edenfalling: headshot of a raccoon, looking left (raccoon)
Batch the eleventh. :)

All prompts drawn from the 2021 iteration of the Three Sentence Ficathon (post one and post two), hosted by the wonderful [personal profile] rthstewart. The ficathon is now closed to new prompts, but you can continue filling prompts and commenting on other people's fills for as long as you like!

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61. ) For anonymous: Any, any, illuminated manuscripts, written 3/6/21

Be Light Made (280 words)

Fandom = The Magnus Archives

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Library of Jurgen Leitner, Catalog Item #732: An illuminated manuscript copy of Genesis 1:1-4, single page, held within two pressboard report covers; the text appears to be from the Douay-Rheims translation, which is notable in that the work is clearly hand-scribed on parchment rather than a hand-illustrated printed text or an engraved print, despite the technologies prevalent at the time of the English College, Douai's work.

Main Effect: When read aloud, the text produces a clear, bright light that illumines a sphere of thirty-foot radius around the page, in which no shadow is present and all things are visible, including the interiors of normally solid objects; when read silently, this effect is apparently limited to the perception of the reader; and in both cases, the effect dissipates after approximately seven minutes.

Secondary Effects: One reading produces no obvious negative effects, aside from the frequent horror and revulsion at the sight of normally hidden aspects of the world; however, with each subsequent reading, whether silently or aloud, and regardless of the length between incidents, the effect doubles in its duration for the reader -- note that this extension does not apply to a bystander within the thirty-foot radius who simply hears the words; for bystanders, the original seven minute duration continues to apply no matter how many times the text is overheard -- until it becomes effectively permanent, with a duration longer than the reader's projected lifespan; additionally, because the light penetrates normally solid objects, closing one's eyes provides no relief; the long-term effects of such expanded perception have thus far been impossible to determine, as the initial test subject committed suicide and no other assistants have volunteered to replicate the experiment.

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62. ) For anonymous: Twelve Dancing Princesses, any princess except the eldest or youngest, forgotten middle child no more, written 3/7/21

Escapism (335 words)

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We all knew the dancing would end someday: that either one of the suitors would discover our secret, our father would tire of the riddle and marry us off one by one, or our mysterious underground escape would turn into a trap.

For my sisters, the very transient nature of our freedom made them reluctant to question -- why did the passageway open to our hall? why did the princes not court ladies of their own realm? why were we not permitted to stay once our shoes were worn through? -- and I admit I was too afraid myself to risk upsetting the spell, to the point where I laughed at a good dozen men's deaths by our father's decree (though in truth, when one considers the many wars he provoked and the draconian laws he set forth, a dozen foolhardy princes and knights are scarcely worth mentioning).

But with my eldest sister married to a soldier, our father passed away, and my other sisters shipped off one by one to marry strangers in lands as foreign as the underworld yet far less free, I remembered the twigs and the cup my brother-in-law carried out of the earth as his proof, and it dawned on me both that a seed remembers its source and that bricking up one door does not preclude opening another: and so I put my old skills to the test once more (did you think my eldest sister brewed the sleeping draughts herself? don't be a fool; her interests always lay in taxes and budgets, as our youngest sister's interest lay in music, my second-eldest sister's in embroidery, and so on -- we are twelve people, not an indistinguishable mass) and stole both myself and those relics out from under the watchful castle guards; for an escape is not complete if it merely enlarges the bounds of one's cage -- when I next venture into that shining, underground land, I shall return to a home where I alone control the lock and hold the keys.

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63. ) For anonymous: Any, any, two perfect pears, written 3/9/21

Grin and Pear It (160 words)

Fandom = Doctor Who

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"'Two perfect pears' is a contradiction in terms, because there is no way on this or any other planet or plane of existence that a pear can be anything other than a foul waste of water and fructose," the Doctor said, glaring at the fruit basket Martha was poking through in the TARDIS kitchen.

"Pear blossom's awfully pretty, though, and you can't get the trees or flowers without the fruit," Martha said, twirling one of the pears -- a lovely, firm green fruit, with just a hint of blush near one side of its base -- and wondering if she trusted the grateful farmer's market vendors of New New Earth to have washed their produce before presenting her and the Doctor with a fresh and delicious reward.

"I cannot believe your lack of imagination, Martha Jones -- what about grafting, or cloning, or genetic engineering, or--" the Doctor began, only to sputter into undignified silence when Martha grinned and took a juicy bite.

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64. ) For [personal profile] syrena_of_the_lake: Looney Tunes, any, oh what heights we'll hit, written 3/9/21

First Contact (155 words)

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"I'm not entirely certain, but as of our most recent intercepted radio transmission, I believe that Earth hasn't given Mars diplomatic recognition, let alone begun sending live embassies," Marvin said, pointing his disintegrator at the gently sizzling brown-furred creature at the bottom of a new impact crater near Argyre Planitia, surrounded by what looked like the debris of an unreasonably large cast iron pot with a clamp-on lid and some sort of primitive spring-launch mechanism; "Hands up and explain yourself, Earthling spy."

The furred creature stuck one arm straight up, waving a tiny white flag with I SURRENDER blazoned across the fabric -- exactly the sort of cowardly move a spy would make, Marvin thought, and also self-evidently not an explanation; he readied himself to shoot.

"Meep meep," an unfamiliar voice said from behind him, and Marvin had just enough time to turn and see a feathery blur bearing down before the impact knocked him flying.

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65. ) For [personal profile] eagleoftheninth: Narnia, any, the kind of odd spirits and whatnot you get in Calormen and/or the Lone Islands, written 3/31/21

Quiet Neighbors (370 words)

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The lands beyond the reach of Aslan's voice did not spring to life all at once, joyous and undeniable; they woke slowly, gradually, over decades and centuries (or faster, if gods or humans moved in and took an interest), and so the spirits of the land were sparser, shyer, interwoven with those who walked their lands as folktales and whispered glimpses rather than friends from whom one could, if not precisely borrow a sack of flour or a pat of butter, then certainly exchange casual gossip; they were quiet neighbors.

There was a well-spirit who lived on Aravis's father's estate in Calavar, who had bargained generations past for a plate of honey-cakes and one silver coin each new moon -- so long as the contract was kept, the well stayed sweet and full, but should anyone miss a month, the old slaves whispered, the water might turn to salt or sink down past the reach of any mortal arm; when she arrived in Narnia and curtseyed to a naiad, Aravis wondered if that well-spirit had ever taken human shape, or chosen a gender, or asked if there were others of its kind; she knew, now, what it felt like to be alone in a strange land, to be treated with propriety but rarely with true respect, and she would not wish that on anyone regardless of their nature.

There was a tricky stone between Arsheesh's hut and the village, which liked to shift its place -- never when anyone was watching, but some mornings its bulk loomed above the rutted path, some days below, and now and then precisely in the middle where Shasta had to thrash his way through brambles and scrub to get around it; always around, never over, because even a minor spirit had its pride -- and he wondered now and then why the stone failed to bury Arsheesh and Anradin the way rumor said it had buried a minor Tarkaan who came to collect taxes in the form of two dozen slaves three generations past; but human feet fell lightly upon the earth and words carried even less weight, and in the end the departure of one foreign foundling must have seemed no great loss to a stone.


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66. ) For [personal profile] rthstewart: Bujold -Penric's Demon, Penric and Desdemona, dressed to kill, written 3/31/21

Aftermath (200 words)

Set in the bad period between Penric's Fox and Masquerade in Lodi.

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There are two main points to consider when dressing for any event, Desdemona said as Penric lay on his bed, staring up through the darkness at the wooden beams and boards of his ceiling and trying not to think about either the pain in his wrists or facing the judgment of the Mother's clergy tomorrow; First, always choose something in which you can move freely, because one never knows what chaos may break out; second, consider the effect you intend to produce in your audience -- to stand out, to go unnoticed, to entice, to appall, or any other reaction -- and ensure that your clothes, your hair, your speech, and your bearing work together to enhance that effect.

"What effect do you think I should aim for?" Penric said, voice still a little hoarse from their morning fight, but no less flat than it had been for months now: hollowed by the endless string of deaths and failure.

Horror and shame, since evidently sympathy and sense are in low supply in these parts, Desdemona said; Wear your braids to remind them which god has truest claim on your soul, and leave your arms bare -- I can take care of the rest.

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I really do need to crosspost a lot of my more recent fic to AO3...

