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Feb. 27th, 2021 03:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
violsvaSo I have realized, or remembered, that the reason it's hard for me to write longform these days is because of my living situation, which means it is not my fault and I don't need to feel guilty about it (\o/) but also that there's not much I can do under the circumstances to fix it (/o\). A while ago Gretchen McCulloch talked about how when everyone started working from home there were lots of articles on how to adjust for people who were used to working in offices, but not many for people who were used to working in coffeeshops. There were even fewer for people who were used to writing on the subway. It is warming up really quickly here, though, so it's theoretically possible I could start writing outside soon.
Anyway. Here is a twitter thread of my recentish femslash, idea fromdoctornerdington.
And here are my Three Sentence Fics up to today.
Prompt: Greek mythology, Phaedra, an eye for an eye (Theseus abandoned her sister, so she'll destroy his son)
It is the same sickness in father and son, though they seem so different. An incapability, that sent one cheerfully on from Naxos without a thought for who he left behind, which the son holds more honestly by rejecting women even from the start. Still, he may eventually find one to ruin, as his father ruined Ariadne; and even if he does not, such a lack in a royal bloodline cannot be allowed to continue.
Prompt: Greek mythology, the Greek gods, power/role swap
He is the god of hospitality, of welcoming guests, of wise leadership, and so he waits at home; and his wife, goddess of motherhood, goes forth despite his jealousy to find the strongest fathers for her children.
The sun, with its fierce rays, is too wild for civilization, and his followers cast off its strictures to live wildly in the hills for a day, with animals who spend every moment under the sun’s light; and the god of wine, of cultivation, of the harvest, keeps his followers indoors, ordered like trellises.
The daughter of the Underworld loves her father, but she loves as well the sunlit fields and meadows, and when a woman, wrapped in robes and carrying a wheat sheaf, approached her, she followed her willingly to taste their fruits.
Prompt: Narnia, Eustace &/ Jill, the mission to rescue "Rillian" fails and they are crowned in his place
So this one really needs the context in the thread above.
"Eustace Clarence has become quite mature again," Harold Scrubb said to his wife; "I told you it was simply a phase he would grow out of."
"Mmm," said Alberta, who had noticed that their son had certainly not stopped with his fancifulness and reading of fairy-stories—he'd just stopped talking about it to them; and his letters and phone calls to those cousins of his grew ever-longer. "Well, he does seem to be taking an interest in politics, at least."
Prompt: Narnia, any, what if they'd been called to Narnia for an entirely different reason?
While this one, although it isn't related, looks rather interesting after the previous.
“You spoke,” said Caspian, “decades ago, of the sort of government your world has, called—a moment, I will remember it—democracy, that was it. My wife and son are dead, and I have no heir after me. It seems to me that Aslan sent you two here to establish a new kind of succession.”
Prompt: Any, any, cold is the morning, warm is the dream
Lucy had used to be the sort of child who was up with the dawn, excited and looking for activity, though she could usually be placated with a book.
After they come back from Narnia, Susan thinks she wouldn’t leave the bed at all if it weren’t for Mrs. Macready’s scoldings. She can’t blame her; but she tries to be an example, as their mother always told her to—face forward and carry on, Britain needs you.
Prompt: Any, any/any, "you're lucky I love you"
“Half a bottle and you’re not even wobbling,” Clint says, as she patronizingly tucks him in, “you’re lucky I love you—” and then, “Motherfucker, sorry, I’ve had too much to drink.”
And Natasha, to her own surprise, doesn’t say, “Love is for children,” or, “You shouldn’t,” or even just, “Don’t worry about it.” She places the bottle of ibuprofen next to the glass of water on the nightstand and turns off the lamp, and as she walks confidently out of the dark bedroom she thinks, silently, I am.
Prompt: The Old Guard, Andy, “I used to be worshipped as a god”
She missed one of the guards, and on the way out of the slave market Andromache hears a yell, and then feels an arrow bite into her shoulderblade. She waves the girls onward into the night, and they are sensible and run, and she thinks all of them make it to the docks and onto her ship. They don’t have time to count, and she doesn’t have time to go back for anyone anyway.
When Andromache goes to take a place at an oar, though, one of the new women stops her. “Lady, your shoulder!”
Oh, right, that. Andromache reaches for it, but she can’t quite reach the arrow shaft, and clearly it was buried too deep for the healing to push it out. Curse it.
She calls over Myrrhine, who knows about her, but the moon is full and there’s no way to hide what’s going on from the new women. They stare in horror and then in awe as Myrrhine cuts the fletching off and then pushes the arrow through, and Andromache pulls it out the other side. Her breath is choked for a few seconds, and then the wounds close.
“You are Britomartis,” whispers one of the girls, covering her eyes. “Mistress, thank you for rescuing us—”
Andromache sighs. This is going to make the rest of the trip awkward.
Prompt: Any, any, carnivorous to-do list
Morwen was glad she hadn’t waited for Telemain to answer the door; he was perched on top of a chest of drawers which looked very unhappy at the weight, being menaced by what appeared to be a piece of paper.
“What on earth is going on?” she asked, as the page leaped, fluttered, and failed to become fully airborne.
“It bites,” Telemain said, for once succinct; “and I couldn’t figure out how to modify the spell while it was distracting me, but if you can pin it down I think I’ve got it.”
