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Language:
English
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Three Sentence Ficathon 2024, Three Sentence Ficathon 2025
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Published:
2024-01-17
Updated:
2025-08-20
Words:
791
Chapters:
4/?
Comments:
22
Kudos:
24
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166

Fills for Three Sentence Ficathon

Summary:

My fills for the Three Sentence Ficathon in 2024 and 2025.

Notes:

Please note that this is a reader beware exchange. The rating might go up with future fills, but it's unlikely to be more than "teen and up". If necessary, you'll find trigger warnings in the chapter notes, and the respective fandoms in the chapter titles to help you avoid spoilers.

Disclaimer: This is a work of transformative fiction, done purely for enjoyment. No infringement on the rights of the original creators is intended and no money is being made.

My heartfelt thanks to lordhellebore for invaluable help and being the bestest writing buddy!

Chapter 1: Chance Encounter

Notes:

Written for the 2024 prompt "any, any, actors meeting the characters they play", originally posted here.
Fandoms: Actor RPF, Lord of the Rings (movies), Sharpe (TV)

Chapter Text

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“Now that’s a big horn you’re carrying there - for drinking, yes?”

Boromir spun around, doing a double take at the stranger - why did he look so eerily familiar, despite the most unusual clothing Boromir had ever seen?

“This is the Great Horn of the House of Húrin - but you wouldn’t have heard about it from whence you hail.”

“Nah, he wouldn’t,” a blond officer in a green coat stepped in, offering the Gondorian a matey grin and a sloppy salute.

 

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Chapter 2: A Motley Crew

Notes:

Written for the 2024 prompt "any, any, actors meeting the characters they play", originally posted here.
Fandoms: Actor RPF, Lord of the Rings (movies), Richard Sharpe (TV), Game of Thrones (TV), James Bond (Brosnan movies)

Chapter Text

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“Do you have a favourite?” Boromir asked, passing a flask of spirits to his neighbour.

“Favourite what?” 
Sean Bean extended his jeans-clad legs towards the fire and took a grateful sip before passing the flask on. He snuggled deeper into the cape the Gondorian had lent him - it was surprisingly comfortable and warm, like the boots one of the two newcomers had lent him. 

“Um - one of those people you - well - impersonate, when you do this story-with-images-thing? One you preferred to  - how do you call it - do?”

Richard Sharpe spluttered at that, wiping the brandy off his chin with the amused grin Bean had started to associate with him. 

“We’re calling it ‘playing a character’”, Bean said. “Why do you ask?”

“Wants to hear he’s the one, of course,” the other newcomer, who wore jeans like himself, said. “Thinks he’s the best of us.”  
His grin looked much less friendly than that of Sharpe, Bean thought. Figures.

“I do no such thing!” Boromir sat up, face indignant, but the faint blush just visible in the low light betrayed him. 

“I believe he just made fun of you,” the newcomer with the neat beard remarked, tossing the flask back to Boromir.  

“Well, do you have one?” Alec Trevelyan asked, squinting at Bean. 

Grateful that the flask had just reached him again, Bean took another deep sip. He looked over the motley crew around the fire. Boromir, son of Denethor, Richard Sharpe, Ned Stark and Alec Trevelyan. Fascinating, interesting, complex characters all of them - and all so very different. 

“I really can’t say.” Bean looked around, in all the faces that were so different yet so familiar. 
“But I confess I am grateful when my character doesn’t get killed.”

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Chapter 3: Healer, Heal Thyself

Notes:

Written for the 2025 prompt "any, any, the sight of one's own blood", originally posted here.
Fandom: The Silmarillion
Trigger warning: blood from a minor injury

Chapter Text

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With dismay, Elrond looked at the blood welling up from the deep cut in his palm. A moment of inattention, a tiny slip with a sharp knife, and now this. And he was to perform surgery on the morrow. 

Pressing down with the fingers of his other hand, he went over to his preparation table, fumbling a clean cloth out of the drawer, cursing when he dripped blood onto the whole stack. With the bunched-up fabric just about stemming the still welling blood, he pondered his options. 

Should he dare to use the Ring, no matter his promises to himself to only ever do so in the direst of emergencies, knowing well about the consequences of using a Ring? No. 

This was not an emergency. As embarrassing as it was to go to a fellow healer with such a mishap, he would either be able to operate with fresh stitches, or have somebody else do it. Even a half-elf healed fast enough for a day to make a difference, and he could postpone the surgery until the afternoon. 

He moved his fingers experimentally. Yes, that would do. 

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Chapter 4: I can, and I will

Notes:

Written for the 2025 prompt "any, any, I can and I will", originally posted here.
Fandom: The Silmarillion

Chapter Text

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Master Healer Airendur frowned, examining the small but deep cut in his Lord and Master’s palm. 

“That goes surprisingly deep. By all that is sacred, Elrond, how did you manage to be so careless And with the surgery scheduled tomorrow?”

Hissing at the pain the none-too-gently probing caused, Elrond tried not to blush at the scolding.

“It is not as if I had planned to injure myself. The surgery will not be an issue; only the muscle is injured, nothing else. You know I am the most skilled for this procedure. I can do it, and I will.”

With a resigned sigh, Airendur put the probe away. 

“Fine, have it your way. You are right, of course, as much as I regret to admit to it, but the patient deserves the best care we can offer. But not on the morrow, the patient can wait two more days.“

Elrond wanted to protest, but Airendur shook his head. “I am not budging on this. The surgery is delicate and demands all your skill, and even if just the muscle is cut, your hand will be stiff and clumsy for a few days. And you will rest it fully until then, no excuses!”

“Aye.” 

Elrond could not help a slight blush at his colleague’s scolding. 

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