I also really do not want to deal with the logistics. Blargh.
edenfalling: headshot of a raccoon, looking left (raccoon)
Batch the tenth. :)

All prompts drawn from the 2021 iteration of the Three Sentence Ficathon (post one and post two), hosted by the wonderful [personal profile] rthstewart. The ficathon is now closed to new prompts tonight, but you can continue filling prompts and commenting on other people's fills for as long as you like!

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55. ) For [personal profile] runespoor: Naruto, Hinata, challenge, written 3/2/21

Serenity, Courage, Wisdom (495 words)

Fandom = Naruto. Have another Summer Camp & Politics installment. :)

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cut for length )

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56. ) For [personal profile] rthstewart: Doctor Who, Martha, This is me walking away, written 3/2/21

Not To Play (180 words)

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Martha learned young that sometimes, the only way to win is to walk away: if your opponent controls the field on which you have to fight, makes the rules that define victory, and is determined to make you lose (and look foolish or presumptuous for struggling), you can't get anywhere running through maze with all its exits locked; instead, you have to step back, climb over the walls, and walk away to a place, a perspective, where you can show people how the game is rigged.

The Doctor learned that same lesson somewhere in his endless past, and he's very good at finding the place from which to see the strings and change the terms.

He's less good at understanding that it's possible for him to be the one running a rigged game (on Martha and on himself; at least he's an equal opportunity dispenser of social awkwardness and angst), but Martha thinks, as she walks away, that maybe she's finally found the right move to make him see.

She walks away. She loses. And that's how they both win.

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57. ) For [personal profile] elementalraven: The Hunger games, prim & rue, what if rue had won the hunger games, written 3/2/21

Greater Love Hath No Woman (230 words)

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"Thank you for trying to save Katniss," says the pale girl, Rue's own age, with crack-skinned, dirt-nailed fingers and the air of a transplanted seedling struggling to survive.

"You were lucky to have her as your sister," Rue says, extending her manicured hands and offering the fragile, glass-shard smile she's worn since Haymitch and her own sponsor told her the Capitol was growing tired of her grief, that it was good to be a little forlorn (a childhood tragedy always goes down well) but better to seem bright and hopeful, to gloss over the truth that she was merely the latest in a long line of child slaves and sacrifices -- and, sore-hearted and sore-boned, facing the other girl Katniss died to save, blurts out despite the need to watch her tongue, "I wished she could have been mine, too."

"You can be mine instead," says the pale girl -- Prim, Katniss said her name was; whispered it in the night, too soft for cameras or microphones to catch, as if to give the Capitol her name might somehow give them more power over her than they already had -- and as she pulls Rue into a hug (the first unfaked, unconditional human touch Rue's felt since Katniss died), Rue thinks to herself, Katniss died so we could live; I will die so no one will ever have to make her choice again.

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58. ) For [personal profile] galadryels: any, any, I didn't say that (your choice of where emphasis is laid), written 3/2/21

Word and Deed (165 words)

Fandom = The Magnus Archives

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"I didn't say I thought your love was some kind of-- of manipulation or mistake!" Martin shouted, waving his hands through the bitter exhaust fumes that clung and insinuated their way through every permeable inch of this domain. "I may have thought it, but intrusive thoughts are a thing, and anyway, it's what we choose to do and say that really matters, much more than a passing blip of neurons that was probably born as much of my own trauma -- and-- and see, you've got me admitting that I have trauma! out loud! where any passerby could overhear! -- and if that kind of trust doesn't tell you how much I know you care, regardless of what may or may not pass through my brain now and then, I don't know what possibly could."

Jon hugged him, both because Martin was right that actions mattered, and because it was easier than trying to translate his jumbled maelstrom of guilt and apology and love into coherent words.

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59. ) For anonymous: Any, any, and the briars became red roses and the woodbine became white roses, written 3/3/21

Thorns and Honeysuckle (210 words)

Fandom = original

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The end of the story always puzzled Dina -- "The briars became red roses and the woodbine became white roses, and they cast petals and perfume upon the air as the castle woke from sleep," her grandmother would say, with a firm nod of her head and a callused finger pointed toward the castle walls, so thickly covered in leaves and flowers that they seemed more like a hill grown soft and natural from the ground than anything humans built on purpose -- because the point of the briars and woodbine was to fence people out with thorns and interwoven vines; the curse's end should have softened those defenses, but the royal roses still had plenty of thorns.

Come to that, woodbine was just a fancy name people used for honeysuckle when they didn't want to tiptoe that half-inch too close to nursing livestock and other bodily functions -- and nobody ever said honeysuckle wasn't pretty or smelled anything but sweet, so there was no need to look elsewhere for perfume either.

These days, Dina peered at the thick tangle of greenery and thorns every time she hauled firewood through the castle gates, and smiled to herself to see the quiet gold of honeysuckle still twining amidst the roses and their blood-tipped thorns.

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60. ) For [personal profile] elementalraven: The Hunger games/any, any, a crossover, written 3/5/21

Hunger, Sated (225 words)

Fandom = The Hunger Games/The Magnus Archives

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The Games are a rich feast for all the powers: the Eye, for the knowledge that the entire world is watching, judging your every action and word; the Web for the loss of agency that snares each Tribute in their own personal tangle of inevitability; the Hunt, the Slaughter, the Desolation, the End -- so obvious as to need no elaboration.

The Vast and the Buried claim their tithe in the various obstacles wrought by the Gamemakers, the Corruption and the Flesh in the twisted mockeries of natural creatures set upon the Tributes, the Stranger in the swoop and betrayal of alliances and the Capitol's blithe denial of the Tributes' humanity, the Spiral in the boiling, itching knowledge that this entire system is mad and makes no sense and yet the Capitol can't see the injustice (to say nothing of the casual way geography is rearranged at whim).

The Lonely seeps into each Tribute's heart in turn, twines around their ankles and weighs them down with the stark knowledge that even if they survive, not even other Victors will truly be able to share in their pain... and the Dark? The Dark is both savior and most perilous of all, for just as it shelters the dying children from their tormentors' eyes, each close of the curtains brings new horrors forth to glut upon their fear.

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Okay, time for some sleep, because I have a Large Number Of Tasks to complete at work tomorrow.
edenfalling: headshot of a raccoon, looking left (raccoon)
Batch the ninth. :)

All prompts drawn from the current iteration of the Three Sentence Ficathon (post one and post two), hosted by the wonderful [personal profile] rthstewart. The ficathon closes to new prompts tonight, but you can continue filling prompts and commenting on other people's fills for as long as you like!

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49. ) For [personal profile] paxilam: any, any, not answering the phone, written 2/23/21

Go to Voicemail (250 words)

Fandom = The Magnus Archives

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After his ordeal with Prentiss, Martin makes a point of answering his phone on the first ring and immediately replying to all texts; he winds up fielding a number of junk calls and disrupting his sleep schedule (insofar as he has a sleep schedule, here on the too-small cot in the document storage room, jolting awake at every creak of floorboard or groan of piping), but it's worth it to feel connected, to know that no supernatural creature will have another chance to impersonate him.

"That was one of the most suspicious things about you," Jon tells him much later; "It's not normal to be instantly available at all hours of the day and night, and naturally I jumped to incoherent conspiracy theories rather than the much more obvious and plausible answer that it was a trauma response -- the irony, of course, being that my paranoia was also a trauma response, and so we made each other steadily more upset rather than trying to support each other, or reach out to Tim."

"And when I stopped answering my phone altogether?" Martin asks. "Was that also suspicious?"

Jon shrugs, lightly, as if his isolation when he woke from his coma hardly mattered. "No, because by then I knew you -- I wished you would change your mind, of course, and I thought you were taking a terrible risk for a highly uncertain return, but you've let me run off halfcocked into all kinds of peril; how could I trust you any less?"

