the deep moans round with many voices

Batch the sixth, and I think that's all for this year. I have not been feeling very writey for the past few months. :/

All prompts drawn from the 2022 iteration of the Three Sentence Ficathon (post one and post two), hosted by the wonderful rthstewart!

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( 31. ) For undeadrobins, in response to the prompt: Any, Any, I am ready for the fight, written 2/9/22

Queen to Pawn (155 words)

Fandom = Chronicles of Narnia

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In England, Susan is no queen: she cannot make or dissolve laws, dispense justice or grant mercy, collect or remit taxes, declare war or make peace, sign treaties or raise tariffs; no trappings of power are hers, and instead this world consigns her to play a silly schoolgirl who will grow to be a decorative nonentity, of note only for the children she may have or the background support she may give an enterprise organized and directed by and for the benefit of men.

She refuses to dwell on the loss.

Susan will take the rules England sets down and play by them to win, play so well that no one will outflank her or stand in her path; and once she triumphs she will be a queen once more in truth (though perhaps not in law), and can at last overturn this stifling, tilted board to build something better, truer, deeper in its place.

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( 32. ) For syrena_of_the_lake, in response to the prompt: Any fandom, any character, funny meeting you here, written 2/9/22

A Long-Expected Meeting (135 words)

Fandom = Greenwing & Dart

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"How unexpected to meet you here," a terribly familiar voice said from the doorway of Elderflower Books, and I looked up from stacking the latest edition of the New Salon to see Lark silhouetted by the midday sun, idly twirling her ivory pipe between her fingers.

I still felt that conditioned pull toward her, but this time it was countered by the bright clarity of immediate danger and I heard myself say, dryly, "Given that I have been employed here since autumn, and further that I am quite sure you have been aware of that fact for nearly the total period of that employment, I find your choice of words somewhat astonishing -- indeed, one might almost call them unexpected."

"Ah Jemis, I have missed you," Lark said, and smiled like a razor caressing a throat.

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( 33. ) For ruthchinn, in response to the prompt Daredevil, Matt's mom (Maggie), any, written 2/10/22.

Cut Clean (145 words)

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When Jack dies, Maggie thinks long and hard about whether to renounce her vows a second time and step back into the secular world as Matthew's mother, but while that sounds virtuous in theory (aren't children owed a mother's love and care?), on a practical level there are nearly insurmountable obstacles. She has no guarantee of finding a well-paying job or suitable housing, no guarantee that she and Matthew would have compatible personalities, no guarantee that such a drastic change in her life wouldn't trigger a new mental health crisis, no guarantee she could navigate the maze of special needs education without the support of the Church behind her, and on and on and on.

Perhaps she could have introduced herself as Matthew's mother while still holding to her vows, but she's never been good with in-betweens; in the end, she keeps the break clean.

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( 34. ) For anonymous, in response to the prompt Any, any, honey, green tea, lavender, written 2/10/22.

From Tiny Seeds (185 words)

Fandom = Greenwing & Dart

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( cut for spoilers about Violet )

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( 35. ) For syrena_of_the_lake, in response to the prompt: Narnia, Uncle Andrew/Jadis, she stays in London, written 6/1/22

Family Planning (155 words)

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She will need an heir eventually, and given how sluggishly magic flows in this new world, the best she can do is tweak biology rather than bypass its demands entire -- and while the man is a deluded fool with a weak body and a displeasing face, he does have magic in his veins; he will do for seed (carefully winnowed and sieved) until she finds something better, or his nephew grows old enough to be useful.

Such a pity, Jadis reflects, that his sisters had not been born male; either of them, even the softer one fading on her deathbed, would have made a vastly preferable consort -- perhaps even one she might tolerate to stand by her side in battle rather than lock in a well-furnished chamber to await her reluctant attentions.

Ah well. Lilith started with less when she came to Charn, and Jadis will outdo her ancestor in this as in all else.

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( 36. ) For ruanchunxian, in response to the prompt: any, any, family traditions, written 6/1/22

A Metonymy for Love (880 words)

Fandom = Greenwing & Dart

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"Mother had to leave her bees at the dower house when she married Mr. Buchance," Jemis said as he and Jack ambled through the coppice wood of Arguty Manor, his words puncturing one of the slightly awkward silences that still fell between them more often than Jack wished. They were on the far side of the grounds from the house in question, so the statement fell groundward even more abruptly than it might have done in another location.

