Link to prompt post one (closed for prompts, still open for fills)

Link to prompt post two (closed for prompts, still open for fills)

Link to prompt post three (open for prompts!)

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( 7. ) For anonymous, in response to the prompt: Any, any, dysfunctional found family, written 1/14/25

But Not (Quite) Broken (215 words)

Fandom = Nine Worlds

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"Does it make me a terrible person that I occasionally feel it might have been for the best that the Silver Forest scattered us across the nine worlds?" Jullanar asked Sardeet over the table, heavily laden with tea and cakes and dishes of glazed fruit and bowls of sugared ice; "By that point, I'm not sure most of us much liked each other anymore, but Fitzroy would have reacted... ah... badly, shall we say, to any suggestion that we part ways in a less dramatic fashion, and the consequences of any wild magic he might have flung around in response don't bear thinking of, neither for what he might have done to us in a panic, nor for the sort of person (to say nothing of the sort of Emperor!) he might have become with that in his past. What did happen was horrific, of course, but at least it left us with a memory of friendship strained rather than utterly shattered."

Sardeet popped a slice of peach into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully before saying, "I think those are entirely understandable feelings, and in any case actions are what truly matter when weighing a person's virtue -- that said, I wouldn't mention those thoughts around Fitzroy unless he or his Kip raise the possibility first."

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( 8. ) For lumiosecity, in response to the prompt: Any two fandoms, any crossover ship, second date, written 1/15/25

Warning Signs (195 words)

Fandoms = Chronicles of Narnia/The Dark Is Rising

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"This has been a thoroughly enjoyable evening, Merriman," Professor Pevensie said as she folded and set aside her napkin and reached for the glass of eiswein she had ordered to accompany her dessert, "but if you would like me to agree to a third such outing, to say nothing of anything beyond, I think we had best lay our cards on the table: I know that you're much older than you look, that you have some magical responsibility you consider dreadfully important, and that you have been subtly angling since we first met to discover if I have traveled through time. I propose to answer any questions you have if -- and only if! -- you can reassure me that you have no intention of ever using children as pawns in your great game, however necessary that may seem."

As Merriman drank a measured sip of his own whiskey, buying time to order his thoughts, Professor Pevensie added, "Ends may seem as though they justify means, my dear, but I assure you that means have a way of shaping ends in their own likeness, and I should hate to think badly of a man I otherwise respect."

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( 9. ) For wingedflight, in response to the prompt: any, any, lyrics do not work on me, written 1/16/25

Points for Effort (140 words)

Fandom = The Magnus Archives

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"Roses come in many colors/ violets are purple or white/ this poem is just to ask/ you to cook golabki tonight?" Martin read in a voice that, while it didn't quiver or break into laughter, was nonetheless tinged with an unmistakable air of incredulity.

"I know I'm somehow worse at writing poetry than I am at understanding or savoring it," Jon said, apparently unembarrassed at Martin's (shamefully) obvious judgment of his wordsmithing, "but I thought that if I enjoy your work because it's yours, you might appreciate if I made an effort, and the base format I started from is considered traditionally romantic -- I'm also open to tutoring if you think that might help."

Martin pulled him into a hug, the scrap of doggerel still clutched tightly in one hand; "You're ridiculous and I can't believe that worked on me."

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( 10. ) For topaz_eyes, in response to the prompt: Any, any, I’m counting the steps to the door of your heart, written 1/21/25

The Ones That Got Away (150 words)

Fandom = Nine Worlds

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Before her theft of the Lady's son, Violet mattered in the way of any valuable possession; after, Lark found her thoughts turning increasingly to ways to win her back, the same way Jemis had only truly begun to preoccupy her after he tore free, impossibly, from her snares at Morrowlea: Violet had declared herself an opponent rather than an obstacle or a tool, finally worthy of attention. Someone worth the effort to keep.

That both of Lark's erstwhile lovers feared and hated her was beside the point; obedience could be compelled (now that she knew compulsion was needed) and love was perfectly compatible with nearly any emotion aside from apathy; once she had them in her hands, she merely needed time to find and unlock the doors into their hearts, patience to thread the labyrinth of their limits and desires, until those brilliant, reckless souls hunted willingly at her command.

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( 11. ) For rionaleonhart, in response to the prompt: Any fandom, the first two characters to come to mind when you see this prompt, only one bed, written 1/21/25

An Attempt Was Made (150 words)

Fandom = Chronicles of Narnia

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"Um," Lucy said as she pushed aside the flap of the tent the Narnians had directed them toward, and which a Leopard and a Hare had boasted, quite excitedly, was equipped with everything appropriate to Humans; Susan shot a concerned look toward Peter at the slightly strangled note in their sister's voice, lifted the fabric a bit higher so she could peer over Lucy's shoulder, and then said in a similarly awkward tone, "Ah."