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50. ) For [personal profile] sawthefaeriequeen: Tam Lin by Pamela Dean, Janet and Tina, they develop their own roommate in-joke, written 2/24/21

It's All Greek to Me (710 words)

Obviously this is not a 3-sentence fill. *headdesk*

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cut for length )

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51. ) For [personal profile] sholio: MCU, any, superpower swap, written 2/27/21

Mirror, Mirror (340 words)

This is more of a skill swap than a power swap, but I figure if building flying armor counts as a superpower, Natasha and Clint's skillsets should as well. :)

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The Red Room had a specific ideal to which they trained their agents -- deceptively lovely, flexible, able to wear any mask and get close enough to kiss a target and steal his secrets as well as his life -- but while Natasha excelled enough to live, that pattern always felt like somebody else's coat, too baggy in the shoulders and tight around the waist. She prefers to work from a distance and in the shadows; steal impersonal documents, snap photos, plant microphones; send an autographed bullet from half a mile away. The idea of touching other people's skin, feeling their breath against her ear, makes her own skin crawl like the memory of a dozen spiders wandering over her while she lay paralyzed and desperate not to scream, and it's a rare person who can pass unharmed through the sphere of empty space she carves around herself with her dead-eyed stare.

The US Army was much more interested in snipers than infiltrators, but sometimes what you want isn't what you need, and Clint's always been personable when he puts his mind to it, not to mention good with accents and languages and mirroring what other people project onto him; you pick up those tricks pretty quick as a runaway, and even more so in the entertainment business. He's still a sniper on paper, but the moment he catches wind of SHIELD sending out feelers, he makes a play for a different line of work -- something where he can look the people he kills in the eye and know that they have a faint chance of turning the tables, walking away while he bleeds out on the floor. It's probably just as unethical to betray a cultivated trust, but he's been doing that for most of his life and it's a rare person who can coax him to peel off his masks and show the awkward, half-forgotten shape of his true self.

They make an odd pair, the sniper and the seducer, but nobody at SHIELD would dare to pull them apart.

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52. ) For [personal profile] wingedflight: Narnia/The Magnus Archives, any, the entities in Narnia, written 2/28/21

A Century of Fear (295 words)

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1. Vast

Narnia is not a large land, but the shroud of Winter smothers the landscape, blurs landmarks into a sweeping sameness: a blank canvas of white-gray-black that deceives the eye and spreads out to, so far as anyone can know, the uttermost bounds of the world -- and perhaps even beyond, out past the Western mountains and the Eastern sea until a body could travel a thousand years and still never find a day of summer sun, for the Winter admits no truth but its own immutable nature, and flattens all attempts at defiance to mere blots on the purity of its expanse.

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2. Buried

Petrification should stop the mind along with the body, yet those who feel the tight embrace of stone close in around them, driving inward like a vice, could tell you otherwise if they still had breath and space to speak; instead they stand silent in the crushing prison of their own forms, squeezed tighter and tighter until it seems they must explode under the pressure of their own transformed skin and muscle and bone... and yet there is always another notch to tighten, and never the release of death or sleep.

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3. Corruption

Collaboration is the law of the land, a sick fever that floods communities like clockwork as neighbor sells out neighbor for a scrap of food or a brief reprieve from violence; to love your family, to do right by them, you must do wrong by others, and that truth gnaws both inward through the soul and outward through the fragile bonds of care and trust that bind downtrodden Narnians together, until no one can look upon those they love, those for whom they sold their self-respect, without a hot rush of shame and revulsion clogging their throats and coating their teeth with bile.

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53. ) For anonymous: Any, any, starry river of the sky, written 2/28/21

Who Walks Among the Stars (160 words)

Fandom = original

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The stars are more of a sea than a river, and more of a marsh than either, but there are channels where light flows swift and deep in and among the darker, drier ground, and those are what travelers follow on the winding paths between the worlds -- unless, of course, they are lucky enough to win the favor of birds and fly swift and true where others walk.

Kemmess steps tentatively from one hillock of dark to the next, testing the depth of the starry stream with the green, sap-sticky length of a broken reed, still glowing faintly with watery light. She has traversed the earth, the moon, and the sun without finding the hidden keep where her beloved has either fled or been imprisoned -- each witness she meets tells a different tale -- but there are whispers of worlds more distant yet in the heavens, and she will walk a thousand years rather than turn back with questions yet unanswered.

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54. ) For anonymous: Any, any, silk, sage, silver, written 2/28/21

Sacrifices (150 words)

Fandom = original

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Silk: she ties a sash across your eyes, ties your wrists behind your back, ties your ankles as you kneel, ties your tongue with careful stitches to stopper up your sighs; there is no need to silence screams, not when you have come willing to her bed, but the ritual is stern.

Sage: she wafts incense through the air, traces oil across your skin in swirls and angled strokes in the pattern of a language and a script you never learned but now almost understand through touch alone.

Silver: she slides the needle into the softness beneath your skin, sends a rush of snow-melt cold flooding through your veins, a tracery of silver from your fingers to your heart... and when the cold-shock hits, when your pulse skips and stutters, she calls you treasure, calls you sister, calls you goddess, and whispers her eternal thanks as she sheaths her knife.

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I am experiencing a small amount of self-directed annoyance at not completing the same number of fills as last year (when I wrote 72, 12x6 being a tidy and auspicious number), but then I console myself with the knowledge that my life has been significantly more disrupted this year than last year (surgery! church crisis!) and also I am busier at the rental company in my new job than I was in my old job. And 54 fills is not a shabby number by any stretch of the imagination.

Also I have entire pages of the second ficathon post I have not yet perused, so I think I will give myself permission to continue writing fills for at least another week. :)

And now, bed, because my wrist is very sore and I would like to get some sleep.
edenfalling: headshot of a raccoon, looking left (raccoon)
Batch the eighth. :)

All prompts drawn from the current iteration of the Three Sentence Ficathon (post one and post two), hosted by the wonderful [personal profile] rthstewart. Come join the fun!

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43. ) For [personal profile] syrena_of_the_lake: Enchanted Forest Chronicles, any, unlikely ways to win someone’s heart, written 2/16/21

Faint Heart Never Won (290 words)

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"It's not my fault Prince Norrery was foolish enough to make the wager without considering I might be speaking literally, that I might have some prior experience at poker, or that the niece of a Wicked Uncle known for poisoning anyone who gets in his way would have to lack all common sense to not develop a tolerance to most common intoxicants and poisons, alcohol included," Clepsydra told the King and Queen of the Enchanted Forest, trying her best to sound unafraid despite the enchanted rope around her wrists, and the havoc this delay might wreak in her carefully timed plans; she was not worried about Norrery in the slightest, no matter what her fairy godmother kept implying.

"I won his heart fair and square, and then I won his blood, his breath, his bones, and his pain the same way when he refused to back down; it's entirely within my rights to cut out his heart and sell it on the rare potion ingredients market, and I don't think holding that fact over his head to make him help me reclaim the throne of Horologica is cause for his family to sue, let alone to claim punitive damages for emotional distress."

"Unfortunately, Princess Clepsydra, you forgot to win Prince Norrery's flesh," the King of the Enchanted Forest said, "which does present an obstacle to carving out his heart; on the other hand, he's refusing to support his family's suit and has offered to play another hand of poker with his flesh as the stakes, which suggests that you may have won his heart by more traditional definitions as well."

Clepsydra's fairy godmother was never going to let her live down the sudden leap of hope in her own heart.

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44. ) For anonymous: any, any, non-traditional gender roles, written 2/17/21

Hunt and Gather (130 words)

Fandom = Chronicles of Narnia. Jill's family being from Jamaica is a bit of headcanon I picked up from [personal profile] rthstewart.

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"It makes perfect sense -- girls hunt dinner and boys cook it," Lucy told Jill; "I'm good with snares and nobody's ever matched Susan with a bow, but managing a kitchen isn't at all the same as actually being able to cook, and Peter and Ed insisted they get to do something useful after setting camp and starting the fire. You should try with Eustace sometime -- he wasn't very good with meats when he started out, but he's excellent at foraging for salads and by the time we reached the Uttermost East he'd got decent with roasts and downright skilled at stews."

"Yes, but that's all English cookery; I need a Jamaican-style meal to impress my mother," Jill said; "Be honest: would he know the first thing to do with plantains?"

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45. ) For [personal profile] cofax7: Digger (webcomic/graphic novel), Digger, square poop, written 2/18/21

Stranger and Stranger (165 words)

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She's dealt with far more bodily fluids and waste than she particularly cares to think about -- even more since poor Midwife Mimsy died and left her as Rath's only available hag -- but this, Hagitha thinks, staring at the bedpan laid on her examination table, is not something she has any experience with. The furred stranger who the Veiled consigned to her care (her keeping, more like; you don't keep a patient unconscious with poppy milk, but some folk might treat a prisoner with that kind of disregard) breathes and bleeds and pisses like any other person, but her poop is shaped into neat, dry cubes.