( cut for length )

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It did feel nice to write something again yesterday. Perhaps I'll poke at some of my WIPs while I'm on vacation next week and see if anything speaks to me...

sholio said: Another Year Older: Birthdays - Someone among the Iron Fist and/or Defenders characters having their next birthday after making their new friend(s) in the show. (450 words)

Note: I have no idea why this turned into a dialogue-only ficlet. Sometimes these things just happen to me.

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Many Happy Returns of the Day
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"Hey, Matt, it's Danny Rand. Oh, did I get the time zone conversion right? This isn't a bad time for you?"

"It's fine, I'm on lunch break. Happy Birthday, in case my text didn't come through intelligibly. I forgot to have anyone proofread it."

"It was fine. Well, the happy birthday part was fine. I guess speech to text works best with standard phrases like that. The rest got a little garbled but hey, birthday cards are supposed to be funny."

"Sure. So, you didn't call all the way from... Cambodia?"

"Laos, this week."

"--from Laos without a reason. Do you need help?"

"No. Well, maybe? Or no, probably not. But. Uh. So, I got your text. I also got texts from everyone even tangentially associated with you, Jess, and Luke, and some people I can't even figure out how they're connected, and that's cool and all -- I'm grateful you guys made the effort! -- but, uh..."

"You've sent all of us birthday cards, or texts, or ridiculous voicemail messages. Obviously that kind of connection is important to you. And sending a text isn't like running a marathon or Olympic level weightlifting."

"I guess. I know emotional stuff isn't easy for everyone. But see, the thing is, I got this one text that's a little, um, weird. Even for our context."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. It said, 'Thank you for guarding Matthew's city while he recovered. I've removed you from our target list for six months. Happy Birthday.' And it was signed with a little... what's the word for emojis that are made out of text instead of an actual picture?"

"I am the wrong person to answer that question."

"Right, yeah, sorry. Anyway, a little sai made of dashes and a capital E."

"Ah."

"Yeah."

"Hmm."

"Matt, how did your dead evil girlfriend get my phone number?"

"...I plead the fifth. But when you think about it logically, that's not a half-bad present. Imagine what you can do with six months free of random Hand encounters."

"That is-- okay, that's pretty cool, but that is not the point! The point is that an undead assassin has my phone number and knows my birthday!"

"I have faith in you to make the best of the situation. Happy Birthday, Danny. See you when you get home."

"Matt, you asshole, don't hang-- Fuck. Great. You know what? Just for that, I will make the best of the situation. I'm going to text Elektra back and tell her you're being a scaredy-cat so she laughs at you. Then I'm going to become her best friend, and rescue her from the Hand, and get you back together. Yeah. Because that's what friends do, you dingus. Happy unbirthday."

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End of Ficlet

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And now back to pretending to work. It is such a SLOW DAY. *wilts over keyboard*

As always, here is the link to the current ficathon, if you want to come play too. :)

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( 19. ) For jjhunter: any, any, a place beyond tears, written 12/27/18 [AO3 version]

That we can feel pain and know sadness (175 words)

"I did mostly all right until Elise from Accounting -- I got to know her because of some issues with my first paychecks, but that's a different story -- until she told me you'd gone to 'a place beyond tears,' and I just lost it and spent the next half hour choking on this horrible mix of ugly crying and completely inappropriate laughter," Karen says, fingers relaxed on the neck of her beer bottle; then she snorts and adds, "That always struck me as a terrifying idea, you know."

Matt makes an inquiring noise, the thrum of his voice in his chest vibrating pleasantly against Karen's skull where she's leaned back against his sternum.

Karen clicks her nails against the bottle, lets its cool solidity ground her the same way as Matt's equally solid warmth, and says, "Because to be beyond tears means to be something that isn't quite human anymore, and even if that's a good thing -- even if it means joy and relief from pain -- I've lost too many pieces of myself to ever give up another willingly."

