
Taskmaster, s20 cast, 120 words. First posted on Tumblr, in response to fecklesheckleshacklesschmeckles' prompt '*anything* taskmaster s20 finale pirate au :3'.
“Are Maisie and Reece arguing again?” Ania asks, looking up to the helm.
“They both think they’re the captain,” Phil says, cheerfully. “Maisie wants to steer us into that storm.”
Ania takes a moment to contemplate that. “That sounds bad. So Reece is trying to talk her out of it?”
“Nah,” Phil says. “Reece wants to go through the storm as well. They’re arguing about how to angle the sails.”
For a moment they just stand there, watching Maisie and Reece snap at each other. It’s looking a lot like someone might end up getting thrown overboard.
“Should someone tell them Sanjeev is the captain?” Ania asks. “And that we could just... not go through the storm?”
Phil shrugs. “It’s a laugh, innit?”
Danganronpa, Komaeda/Kokichi, 350 words. First posted on Tumblr, in response to anonymous prompt 'do you remember when you did the Nagito komeda x everyone fic for thh and sdr2? if you were to do one for v3, what would the Nagito and kokichi scene look like?'
Nagito’s doorbell rings in the evening. He’s always delighted to receive a visit from one of his talented classmates, although Miu’s manner of speech can be... a little much for him.
He opens the door. “Ah, good evening, Kokichi.”
“Yeah, hi,” Kokichi says. “So how do you get this incredible luck? ’Cause, I’ll be honest, it’s super unfair that you’re the only one who has it.”
Nagito blinks, a little taken aback. “How do you... get it?”
“I want,” Kokichi says, exaggeratedly slowly, “your luck. How do I get it?”
“It’s a worthless talent, but it is still technically a talent,” Nagito says. “It’s not something that can be gained. It’s something you’re born with.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m sure Kaede could play the piano the second she was born,” Kokichi says. “I’m sure Kaito came out of the womb super great at being an astronaut. He hasn’t even been to space.”
“Kaede would have needed to learn the piano, of course,” Nagito admits. “But her innate talent—”
“I don’t care,” Kokichi interrupts him. “Just to be clear, I’m not actually asking to hear your weird worldview. I’m making fun of you.”
That’s certainly clear enough. Nagito falls silent.
“Anyway. The luck.” Kokichi folds his arms. “You suuuuure there’s no way to transfer it? Maybe you’re just keeping it for yourself.”
“If I knew, I’d tell you,” Nagito says. “But there’s no way to my knowledge.”
“If I kill you, maybe I get your power,” Kokichi says. “It’s pretty obvious no one’s tried that.”
The suggestion makes Nagito’s heart beat faster. Is he about to be a victim, a stepping stone; will his death lay the foundations for the others to reach new heights? “I suppose I can’t say for certain that wouldn’t work.”
“Or I might get it if I make out with you,” Kokichi suggests. “I’m willing to bet no one’s tried that either.”
Nagito nods. “I’m happy to cooperate with either plan.”
“Yeah, I bet you are,” Kokichi says. “Well, I’m not as much of a freak as you, so let’s do the making out first.”
Deltarune, Kris and Noelle, 500 words. First posted on Tumblr, in response to darktetradualies' prompt 'Hi!! i love your kriselle fics so much... may i ask for ur own interpretation of kris coming to visit noelle on her porch in the weird route?'
Kris doesn’t know why they came here. A part of them wants to ring the doorbell, talk to Noelle, try to explain, but...
It’s too late at night for a visit to seem normal. And they can’t explain, not really, not in any way that could help. And, if they did ring the bell...
Well. Carol might answer, and she’ll have questions Kris isn’t prepared to answer right now.
Kris ends up just lingering out there, looking up at the house. Wondering what Noelle is doing right now. Sleeping, probably.
Or unable to sleep, just like Kris.
They’ve barely thought it before the porch door opens, setting the bells above it jingling softly. Kris goes still.
It’s Noelle. Breathing quickly, one of her hands pressed against her throat. She looks haunted.
Kris, expert in making things worse, has put a hand on her wrist before they’ve had a chance to think about what a bad idea that is.
Noelle jerks away, stares at them. Frozen, deer in the headlights, snapping in an instant from breathing too quickly to not breathing at all.
She’s afraid of Kris. Of course she is. Why would that be a surprise?
Kris has always kind of liked Noelle’s scared expression, played a lot of stupid pranks in the hope of drawing it out. Right now, they just need to see her smile.
“K... Kris?” Noelle whispers.
It wasn’t me. It’s all Kris wants to say. I didn’t want to hurt you. Please believe that I wouldn’t do this to you.
But they would, wouldn’t they? If they really cared that much about keeping Noelle safe, they’d prioritise it over everything else. They’d get rid of the soul permanently; they’d never risk letting it near her again.
A part of Kris wants to believe they’re capable of that, of breaking away from the path they’re on, sacrificing everything for Noelle’s sake.