Still, whether the square poop is a curse or something natural to the stranger's people makes no real difference -- she's never heard of a demon that needs a bedpan at all, and maybe the next time she explains that to the Veiled, she'll pull together a good enough imitation of Midwife Mimsy's authority that one of them will finally listen.

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46. ) For anonymous: DC, Cassandra Cain, sign language, written 2/20/21

Kinesics, Haptics, Proxemics (140 words)

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In some ways the signs are easier -- Cass knows how to use her body, has perfect control of every motion, unlike her rusty, unfamiliar vocal cords -- but in other ways, they're an unexpected challenge. She expects sounds to be arbitrary, but it didn't occur to Barbara or to Cass that signs are equally so -- they have to be, to convey all the abstract concepts that make a them a language rather than the pure emotion of subliminal movement, the nuance of touch and stance, or the crude pantomime of gesture ("me" "them" "kick" and the like) -- and that learning a new way to read bodies might interfere with her hard-earned skills.

Still, it's nice to have a way to make her report and ask for snacks when controlling her voice is one task too many after a long, full night.

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47. ) For [personal profile] elementalraven: Narnia, the Pevensies, au where when the Four tumble back through the wardrobe they find themselves somewhere/somewhen else entirely than back where they came from, written 2/23/21

An Unexpected Detour (240 words)

The other world in question is original, but if you're curious I have previously used it as the setting for Of Stone and of Sky, a Homestuck AU fic.

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The wardrobe stood solid and undeniable behind them, doors still spread open to reveal a thicket of coats and scarves and various other garments that smelt strongly of mothballs, and yet they were clearly neither in Narnia's western forest nor in the Professor's attic (the memory of which had flooded in like the tide as they stumbled through the dark space between worlds); instead, Edmund sprawled on rock and sand heated by a heavy midday sun and his siblings stood around him in confusion, gazing at the mountains that ringed this circular, barren valley.

After a moment Susan shook herself, said, "Can we get back?" and suiting deed to word plunged into the wardrobe only to jam her outstretched fingers into the back panel -- no magic passage remained, no hint of how or why they had come to this unfamiliar place -- whereupon she turned back with brows drawn and jaw set and announced, "It might almost make sense to return us to England, but I don't care how good and wise Aslan is; there can't possibly be any justification for tearing us away from Narnia, turning us back into children, and dropping us into a desert wilderness."

"We have more immediate problems than theology," Edmund said before Lucy or Peter could protest, and, still flat on his back, pointed upward toward a shadow spiraling ever lower; "This world has dragons, and I think one has decided we look like lunch."

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48. ) For [personal profile] notapaladin: any, any, dandelions, written 2/23/21

A Deep Breath (105 words)

Fandom = original. This may be related to Equivalent Exchange, a fill from last year's Three Sentence Ficathon.

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"It's a lovely dream," she told the shadow-spinner, concentrating on its kind eyes and not on the claws, the spikes, or the bloody footprints it left in the sun-drenched field, "and I thank you for letting me have this respite. But I can't avoid my quest for much longer, not when I've finally started to relearn why I came here."

She plucked a dandelion from the greenery at her feet, raised it in a fencer's salute, then drew it close -- little silver-white tufts brushing soft as silk across her lips, gentle as shadows on the border between sleep and morning -- and blew the dream away.

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In other news, this morning I had my pre-surgery anesthesia interview (via phone); this afternoon, in and around work at Not the IRS, I spent a significant amount of time editing a Board statement about our minister's impending resignation and also answering emails from congregation members; and this evening I called Mom to plan out her visit/my surgery.

I went to Target after work because apparently pullover-style shirts are a bad mix with a surgery that immobilizes one arm for a few days, and I have not owned any button-down shirts since I was... maybe ten or eleven? Well over twenty years, anyway. But I own two button-downs now (one short-sleeve, one long-sleeve), I washed them in my kitchen sink, and they are drying on some chair backs so they'll be wearable on Friday. If I'm feeling very fancy, I may iron them Wednesday night.

I also bought some body wash (because lathering bar soap with one hand is logistically awkward), a bottle of liquid hand soap (same lathering issue), and a scrubby pouf on a stick for washing my back (tricky with only one hand). My current solution for shampoo and conditioner is to measure dollops out ahead of time in small plastic cups and dump them on my head at the appropriate times.

...

It has been a very full day.
edenfalling: headshot of a raccoon, looking left (raccoon)
Batch the seventh. :)

All prompts drawn from the current iteration of the Three Sentence Ficathon (post one and post two), hosted by the wonderful [personal profile] rthstewart. Come join the fun!

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37. ) For [personal profile] schoolsasaint: LotR, Entwives, I am but a small, green, simple object - but I dream of forests, written 2/14/21

Deep Roots Are Not Reached by the Frost (90 words)

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And why, after all, should cherry and apple, citron and pear, plum and pawpaw, avocado and peach, almond and cashew, olive and fig, and all other nourishing trees not be thought part of the forest? Do they not draw from deep roots, gird their trunks with bark, stretch branches toward the sun, and rejoice with bursts of green leaves?

Any tree, however humble and amenable to pruning, transplanting, grafting, pollarding, can break bare rock to richest soil; those who consider any daughter of Kementári tame do so at their peril.

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38. ) For [personal profile] undeadrobins: Any, any, lost with you, written 2/16/21

Holding Onto One Another's Hand (170 words)

Fandom = The Magnus Archives

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"The worst part about being blind," Melanie started, then paused to add, "all right, the particular worst part I feel like complaining about today, because they're all the worst part and I refuse to rank them -- is that I knew London like the back of my hand--"

"Meaning a general sense of familiarity that breaks down the moment you get into details, because who spends any time studying the back of their own hand?" Georgie interjected, and dodged Melanie's retaliatory cane-sweep with what was swiftly becoming habitual ease.

"Shut it, you, I'm talking," Melanie said without true heat, "and as I was saying, the worst part about being blind is that it's like I'm eighteen again, new to the city, and stumbling around with no idea where anything is, including myself, or how to get from one point to another... but I suppose it isn't actually the worst part, because this time I have you with me, and I honestly can't think of a person I'd rather be lost with."

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39. ) For [personal profile] eagleoftheninth: Any, any, 'kill your darlings, die alone,' written 2/16/21

Consequences (45 words)

Fandom = original

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"I hurt you, killed you, drove you away; have you come back to gloat over me as I die?"

A shrug, a cool hand laid gently over bruised and bloody lips.

"I came because nobody deserves to die alone, even if that's what you wanted."

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40. ) For [personal profile] notapaladin: Any, any/any, touch-starved character gets hugs, written 2/16/21

Shield Sisters (225 words)

Fandom = The Magnus Archives

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As a general rule, other people don't touch police -- at least not in friendly ways -- and within the precinct, Basira's very careful to maintain a professional attitude, polite but not exposing any quirks or cracks that people might use to discount her: as a woman, as a Muslim, as Afro-Arab-Asian not one of us.

She thinks of it as armor she straps on at the start of each shift and sloughs off at the end, a necessary component of the job, and doesn't notice her supports drifting away (parents following Mum's job from Whitehall to New Zealand, brother following his wife to Wexford, baby sister "finding herself" teaching maths in the Shetlands, childhood and uni companions uncomfortable with her choices and slowly finding other friends) until she tries to shuck her professional reserve one evening and realizes not only that she can't reach the buckles, she doesn't have anyone she'd care to show her inner self in any case: her work self has swallowed the rest of her whole.

The first time DI Tonner slings an arm over Basira's shoulder and pulls her close with a smile, as if all Basira's mail and plate were air and gauze, the relief is a sword to her heart, sharp and merciless; Basira bleeds out in moments, and when she resurrects, her armor is big enough for two.

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41. ) For [personal profile] violsva: Hidden Almanac/any crossover, any, Visit Scenic Echo Harbour!, written 2/16/21

Interdimensional Tourism (300 words)

Fandom = The Hidden Almanac/Chronicles of Narnia

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It was on this day in the Year of the Dubious Monkey that a woman who identified herself only as a visitor from another world appeared in a busy Echo Harbor street, nearly causing several carriage crashes.

When asked why she had come, the visitor responded that she had found a tourist brochure in the mysterious interstitial void between worlds (I pause here to note her assertion that this void takes the form of a forest filled with uncountable small and shallow pools of water; theologians and philosophers have spent generations arguing about how much this assertion can be trusted and what its implications may be) and considered the brochure's presence unusual enough to spend some months tracing its origins.