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( 20. ) For lady_katana4544: Any, Any, trying to not jump at the shadows when in polite company, written 12/28/18 [AO3 version]

And This Is Her Valley (75 words)

It's easier not to jump at shadows in Kaeleer, Wilhelmina reflects, though the realm itself is far darker and wilder than Tereille. Firstly, when a thing becomes commonplace, the sting of contrast fades and darkness becomes simply a trick of the light rather than a sign of something out of place.

And secondly, as Jaenelle said one evening with a smile like a knife of ice, "The only danger lurking in these shadows is me."

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( 21. ) For syrena_of_the_lake: Dragons of Pern; Menolly and fire-lizards; joyful chorus, written 12/28/18 [AO3 version]

Notes in the Song of Creation (100 words exactly)

There were limits to how she could shape their song, but those were no different from any other formal strictures: keys, meters, the ranges of various instruments, to say nothing of the choking net of tradition tangled through her father's Seahold. In comparison to that, working around her fair's needs was as easy as breathing -- easier, even, as if she'd been drowning and now had found a boat.

Menolly sang as the sun danced and splintered on the wavetips; nine other voices joined her, joyfully, and in full knowledge that the music they sang was hers, and it was good.

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( 22. ) For sholio: MCU, any, werewolf AU, written 12/28/18 [AO3 version]

As Iron Sharpens Iron (100 words exactly)

"We found her with blood on her teeth, she's a phase-independent were, what more evidence do you need?" the cop says as he leads Matt and Foggy through the station.

"Something that isn't purely circumstantial or blatantly prejudiced," Matt says, and then bites back a shiver of recognition as Karen Page's miserable, furious scent wafts from the open doorway, raising the hair on the back of his neck and pulling his lips into a smile too sharp and wild for the face he shows the daylight world.

His skin may not change like hers, but one predator always knows another.

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( 23. ) For anonymous: DBZ, Vegeta, call center, written 12/29/18 [AO3 version]

Minimum Wage Woes (150 words)

Note: Six sentences, because reasons. :)

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"I have tracked the recent spate of spurious phone calls to this building, and I command you to remove all my family's numbers from your database immediately!" shouted the short, wild-haired man who'd just crashed through the ceiling of the call center next to Lacey's station and was now wreathed in a mix of flames, lightning, and particleboard dust.

"Or else what?" said Lacey's manager, showing a remarkable lack of common sense, especially since small objects were now starting to float and circle around the man as if drawn into a growing vortex.

The man smiled, showing teeth that seemed more pointed than standard, and raised a hand filled with a terrible, blinding glow. "Or else I burn this place to the ground... and then I give your names to my wife."

Lacey grabbed her purse from beside her chair and scrambled out of the room. She wasn't paid nearly enough for this.

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( 24. ) For kalira: Inception, Arthur, expediency, written 12/29/18 [AO3 version]

Stiletto (50 words)

"Did you just put that projection's eye out with a shoe heel, darling?" Eames asked, nudging the body with an oddly fastidious toe.

"We're in Ms. Nandanampati's dressing room, it was right at hand, and unlike a gun it was quiet," Arthur snapped. "Now shut up while I imagine myself a set of lock picks."

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And now back to trying not to fall asleep at work. *sigh*

Summary: When they were twelve, Elektra and Matthew escaped from the Hand. Twenty years later, they've built lives in the corrupt port city of Hell's Kitchen -- Elektra as a cartel assassin, Matthew as a medium and exorcist. But the Hand is about to find them, and they'll have to reclaim all the pieces of their past if they want to survive and save their adopted home. (1,500 words)

Note: This started as a kinkmeme prompt fill, though I'm not sure how faithful it actually is to the prompt. It's also obviously the opening scene of a longer story, but since it stands reasonably well on its own as a character and worldbuilding exercise, I'm going to post it as-is and make no promises about ever writing the continuation.

Also, I am totally claiming this as a wild card fill for my Daredevil Bingo card, using the AU: urban fantasy prompt. *wry*

[ETA: the AO3 crosspost is now up!]

( Like a Knife All Blade )

We'll see if that insists on turning into an actual novella, or whether posting this scene was enough to appease the plot bunny and let me focus on other things.