*
“I thought that if I enabled it to provide negative reinforcement it would better enforce productivity.”
“And what, it decided that you need to be henpecked at all times?”
“It appears to require that all tasks be fulfilled in the order they were inscribed, and with no suspension of activity between them,” Telemain said with dignity; “it has nothing to do with me as an individual.”
Anyway. Here is a twitter thread of my recentish femslash, idea from
doctornerdington.And here are my Three Sentence Fics up to today.
Prompt: Greek mythology, Phaedra, an eye for an eye (Theseus abandoned her sister, so she'll destroy his son)
It is the same sickness in father and son, though they seem so different. An incapability, that sent one cheerfully on from Naxos without a thought for who he left behind, which the son holds more honestly by rejecting women even from the start. Still, he may eventually find one to ruin, as his father ruined Ariadne; and even if he does not, such a lack in a royal bloodline cannot be allowed to continue.
Prompt: Greek mythology, the Greek gods, power/role swap
He is the god of hospitality, of welcoming guests, of wise leadership, and so he waits at home; and his wife, goddess of motherhood, goes forth despite his jealousy to find the strongest fathers for her children.
The sun, with its fierce rays, is too wild for civilization, and his followers cast off its strictures to live wildly in the hills for a day, with animals who spend every moment under the sun’s light; and the god of wine, of cultivation, of the harvest, keeps his followers indoors, ordered like trellises.
The daughter of the Underworld loves her father, but she loves as well the sunlit fields and meadows, and when a woman, wrapped in robes and carrying a wheat sheaf, approached her, she followed her willingly to taste their fruits.
Prompt: Narnia, Eustace &/ Jill, the mission to rescue "Rillian" fails and they are crowned in his place
So this one really needs the context in the thread above.
"Eustace Clarence has become quite mature again," Harold Scrubb said to his wife; "I told you it was simply a phase he would grow out of."
"Mmm," said Alberta, who had noticed that their son had certainly not stopped with his fancifulness and reading of fairy-stories—he'd just stopped talking about it to them; and his letters and phone calls to those cousins of his grew ever-longer. "Well, he does seem to be taking an interest in politics, at least."
Prompt: Narnia, any, what if they'd been called to Narnia for an entirely different reason?
While this one, although it isn't related, looks rather interesting after the previous.
“You spoke,” said Caspian, “decades ago, of the sort of government your world has, called—a moment, I will remember it—democracy, that was it. My wife and son are dead, and I have no heir after me. It seems to me that Aslan sent you two here to establish a new kind of succession.”
Prompt: Any, any, cold is the morning, warm is the dream
Lucy had used to be the sort of child who was up with the dawn, excited and looking for activity, though she could usually be placated with a book.
After they come back from Narnia, Susan thinks she wouldn’t leave the bed at all if it weren’t for Mrs. Macready’s scoldings. She can’t blame her; but she tries to be an example, as their mother always told her to—face forward and carry on, Britain needs you.
Prompt: Any, any/any, "you're lucky I love you"
“Half a bottle and you’re not even wobbling,” Clint says, as she patronizingly tucks him in, “you’re lucky I love you—” and then, “Motherfucker, sorry, I’ve had too much to drink.”
And Natasha, to her own surprise, doesn’t say, “Love is for children,” or, “You shouldn’t,” or even just, “Don’t worry about it.” She places the bottle of ibuprofen next to the glass of water on the nightstand and turns off the lamp, and as she walks confidently out of the dark bedroom she thinks, silently, I am.
Prompt: The Old Guard, Andy, “I used to be worshipped as a god”
She missed one of the guards, and on the way out of the slave market Andromache hears a yell, and then feels an arrow bite into her shoulderblade. She waves the girls onward into the night, and they are sensible and run, and she thinks all of them make it to the docks and onto her ship. They don’t have time to count, and she doesn’t have time to go back for anyone anyway.
When Andromache goes to take a place at an oar, though, one of the new women stops her. “Lady, your shoulder!”
Oh, right, that. Andromache reaches for it, but she can’t quite reach the arrow shaft, and clearly it was buried too deep for the healing to push it out. Curse it.
She calls over Myrrhine, who knows about her, but the moon is full and there’s no way to hide what’s going on from the new women. They stare in horror and then in awe as Myrrhine cuts the fletching off and then pushes the arrow through, and Andromache pulls it out the other side. Her breath is choked for a few seconds, and then the wounds close.
“You are Britomartis,” whispers one of the girls, covering her eyes. “Mistress, thank you for rescuing us—”
Andromache sighs. This is going to make the rest of the trip awkward.
Prompt: Any, any, carnivorous to-do list
Morwen was glad she hadn’t waited for Telemain to answer the door; he was perched on top of a chest of drawers which looked very unhappy at the weight, being menaced by what appeared to be a piece of paper.
“What on earth is going on?” she asked, as the page leaped, fluttered, and failed to become fully airborne.
“It bites,” Telemain said, for once succinct; “and I couldn’t figure out how to modify the spell while it was distracting me, but if you can pin it down I think I’ve got it.”
*
“I thought that if I enabled it to provide negative reinforcement it would better enforce productivity.”
“And what, it decided that you need to be henpecked at all times?”
“It appears to require that all tasks be fulfilled in the order they were inscribed, and with no suspension of activity between them,” Telemain said with dignity; “it has nothing to do with me as an individual.”