She was given free lodging in the notoriously tight-fisted Echo Harbor mayor's house while she explored the town, but a close reading of the contemporary newspapers shows that this uncharacteristic hospitality was likely religiously-motivated (the mayor being a devotee of Anachrona, goddess of all things out-of-place, who was then under temple investigation for her insufficient tithing) and had nothing to do with the visitor reportedly being quite attractive for a middle-aged human.

At the end of two weeks, the visitor announced she was no longer surprised that the brochure had found its way to the Wood Between The Worlds, and that while Echo Harbor was fascinating and rewarding to visit, she had other places to be, whereupon she disappeared as abruptly as she had come.

A small plaque in the sidewalk where she vanished marked the occasion for nearly a century, until the street in question was repaved; the plaque is now on display in the Echo Harbor Museum of Local History and Ahistory.

That's the Hidden Almanac for February 16, 2020. Be safe, and remember: you are not alone.

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42. ) For anonymous: any, any, world's smallest violin, written 2/16/21

Transposition (120 words)

Fandom = Chronicles of Narnia

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"The question then becomes, should it have another name?" Edmund mused as he watched the Mouse fiddler scrape away at her tiny instrument, the strings singing out high and shrill and sweet in much the same way as her partner's slender reed pipes or the storyteller's voice. "A viola and a cello are much the same as a violin, only larger and lower, yet we don't call them all the same instrument, just as we have separate names for a flute and a fife, or for bass and soprano singers though both are human voices."

"A violinette, then, or a soprano violin if you must," Susan murmured, "but hush now and be ready to applaud when the piece is done."

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And now, bed. :)
edenfalling: headshot of a raccoon, looking left (raccoon)
Batch the sixth. :)

All prompts drawn from the current iteration of the Three Sentence Ficathon (post one and post two), hosted by the wonderful [personal profile] rthstewart. Come join the fun!

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31. ) For anonymous: Any, any, grieving for the living, written 2/12/21

Last Rites (95 words)

Fandom = The Magnus Archives. SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 194!

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cut for spoilers )

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32. ) For [personal profile] undeadrobins: Any, any, waking up to the alarm, written 2/13/21

Home Front (885 words)

Fandom = The Magnus Archives. This turned into a season 5-style statement fic. It's mostly a Slaughter domain, though there are some elements of the Eye, the Desolation, the Vast, and the Lonely floating around the edges.

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cut for length )

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33. ) For [personal profile] thetransintransgenic: Oz/any set on Earth, any, queer visitors from Oz, written 2/13/21

Rainbow's End (175 words)

I realized after I posted this that [personal profile] thetransintransgenic probably meant queer in the modern sense while I was thinking of queer = odd due to the time period when Oz was written. Also, this is not a crossover. *headdesk*

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"And this is my friend Polychrome, she's the Rainbow's Daughter and helped me come visit you even though Philadelphia isn't a fairy country," Saladin said, swinging his left hand forward, his fingers (still a bit pudgy with youth, as if he hadn't aged a day since he vanished) twined with the slender, almost ethereal digits of a strangely ageless girl in multicolored scraps of a fabric that wasn't quite gauze, wasn't quite silk, and looked as if it would cost a hundred dollars an inch for an untattered bolt.

Richard glanced at Eleanor, whose speaking look conveyed quite clearly, 'Your ancestor owned a magic umbrella, mine once killed a dragon, and our son reappeared on the roof after a storm; who's to say he hasn't befriended a fairy?' -- and that was an excellent point, so Richard turned back to Saladin and said, "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Polychrome; any friend of our Button-Bright is always welcome in our home."

"As you are welcome in mine," Polychrome said, and curtsied fit to greet a queen.

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34. ) For [personal profile] thetransintransgenic: Oz/any set on Earth, any, queer visitors from Oz, written 2/13/21

Natural History (250 words)

So I wrote a second fill. Crossover = Oz/Chronicles of Narnia. The Field Museum really does have two separate exhibits of human-eating lions (though one is from 1990, and therefore beyond the scope of this ficlet).

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"Dorothy Gale," says the blonde girl with the light of other worlds in her eyes, as she shakes Susan's hand, her left arm tucked firmly around her black-haired companion's waist; "I was born in Kansas, oh, ages ago, but there's not much to see there besides farms and sky so I thought I'd bring Ozma to Chicago and show her a real modern city, and so far it's been awfully good fun, especially the trains and the skyscrapers -- how about you?"

"My father is here for work, and he and my mother thought it would be educational for me to see some of the world beyond England," Susan says; "While I can't say I'm terribly fond of railways, I do agree that skyscrapers are fascinating -- and speaking of fascinating things, I was planning to visit the Field Museum, which I'm told has many intriguing exhibits, including the stuffed remains of two man-eating lions; may I invite you to accompany me?"

Dorothy glances at Ozma who smiles and says, "We must never tell the Cowardly Lion about his cousins' taste or their fates," (Susan, who has her own history with lions, tucks this away to decipher later) which seems to signal agreement since Dorothy plants an enthusiastic kiss on the other girl's cheek before turning back to Susan and chirping their agreement.

Susan never does unearth their story, but that's all right; she's learned to respect other people's privacy, and it would be a shame to spoil such a lovely day.

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35. ) For anonymous: Oz books (L. Frank Baum), Ozma, poppies, written 2/14/21

If I Should Change Before I Wake (445 words)

A nine-sentence fill, because reasons.

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Ozma only learned about the poppy field by accident, overhearing the Scarecrow and Nick Chopper reminisce about their journey with Dorothy and wonder idly if the flowers are still there; that struck her as a question worth answering, but not important enough to assemble a Royal Progress, so she rode out to look at the poppy field accompanied only by the Sawhorse which, of course, could not be affected by their sleep-inducing scent.

Death was rare in Oz, so rare as to be nearly impossible, and the poppies' lure of repose was nigh overpowering, yet as Ozma and the Sawhorse wandered through the brilliant expanse of red blossoms, they found no slumbering bodies under the swaying stems and leaves -- either the poppies' victims had sunk into the earth entire, or someone with magical protection (or no need to breathe) had been collecting them.

"Which do you suppose is more likely, old friend?" Ozma asked the Sawhorse, one hand resting lightly on her Magic Belt.

"I have no knowledge on which to base a guess," the Sawhorse said, pawing idly at the base of a poppy stalk with one wooden leg, "but I can stay and keep watch; sooner or later someone will fall asleep and then we'll know what happens."

Ozma considered this, then nodded: "It's my royal duty to remove my enchantments and let the poppies' power affect me," she said; "I cannot let any of my subjects risk this danger unaware, and if we return to the Emerald City to ask for a volunteer, who knows what might occur while we are gone?"

"Royal duty sounds terribly unpleasant," the Sawhorse said, but it agreed to Ozma's plan so long as she used her Magic Belt to send a message to the Scarecrow before she fell asleep.

As she removed her enchantments and lay on the soft ground between and beneath the swaying poppies, Ozma wondered how long their perfume would need to take effect, not to mention how long before whatever fate befell the other sleepers would claim her in its turn.

The poppies' scent was heavy and warm, rich without cloying, and Ozma stared upward at the red petals bobbing, the green leaves fluttering, the blue sky and white clouds beyond, all melding into a strangely familiar swirl of color and scent and that echoed behind her slowly closing eyes.

As her mind unmoored from the tethers of the waking world, she realized this swooning, dizzy whirl felt almost exactly like Mombi's spell that had changed her from Tip to Ozma, and had one moment to wonder what body she would wake in before she drifted into the unmapped sea of sleep.

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36. ) For [personal profile] rthstewart: Doctor Who, Donna Noble, That's where all the weird stuff's happening. In the paperwork., written 2/14/21

Worthy of Her Hire (195 words)

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Not that it's any of Donna's business, or that she's been looking in particular, but if you want to know how the marketing director spends his holiday bonus (very posh tastes, that man, in the best fucking-the-pig tradition) or where the hired lorries took the old office furniture after the big switcharound (not, shall we say, any of the usual places one takes old furniture, and she might do a spot of digging to satisfy her own curiosity on that point), she can tell you; she can tell you everything.

She files all the paperwork, after all, and scans and files the digital versions, too -- it takes a bit to learn what's normal, what's normal-weird, and what's proper weird for any company, but she has practice; she can pick that up in two weeks or less -- and it's beyond her why nobody ever expects a temp to read the papers she handles.