The first is actually from the previous iteration of the ficathon. It is an alternate fill for a prompt which I didn't post to the ficathon itself because it requires a bunch of contextual information to make sense. In other words, it's set loosely in the world of Sunbright and Shadowfall, which works because "Sunbright and Shadowfall" is itself loosely based on Sleeping Beauty (among other things), so tossing in a Beauty and the Beast episode for a previous Queen-in-Waiting seemed reasonable.

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( 31. ) For silvr_dagger: Beauty and the Beast (Disney or fairy tale; f/f genderswap), Beauty (or Belle)/Beast, roses in the snow, written 1/14/17

signs and bargains (150 words)

Beauty is the thirteenth bride sacrificed to the transformed princess: wrapped in wedding clothes, handed a spear and a sword, and sent through the thorny, snow-swathed gates to guard the woman whose spell-twisted life keeps the town at the fortress's feet safe from the ravages of the Shining Ones, for they are bound never to kill a would-be, could-be Queen before she fulfills the Great Sign; perhaps the bargain the town has struck is hollow, trading their own safety for the hope of the world at large, but Beauty has two sisters each with children of their own, and she goes willingly to shield them.

As the gates swing shut and silence swallows the bone-white courtyard, the princess greets her with a petal in one clawed hand, and a thorn in the other. "Welcome, jailer," she says in her hoarse, bear-deep voice, tongue a bloody flicker between nightmare fangs; "Choose our fate."

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Anyway, here is the link to the current ficathon, if you want to come play too. :)

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( 1. ) For caramelsilver: Narnia, Susan, to be, written 12/5/17 [AO3 version]

that have chalked forth the way (200 words)

Susan examined the grassy depression between the trees with a considering eye: once it might have held a pool, and thus a universe now dead and forgotten, or it might have waited dry and quiet as long as the Wood had stood in this place between places, wrapped in green and silent slumber, but either way it held potential.

Archimedes once claimed that, given a lever and a place to stand, he would move the earth; he had dreamed too small.

Shaking the Wood's lethargy from her shoulders, Susan unscrewed her canteen and poured its contents -- ordinary London tap water, drawn from her kitchen sink after the breakfast washing-up and before she wrote a letter explaining her absence to her landlady -- into the deepest part of the hollow, until a little marshy pocket formed, and then, before it could all seep away and be lost, she touched the green Ring in her pocket and stepped into the puddle; "Be," she told the seed of a universe, teetering on the edge of life, and as the magic took hold and swirled her downward through darkness and stars, she wondered what she might find in this newborn world of her own making.

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( 2. ) For lizzie_marie_23: Narnia, Edmund, network, written 12/5/17 [AO3 version]

hope, like roads across the earth (250 words)

"The old road went along the north side of the Glasswater -- you can still see a few paving stones under the moss on that eyot -- but the naiads must have shifted the riverbed during the Winter and now we'll either have to petition them to allow a ford to the southern bank, or cut a new path through the forest around those hills; going straight up would make too steep a grade for carts and staying this close to the water risks mudslides or washouts after heavy rain," said Steelclaw the Badger, newly appointed head of the Royal Surveyors, as she painstakingly corrected her century-old topographical map with a greasy pencil.

Edmund sighed and kicked the potholed, grass-choked ruts of the old stone road they'd traced westward from the coast; "Let's stick a pin in that question until the census finishes and we have more than hearsay and guesses about where people actually live, and which villages the repatriates are likely to rebuild," he said, then added in response to Steelclaw's frown, "I know good craftsmanship is its own reward, but we don't have the budget to repair roads to places nobody lives anymore."

Reestablishing Narnia's transportation network was a lot more work than he'd imagined on his way to the Witch's castle, but he supposed that was always the way of things; real life involved much more drudgery, sore feet, and embarrassing mistakes, but unlike enchantments and spiteful dreams that melted like ice in summer, things built honestly would last.

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( 3. ) For anonymous: Any, any, a million birds on the branches of my heart, written 12/6/17 [AO3 version]

you can be me when I'm gone (125 words)

Cherubs aren't meant to love, no more than a forest loves the myriad creatures that shelter in its branches, but somehow Calliope's alternate self -- weak and dominated by her brother, with no notion of her powers nor intent to use them -- has learned to trace the flight of individual birds, to walk among them and care about their fate.