A much larger part of Kris knows that they’re just going to get home and shove the soul back between their own ribs, and all they’ll be able to do is hope that Noelle won’t suffer too badly as a result.
They tell her it was a prank, in the end. Maybe that’s cowardly; maybe a better person would own up to the reality of what they’ve done to her.
Kris can live with that. They’ve run out of room for self-loathing.
The conversation doesn’t change anything. Kris puts the soul back in their chest just the same, and it ends up hurting Noelle more than ever.
Kris doubles over in Noelle’s bathroom, panting and gasping, a wrecked trashcan at their feet.
It didn’t change anything. But, for a moment, on that porch, they saw Noelle smile again. That means something, doesn’t it?
Kris can barely breathe through the bile in their throat. Noelle’s fingernails have left sharp little crescents on their hands and arms.
It means something. It has to. It has to mean something.
Hundred Line/Danganronpa, Yugamu/Komaeda, 150 words, NB sexual surgery. First posted on Tumblr, in response to solspeak's prompt: 'yugamu/anyone?'
“You could be less hard on the... less specialised members of our team.” Yugamu makes the first incision as he speaks, slow and loving, pausing to admire Nagito as he jerks involuntarily against his restraints. “I personally find Takumi and Shouma very charming.”
“They...” Nagito’s voice tails for a moment into quick, unsteady breathing between his teeth; it’s a sound that Yugamu basks in. “They don’t have your talent. Or Tsubasa’s, or... ah—”
“Does that mean they don’t have their own value?” Yugamu licks thoughtfully along the length of the cut, savouring Nagito’s blood on his tongue. “You call yourself untalented, but I can promise I’m as happy to cut you open as I would be with Tsubasa. I was ecstatic when you volunteered.”
“That – ah – that means a great deal to me, but—”
Nagito’s words cut off in a strangled noise as Yugamu forces his tongue deeper.
And now for the actual
threesentenceficathon fills!The Goes Wrong Show, Robert, 70 words. First posted here, in response to the prompt 'art for the sake of art'.
"Some might say it's an extreme way to secure a venue," Robert concedes, securing the rope to the chair, "but it's for art's sake, you see, the noble practice of theatre. It's an honour to have us on your stage, really, Dennis excepted; I'm sure you'll understand once you've seen us perform."
The theatre's owner makes a garbled noise of protest around the gag in his mouth.
The Goes Wrong Show, Chris/Robert, 60 words. First posted here, in response to the prompt 'a meet the parents that goes incredibly badly'.
"Robert is a member of our theatre society, which of course is how we met," Chris explains; "Robert, this is my father and—"
"Celia," Robert says, with the air of a man facing a firing squad; Chris whips around to look at him.
"You never called," Mother says, drawing herself up haughtily, "after the hotel," and no, no, no, this cannot possibly be happening.
The Goes Wrong Show, Chris and Robert, 60 words. First posted here, in response to the prompt 'the absolute worst time to discover you have a degradation kink'.
"Fully erect, Chris," Robert hisses in his ear, "on stage."
"Yes," Chris mutters, fighting the urge to crawl into a hole and bury himself, "yes, I'm very aware of the spectacle I just made of myself; it won't happen again."
"Looks like it's happening again right now," Robert remarks, raising his eyebrows, and Chris excuses himself to scream into his dressing-room carpet.
The Goes Wrong Show, Chris and Robert, 80 words. First posted here, in response to the prompt 'wardrobe malfunction'.
"Robert," Chris hisses, grabbing for Robert's shirt, "your trousers are caught on—" but he feels the shirt rip under his hand just as the trousers tear off on the nail, and Robert strides onto the stage wearing nothing but his boots.
"Welcome," Robert says, recovering quickly, "to our all-nude production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat."
Chris swears, quietly and fervently; it works as a cover, he supposes, but now the rest of them are going to have to strip too.
The Goes Wrong Show, Chris and Robert, 180 words. First posted here, in response to the prompt 'did you mean to go and cut so deep?'
His visitor is Robert. It's tempting to tell the hospital staff to send him away, but this is probably a conversation they need to have.
"You attacked me," Chris says, "with a sword."
"The idea was to inflict a reasonably minor injury," Robert says.
"Was it," Chris says, flatly.
"You moved," Robert says. "Unexpectedly, which is why the blade bit slightly deeper than one might hope. I can't be expected to predict your motions, Chris."
"You can't," Chris agrees. "I hoped you might be expected not to attack me with a sword."
"Well, that was unavoidable," Robert says. "Hamlet, Chris. You're going to cast yourself as Hamlet? Insane. It was my duty to inflict one tiny injury, just to free up the role for a more qualified actor."
Chris sighs. "Why are you here, Robert?"
"To apologise," Robert says, stiffly, "and to wish you a swift recovery. I really didn't mean to leave you bedbound beyond performance night."
There's a moment's silence.
"Given that you are, though," Robert says, "I wonder if you might consider me for Macbeth in next week's play."
Most of these are actually three sentences, for a change! We'll see whether that lasts.
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