And if she should happen to spot something not just proper weird but dangerous... well, Donna may be a little fuzzy on the past few years of her life, but she remembers just enough to know, bone-deep, that she can make things better.

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I have such a lot of fun with this ficathon every year. :DDD
edenfalling: headshot of a raccoon, looking left (raccoon)
Batch the fifth. :)

All prompts drawn from the current iteration of the Three Sentence Ficathon, hosted by the wonderful [personal profile] rthstewart. Come join the fun!

Note: The first ficathon post is now closed to new prompts (though still open for fills and replies!), and you can find the new, second post at https://rthstewart.dreamwidth.org/168256.html.

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25. ) For [personal profile] undeadrobins: any sci-fi/space fandom, any, from the point of view of a spaceship, written 2/9/21

Precious, Fragile Things (345 words)

Fandom = The Murderbot Diaries

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Perihelion is unsure it grasps the concept of privacy that its crew considers so important -- how can it not be aware of them when it forms the floors they walk on, the air they breathe, the feeds they manipulate? -- and while it can file visual input unexamined and backburner other data streams when a crewmember moves from a 'public' to a 'private' space, it still knows more about them than, it thinks, most humans would find comfortable to contemplate.

It's noticed that a lot of its guest passengers (on the sedate, in-system trips that are all it's permitted to take at this stage in its development) deliberately don't contemplate Perihelion's pervasive awareness, which makes understanding privacy even harder -- surely if a concept is central to someone's function, it shouldn't be so easily pushed aside.

"Dad says that's one of the way AI and humans are different," Iris tells Perihelion when it raises the question, matter-of-fact in the way Perihelion has categorized as 'explaining something so obvious to humans that the explanation has a greater than .5 probability of leaving Perihelion even more confused': "We can't compartmentalize whole processes like you, but we can shove things down and ignore them, no matter how central they are, if confronting them might break us; that doesn't work forever, and it can kind of screw us up, but it's like..." -- she trails off, then brightens -- "like a quick patch for a hull impact, just enough to get us through a voyage and back to dock where we can do a full repair."

Perihelion considers this analogy, finds it lacking on several technical levels, and files it for further interpretation. "Hull impacts are unpleasant," it tells Iris; "I'm looking forward to the installment of my defensive array."

Iris pats a bulkhead fondly, eyes tipped up toward the ceiling as if Perihelion's self can be said to be any more concentrated in that small stretch of its body than any other section; "I love you too, Peri, even if you are nosy and violent."

Perihelion flickers its lights in her face.

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26. ) For [personal profile] eagleoftheninth: Any, any, 'only those with heart as light as feathers can cross over the Bridge of One Hair', written 2/9/21

None* Shall Pass (*See Fine Print for Details and Exceptions) (175 words)

Fandom = Enchanted Forest Chronicles

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"That is complete and utter nonsense," Morwen said firmly, "starting with the fact that a heart as light as feathers doesn't change the fact that the rest of the human body tends to weigh substantially more than nothing, and ending with the fact that this bridge is clearly made of multiple hairs -- I can see the braid pattern even without my glasses."

"I know, but you shouldn't say so," the enchantress hissed, casting a desperate glance toward the young dairymaid (whose quest Morwen had decided to accompany out of professional interest, dairymaids being somewhat rare among the normal run of princes and woodcutters' third sons); "It mucks everything up if they start relying solely on cleverness and forget that manners and some basic moral decency are equally important."

"I agree, but if you can't come up with a better grade of intimidating blather, that sounds like your problem, not mine," Morwen said, and snapped her fingers to set a spark under Miss Eliza Tudor's paw before she could test her claws against the enchanted bridge.

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27. ) For anonymous: Inception, Ariadne/Arthur, fireworks, written 2/12/21

Own the Night (220 words)

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"And what, Mister Professional Doubt, do you think of my fireworks show now?" Ariadne said, half-shouting to be heard over the deafening blast of the mid-show pseudo finale: pinwheels and flashbangs, whistlers and falling stars, and a carefully timed curtain of golden dust sparklers trailing down over the well-groomed suburban lakeshore.

Arthur glanced over to the neighboring blanket where Eames, forged into the target's long-regretted high school what-if (bad timing, social awkwardness, unfortunate weather -- Arthur didn't remember and didn't particularly care what had kept them from getting together and getting over the infatuation like most people did, instead of slipping into obsession) slipped a scrap of paper from the target's back pocket under cover of an enthusiastic grope, then looked back to Ariadne with a rueful smile and shrug: "I stand corrected; the nostalgia factor worked, the bangs haven't startled the subject into waking prematurely, and while the lack of mosquitoes is unrealistic, I appreciate your consideration in leaving them out."

Ariadne flicked her fingers toward Eames and the target without turning -- mouthed 'progress?' with a tilt of her head that would read as flirtatious to any watching projections -- then relaxed at Arthur's nod; "There are more enjoyable ways to suck your blood," she said with a gleeful wiggle of her eyebrows, and leaned in to give him a hickey.

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28. ) For [personal profile] snacky: Six of Crows, Kaz/Inej, Saying goodbye is death by a thousand cuts, written 2/12/21

And a Following Sea (180 words)

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"Fair winds, Wraith," Kaz says, and dares to tuck his cane into the crook of his elbow and offer both hands (gloved, of course, here in Fifth Harbor, so close to a thousand sweating bodies and the hungry sea) to Inej; she sets her own slim fingers over his own and lets him press their hands together in what feels half like a too-solemn version of a Kerch farmer's greeting and half like a (too-revealing) suitor's plea.

"Unfair deals," she says in return, and Kaz allows the corner of his mouth to quirk in a smile at the joke.

When she smiles in return, and reclaims her hands, and glides away to her waiting ship, Kaz forces himself to turn aside and walk toward the harbormaster's office for the business that nominally brought him here; it won't stop him from wondering how many times Inej can leave before he bleeds to death from each new cut of loss, but he refuses to mourn in advance of a funeral -- especially when, beyond all his hope and understanding, she keeps coming back.

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29. ) For [personal profile] vialethe: Narnia, Susan &/ Edmund, at dinner parties I call you out on your contrarian shit

Eeling Contrary (190 words)

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"Beg pardon, but if I may steal a moment of my gracious sister's time," Edmund said, and whirled Susan away from the Terebinthian crown prince (and his entourage) without stopping to wait for a reply; as he threaded neatly through the crowded room, gesturing with his wineglass to ward off interruptions, he muttered under his breath, "I could read the cast of your countenance from a mile away; what incredible nonsense did you convince him to swallow this time?"

Susan smiled as if she hadn't a care in the world and said, "I merely explained the true origin of eels, which, as everyone in Narnia knows, are born when a hair from a horse's tail falls into river or pond; wouldst believe the poor man was convinced that, instead, eels are born when the first light of the spring moon falls on newly dampened mud?"

"Someday someone other than myself will call you out on your fabrications," Edmund said, but he knew Susan could read the laughter in his eyes just as clearly as he had read her contrarian glee, and resigned himself to many years more of running interference.

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30. ) For [personal profile] vialethe: Narnia, Peter & Susan, that old familiar body ache/the snaps from the same little breaks in your soul/you know when it’s time to go

Make Your Choice (150 words)

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"I think, when you're younger, it's easier to balance between two worlds," Susan says haltingly as she and Peter sit in the back garden -- he on the wall and she in the apple tree, flicking a blossom-heavy twig back and forth between her fingers -- "easier to believe six impossible things before breakfast, so to speak, and to accept that Narnia is still Narnia even after a thousand years instead of mourning what was lost."

"To see it as an adventure as much as a duty," Peter suggests, his ragged nails picking and picking at the mortar between the bricks.

"Yes," Susan agrees, fingers stilling; "They can still bend -- but you and me?"

She snaps the twig. Peter stifles a flinch.

"This is our world now, the only one left to us," Susan says as she leaps down from the apple tree, "and I plan to make the most of it."

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More to come as I write them. :)
edenfalling: headshot of a raccoon, looking left (raccoon)
Batch the fourth. :)

All prompts drawn from the current iteration of the Three Sentence Ficathon, hosted by the wonderful [personal profile] rthstewart. Come join the fun!

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19. ) For anonymous: Any, any, lost in translation, written 2/7/21

Lost in Translation (195 words)

Fandom = Chronicles of Narnia. Contains Telmarine backstory.