She isn't very good at it yet, Calliope thinks, but she has time and life to practice, and friends to help her on her way; she'll learn and change, the way Calliope herself will never manage, too fixed on her eternal war with Caliborn and her chance to finally make an end.

As the singularity swallows her forever, Calliope watches her other self fly free of the game, and smiles.

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( 4. ) For lizzie_marie_23: Othello/Macbeth, Iago & or / Lady Macbeth, "I'll fleece him presently", written 12/6/17 [AO3 version, now with entirely iambic pentameter dialogue!]

When in Rome (300 words exactly)

The Scottish queen has some sin on her soul, as is true for most who hold power; Iago would not care but that some pang of conscience (or the need to mask herself with piety) drives her to bestow gold upon Venice's war with Turk, through the medium of his general, come south to Rome to bargain with the Pope for peace on land so that Venice may focus on the islands and the sea.

He pours his own share into Othello's hands, save for one gold coin -- "That is recompense to Emilia, for her lost chance at praying before Peter's throne," he says in answer to the Moor's questioning glance, "but you need courting gifts more than I these days, to win fair Desdemona's troth" -- and smiles and shrugs when Othello laughs and warns him not to be too honest lest he destroy his marriage.

"My husband swore loyalty to a king who showed him little favor in return," the queen murmurs unexpectedly in Iago's ear as Othello strides away, and he fights down his reflexive reach for his absent sword; "I do think you forged of similar metal, in which case I remind you that such fruitless generosity to careless lords serves strong men ill in the end."

He is rarely impulsive, nor prone to show his hand, and yet he bends his head to brush his lips against her white hand, the picture of a simple soldier awed and fumbling before a highborn foreign lady, however barbarous and northern her land, and murmurs in return: "I know. And I shall fleece him presently."

"Honest indeed," says the Scottish queen, and though she rubs her knuckles as if to wash away his kiss, she smiles like daggers in the night, one sinner to an equally stained soul.

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Note: The time periods of these plays do not match up AT ALL, but what the heck, let's pretend! :) Double fill, and also a triple drabble.

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( 5. ) For iawenbemerry: The Defenders, Foggy, aftermath, written 12/8/17 [AO3 version]

for the living (300 words)

The thing about an unexpected death is that it unleashes a flood of huge, wrenching, and time-sensitive decisions exactly when the people left behind are worst equipped to handle those responsibilities.

Foggy's used to being the person hired to take some of that weight off other people's shoulders, and now he thinks he might have been underselling his services, based on how much he wants to curl up under an afghan, sleep the clock around, and let someone else sort through the detritus of Matt's life; but there isn't anyone else he trusts to both keep Matt's secrets and make sensible, legally-defensible choices about bequests and taxes and stock portfolios -- except Karen, of course, but executing Matt's will, clearing out his apartment, cancelling his delivery services, telling Josie he wouldn't be swinging by the bar anymore... all of that would hurt her just as badly as it hurts Foggy and if nothing else he wants to save her from these extra shards of glass in the heart.

"I hope your religion is right enough about heaven and stuff that you're up there hugging your dad right now," Foggy says to the ceiling as he sits on the bare floor of Matt's stripped apartment, drinking the last bottle of Matt's shitty imported beer, "but as soon as you're done with the reunion, you should look down and start feeling guilty about the mess you left, just like I said you would, you asshole; you don't get to be perfectly happy without me and Karen," and if he closes his eyes and pretends he can hear Matt's rueful, self-deprecating laugh, that's between nobody but him and Hell's Kitchen, and this neighborhood can keep one last secret for the idiot who poured out his life in its name.

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( 6. ) For anonymous: Any, any, do not weep, maiden, for war is kind, written 12/8/17 [AO3 version]

Three Views of Alternia (100 words exactly)

War is kind: it brings power, wealth, and everything Meenah dreamed of as a wiggler, a whole world within her grasp to shape to her smallest whim.

War is kind: it kills clean and quick, unlike the waking death of regrets and degradation that grinds Porrim down, until her owner's play at love almost seems a comfort instead of another violation.

War is kind: it paints a story vast as the heavens, that will last as long as the empire, and Aranea weaves herself into the center where her death will set the capstone on the rebellion's inevitable, glorious defeat.

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More to follow at some point, probably!