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"I will tell you tonight of Māui, who snared the errant sun, who fished islands from the sea, who brought the secret of fire to the people," Eka said to her children as they sat beside the fire in the strange half-underground house made of dirt and grass that the man who killed her husband (and fathered her two youngest children) had built in this strange land beyond the cave.

"What's an island?" her youngest son asked: a child of this new world, of its mountains without daily clouds, of its winter ice and snow, of its horses and sheep and shaggy cattle in place of pigs and chickens, his mouth familiar only with the speech of the raiders that had bloomed like a fever in Eka's mind as they stumbled from stone to the sunlight of a foreign sky.

"It's a mountain only instead of trees and grass around it there's miles and miles of water," said her eldest daughter, who still remembered their lost home, and as she watched the confusion on her son's face, Eka wondered how long until all her people's history and gods were lost in the gulf between generations.

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20. ) For anonymous: Any, any, the only way out is through, written 2/8/21

Theseus in the Labyrinth (105 words)

Fandom = The Magnus Archives

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"Sometimes the only way out is through," Georgie says, and Jon makes a noncommittal noise rather than answer; he understands that she means well, and that pushing through worked for her in the aftermath of her own brush with the impossible.

In his experience, though, 'through' never reaches an exit; he only tangles deeper and deeper into the grip of his own personalized whirlpool of terror and regret. Turning around and asking somebody to haul him back is the only chance of freedom, for however short and painful a time.

He's trying not to Know if there's anybody left to hear him when he calls.

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21. ) For [personal profile] ultra_fic: any, any, midnight at the lost and found, written 2/9/21

Found and Lost (110 words)

Fandom = The Magnus Archives

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The Magnus Institute, Sasha sometimes thinks, is like a giant lost-and-found: people bring in stories of experiences they'd stumbled into and would strongly prefer to forget, and other people come by later to pick through the inscrutably-organized heap in search of something important to them. Her job is to sort and catalog the items, and sometimes to show people around the collection; she's in the business of finding, not of losing, and she's very good at her work.

Much later, she has a bare second before the end to realize she was always one of the lost and abandoned things and to wonder if anyone will try to find her.

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22. ) For [personal profile] kalira: any, any, bloody fluff, written 2/9/21

Strange New World (235 words)

Fandom = Chronicles of Narnia

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"We hunt well together," the Crow said to her companions as the young Wolf lapped at the marrow in a cracked thighbone and the Human methodically skinned and butchered the carcass of a dumb deer; "One to spot, one to flush, one to kill, and we all benefit."

"I maintain I'm doing the lion's share of the work," the Human said as she began to wrap the meat in the deer's own skin, blood-streaked hands deft as she tied tendons around rough hide, "but yes, we waste much less time this way, not to mention the value of companionship; I still don't discount the possibility that I've gone mad and you're both hallucinations, but even so, humans need friends to survive and I'm willing to believe you might lead me to somewhere with explanations."

"The garden in the Uttermost West holds many explanations, some of which even fit people's questions," the Wolf said, looking up from her bone, "but there's no need to hurry; the Queen of the Twisted Tower" -- here the Crow mantled her wings, unsettled, and the Human paused to scribble another note in her little paper book -- "has gone east to Narnia and taken her armies with her, so even if you never learn how you came to the Western Wild, there's nothing to stop us from building a new pack and carving a territory where we can decide our own truths."

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23. ) For [personal profile] sholio: Black Panther, Nakia, a small piece of home to hold onto when she's out on assignment, written 2/9/21

Keeping Faith (145 words)

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A kimoyo bead would be far too obvious -- vibranium is too rare and precious to go unnoticed -- but Nakia is used to the feel of her beads around her wrist, resting against her sternum, hanging from her ears.

Glasswork, pottery, and smithing are not her gifts, but all children learn some of the traditional arts and the awkward nature of her handiwork adds verisimilitude to many of her covers.

Eyes downcast, Nakia kneels before the latest would-be warlord whose camp she's infiltrated, and rubs the uneven glaze of her lumpy bracelet beneath her fingers -- clay from the creek behind her mother's house, glaze from her cousin's pottery, cotton string from her grandmother's farm -- a piece of home to remind her of all the riches of Wakanda, and urge her onward to help the outer world take one more shaky, faltering step toward peace and freedom.

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24. ) For [personal profile] runespoor: Naruto, Naruto/Sasuke/Sakura, promises, written 2/9/21

Pinky Promise (275 words)

This wound up as an installment in my Summer Camp & Politics AU.

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"One day I'm gonna be prime minister and then I'll make sure nothing like what happened to your family will ever happen again -- that's a promise!" Naruto says, looking back over his shoulder from the front of the canoe.

("Turn around, we're almost to the rapids," Sakura says.)

"The prime minister can't always control the army," Sasuke snaps, letting go of his paddle with one hand to flick at Naruto's face, "or get laws through the Assembly, so even if you do somehow get elected, what good do you think you can do on your own?"

("The rapids! We're coming to the rapids! If you don't turn around and start paddling again--")

"I won't be alone -- I'll have you and Sakura-chan with me," Naruto says, and raises his paddle like he's thinking of swinging it at Sasuke; "Tell him we'll fix Fire Country together, Sakura-chan!"

Sakura tips the canoe over.

Then she hauls herself back in and upright while her friends are still sputtering. From her newly commanding height, and with her own paddle jammed firmly between two rocks to keep from drifting uncontrolled into the rapids, she pronounces, "I'll fix Fire Country... but you two can come along, I guess. I'll need somebody to play figurehead while I get everything done."

Sasuke and Naruto exchange a long, speaking look, which would be very solemn and serious if they weren't sopping wet with hair plastered to their faces.

"Deal?" Naruto says, not turning to look at Sakura. She narrows her eyes suspiciously.

"Deal," Sasuke agrees, and the boys lunge forward in tandem to tip Sakura back into the river with them.

It's a good day.

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More to come as I write them. :)
edenfalling: headshot of a raccoon, looking left (raccoon)
I love this ficathon! ♥ ♥ ♥

All prompts drawn from the current iteration of the Three Sentence Ficathon, hosted by the wonderful [personal profile] rthstewart. Come join the fun!

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13. ) For anonymous: Now I want all the scenes of them practicing sword-fighting ;), written 2/5/21

Master Class (160 words)

Companion to Whoso Pulleth out This Sword. Long-time readers may remember Sir Vladislav from Secrets, my retelling of CoS from Ginny's point of view. :D

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"I know the Room of Requirement can provide almost anything, but I think a live teacher is a bit beyond its abilities, and there's a limit to what anyone can learn from an instruction manual," Neville said as he and Ginny paced back and forth before the blank stretch of wall.

Alarmingly, Ginny grinned: "Oh, don't worry -- I asked our instructor yesterday, and since he's already part of the castle I'm sure the Room can move him around without much trouble."

When the door appeared, she flung it open onto a bare expanse with a polished wood floor and an intimidating number of sharp, antique weapons mounted on the wall. "Hello, Sir Vladislav!" she called; "This is my friend Neville, and we're here to learn how not to kill ourselves with swords."

The suit of enchanted armor waiting in the center of the room set its gauntlet on the pommel of its broadsword and bowed.

Gulping, Neville did the same.

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14. ) For anonymous: any, any, justice delayed is justice denied, written 2/5/21

A Sheath Rusted Shut (70 words)

Fandom = The Magnus Archives. SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 193!

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cut for spoilers )

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15. ) For [personal profile] eagleoftheninth: Any fandom/characters, this tumblr post: https://wantshapesthem.tumblr.com/post/641796522747543552/an-apocalyptic-cult-prophetically-warning-that-the, written 2/5/21

Wiggle Eschatology (175 words)

Fandom = Chronicles of Narnia

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"No, I don't have any stories about the end of the world," Feathersnap said to the humans on her flatbed raft, which she was poling slowly across the marshy shallows of the Shribble; "I don't believe in the end of the world."

"But surely the end of the world is the worst thing that could possibly happen," one of the humans said, with a note in her voice that suggested she was the kind of person happiest in the middle of an argument, "and the Marsh-wiggles are acknowledged throughout Narnia as the experts on all the ways things can go wrong; therefore you must have some predictions."

Feathersnap shook her head dolefully, setting the decorative shells and fishbones on the brim of her hat swinging: "Ah no, I see where you've grabbed the wrong end of the stick and got muck all over your hand; if the world ends, that means there'll eventually be an end to all our problems, and I promise you we're none of us getting out of this mess that easily."

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16. ) For [personal profile] acequeenking: Any / Any, For every mystery, there is somewhere, somewhere, who knows the truth. Perhaps that someone is watching. Perhaps… it’s you, written 2/7/21

And Now a Word from Our Sponsors (160 words)

Fandom = The Magnus Archives

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"What's that meant to be advertising -- a remote webcam-activation service for stalkers?" Melanie asked, barging into Georgie's recording studio with blithe assurance of her welcome (which was fair enough; the little 'recording' button Georgie'd rewired to do a Braille display along with the red light hadn't been on and Georgie was always game for a distraction from rehearsals).

"A new true crime webcast from some American newspaper," Georgie said, slipping her headphones down around her neck and spinning her chair to face her girlfriend, hands outstretched to meet Melanie's own questing fingers; "It is a bit pretentious, isn't it?"

Melanie snorted. "God, can't you just imagine Jon reading it in that-- that voice he uses for statements?"

"Yes, and now I'll have that stuck in my head all day," Georgie grumbled.

"The horror of it all. Let me see if I can give you something better to focus on," Melanie said, and let Georgie guide her in for a kiss.

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17. ) For [profile] alexaseanchai: any, adopted by a cat, written 2/7/21

Re-Socialization (1,045 words)

Fandom = The Magnus Archives. As you can see, this one got away from me a bit. *wry*

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cut for length )

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18. ) For [personal profile] alexseanchai: any, a cat's job is never done, written 2/7/21

Partnership (180 words)

Fandom = The Magnus Archives

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His Person was in the quiet room again, and he knew a Good Cat wouldn't interrupt while she hunted just like she didn't interrupt while he chased the tricky red dot, but she'd been in there for so long and it was nearly Dinner Time.

Fortunately he knew how to get in -- leap, catch the lever, let his weight pull down, twist and kick just so until the door swung open -- after which he trotted across the floor, leapt onto the Desk Of Don't Touch, caught his Person's eye, and very deliberately swatted one of the scratchy black things.

"Admiral, no!" she said, but the note in her voice said 'playing, chase-and-pounce' and also 'tired and hungry,' so he knew she didn't mean it; when she gathered him into her arms and carried him to the kitchen, humming under her breath the way that was almost like purring, that only proved what he already knew: sometimes he needed her (to open the Cans of Wet Food and scratch the hard-to-reach places), but sometimes his Person needed him just as much.

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More to come as I write them. :)
edenfalling: headshot of a raccoon, looking left (raccoon)
Another set of six. :)

All prompts drawn from the current iteration of the Three Sentence Ficathon, hosted by the wonderful [personal profile] rthstewart. Come join the fun!

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7. ) For [personal profile] alexseanchai: any, baked in, written 2/3/21

Tactical Ingredients (110 words [counting the emoticon])

Fandom = original

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People talk a lot of nonsense about baking with love to explain why homemade is better and draw attention away from the subtle social calculation of, 'I put effort into this so you'd better reward me with appreciation,' as well as the unspoken message of, 'I'm improving office morale so pushing me aside or, god forbid, firing me, would be a terrible mistake.'

I don't bake with love. I don't bake with ingratiation, either.

What my cookies and brownies and almond pastries say is, 'Give me a 10% raise or suffer the consequences.'

My boss has been eating them for months.

I'm feeling pretty good about my year-end review. :)

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8. ) For anonymous: Any, any villain, "do you really believe everything you're told?", written 2/3/21

Verify Your Sources (40 words)

Fandom = The Magnus Archives

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Jon smiled as the static rose around him.

"Not everything -- I'm perfectly well aware that people can mislead by implication, or may sincerely believe and relay inaccurate information -- but by and large, yes. Now, tell me what your plan is."

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9. ) For anonymous: any, any, a wreath of candles, written 2/4/21

Let There Be Light (175 words)

Fandom = Rusty Quill Gaming

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"It would have to be a horizontal wreath," Cel said absently, then paused and visibly perked up, one hand rising to tug on their goggle strap; "Oh, unless you made it sort of-- sort of three-dimensional, with little candle-cups set in a spiral pattern around the frame so none of them are directly under any other candle or any greenery of your choice -- or flowers, flower wreaths are also an excellent option, though I think less traditionally mixed with candles than greenery? -- anyway, that sounds like a fascinating little project; would you like me to help build one?"

Zolf, who had been thinking about solstice crowns and old dwarven traditions, blinked, gathered himself, and said, "I'm not sure that would be safe to hang on a wall or a door, but so long as you understand I haven't done metalwork since I joined the navy, I'd be happy to try making a vertical candle wreath -- we'll let Hamid figure out how it should be displayed."

Cel grinned; "That, Mr. Smith, sounds like an excellent plan."

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10. ) For [personal profile] nea: The Magnus Archives, Jon Sims/Martin Blackwood, holding hands, written 2/4/21

This Feels Like a Metaphor for Something (125 words)

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"The Lonely tends toward damp, all kinds of fog, oceans, rain, and here's you, all bone-dust paper I'll soak into mush, send your ink streaky and illegible until people mistake you for rubbish."

"I don't think whatever the Beholding has written on me is worth reading," Jon said, "and paper makes a moderately functional towel in a pinch; there's no point bringing you back and not helping you feel dry and warm."

"Are you quite certain you dislike poetry?" Martin asked, a wry grin easing into his voice though his face stayed blank and stiff, and he wove his fingers between Jon's, one warm, sweaty palm pressed against another.

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11. ) For [personal profile] wolfish_willow: any, any, caught in the middle, written 2/4/21

Swing Your Partner (140 words)

Fandom = The Magnus Archives. Contains violence and Unknowing-style unreality.

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Clowns to the left of him, jokers to the right, and here Tim is (is he Tim? he thinks he used to be Tim), stuck in the middle with an... with probably an axe, so there's nothing left to do but swing.

Plastic warps into Sasha's face -- except it's not Sasha's face, because he can't remember Sasha's face, because something stole her even more thoroughly than Grimaldi stole Danny -- and Sasha's voice says, soft and high and desperate, "Please, Tim, it's me, Sasha; you're hurting me!" until his sharp weight on a stick (a hammer? a macuahuitl? why does he know that word? is it a word?) splinters her to shards of silence amidst the calliope's song.

This is the fifth time he's killed his best friend since the world went mad; he doesn't think he can take much more.

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12. ) For anonymous: harry potter, ginny weasley, sword(s), written 2/4/21

Whoso Pulleth out This Sword (325 words)

Structural restrictions are for the birds. *wry*

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"I'm just saying that if Fawkes brought Harry the Sorting Hat so he could pull out the sword of Godric Gyffindor in his time of need, that sets a precedent," Ginny said as she charmed the blackboard clean. There was no real point since the Room of Requirement would provide a fresh board the next time they met, but Ginny grew up with brothers who kept 'forgetting' to put the toilet seat back down unless she and Mum shamed them into it, and she knew the power of setting good habits. Besides, cleanup gave her more time to talk with the other DA leaders.

"If there's a chance the Hat might drop a fancy magic sword on some other Gryffindor's head someday," she continued, "I think we ought to learn how to do something other than swing it around like a Beater's bat or an overgrown carving knife."

"You have a point," Neville said. "Conjuring a sword might also be a useful distraction technique during a duel. Someone expecting a spell probably won't be prepared for a huge chunk of steel flying at their face."

Ginny grinned. "They probably won't be prepared for a punch or a hard kick in the unmentionables, either, but a sword has more style. Besides, ancient magic objects don't usually appear once and vanish forever. I'll bet you two Sickles somebody will end up using Gryffindor's sword at least one more time before Voldemort dies for keeps."

Neville looked reluctant, then thoughtful. "It doesn't count if it's Harry again."

"That's fair," Ginny agreed as she rolled the now-clean blackboard up against the wall. "So, what do you say?"

"Make it three Sickles and you're on," Neville said.

Two years later, after all was said and done, Ginny cornered Neville in the ruins of Hogwarts and held out her hand, dry-eyed and implacable as flame.

He sighed. Then he sheathed the ruby-hilted sword and handed over her winnings, only slightly bloody.

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More to come at some point. :)

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edenfalling: stylized black-and-white line art of a sunset over water (Default)
Elizabeth Culmer

July 2025

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