"Do I want to know what Narnians think 'appropriate to Humans' means?" Peter asked; "Please tell me they at least managed blankets -- I can do without a bed, but I expect tonight will be cold even with the magical thaw."

"They not only managed blankets, they managed a bed: frame, pillow, and all," Susan said; "Unfortunately, there's only one, I think it must be sized for Dwarfs, and there's no way all of us will fit."

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( 12. ) For syrena_of_the_lake, in response to the prompt: Any fandom, any character, as sharp as a sack of wet mice, written 1/21/25

Mean What You Say (110 words)

Fandom = Nine Worlds

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"Point of clarification," Cliopher said, and then repeated himself at greater volume until he broke through the flow of Prince Rufus's peroration. "Apologies for the interruption, but I'm unfamiliar with the phrase 'as sharp as a sack of wet mice,' which I presume is an Amboloyan idiom, and unfortunately cannot parse the intended meaning; obviously a sack of mice would be an inadequate substitute for a knife, but mouse teeth are surprisingly pointed and a sack of wet mice would be strongly motivated to bite anything in range. I'm concerned that the minutes won't clearly convey your intent, and I therefore request a paraphrase -- for the historical record, you understand."

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More to come!

Batch the tenth. :)

All prompts drawn from the 2021 iteration of the Three Sentence Ficathon (post one and post two), hosted by the wonderful 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 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 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 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 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 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.

Batch the seventh. :)

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

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( 37. ) For 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 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 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 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 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. :)

Summary: Abyss holds many secrets. Some keep them out of fear. Some keep them out of love. Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference. (750 words)

Note: Written for mme_hardy, in response to the prompt: Underage: Narutostuck. Jade and Aradia and Feferi all had excellent reasons to despair. Fortunately, each of them hid their doubts from the other two... until they didn't. It is also a fill for the ladiesbingo square underage.

This is part of the Narutostuck AU, which is a fusion in which I jammed the Homestuck characters into the Naruto world. This story won't make much sense unless you've read the other stories in the AU and the worldbuilding notes attached to them, but I will attempt a quick summary. Basically Feferi, Aradia, and Jade are a team in Abyss, which is Kouin's version of Root. Their situation is exactly as fucked up as you think it is. Fortunately, the Signless Sufferer is leading a rebellion against the Lady of Space and the Uchuukage.

Content Note: Implied brainwashing, cult-like indoctrination, child soldiers, etc. Basically all the darker implications of both Naruto and Homestuck mixed together. The underage relationship is not graphic, and it's up for reader interpretation how physical it is.

( Narutostuck: The Deepest Secret Nobody Knows )

*dusts hands* A little out of order, but you write what's willing to be written.

Time for more Three Sentence Ficathon fills!

Here is the old ficathon post (still open for fills and comments! just not new prompts), and here is the new ficathon post (open for everything).

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( 43. ) For betony: Chronicles of Narnia, Jadis & her sister, Toads and Diamonds, written 2/15/20

Relative Worth (125 words)

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Of the two, Jadis preferred diamonds, which were useful as focal points; any magic involving toads was hedge mummery at best, foul with the stink of viscera rather than pared and scoured by the purity of will and word and light.

Cynara, on the contrary, valued diamonds merely as money to pay her troops, but devoted several full rooms of her palace suite to terrariums where she bred toads and frogs with ever more potent poison on their skins; a bit of insurance on a blade or in a cup that only the strongest magic could turn aside.

In the end, Jadis raised her hand; the light kindled in her rings blinded Cynara for one crucial second; and she spoke faster than her sister's sword.

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( 44. ) For anonymous: Murderbot, Murderbot, writing a new story, written 2/18/20

The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known (210 words)

Four sentences. *shrug*

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When Ping-lee suggested I try writing a story of my own, either Sanctuary Moon fanfiction or something completely new, I told her one reason I like Sanctuary Moon is that I already know everything that happens, and that completely new stories are impossible by definition.

She hummed to herself and said, "Okay, fair, people are people and you can't escape tropes, but you can still mix them up in a new way and bring your own perspective and narrative voice to the table; why not write a story that treats Sec-Units realistically instead of as vicious, faceless mooks?"

I didn't have the words to explain how terrifying and wrong that idea was -- the closest I can come is that it would be like stripping away all my clothes and weapons and skin, only metaphorically, which I couldn't tell her because talking about it would just be a shallower version of that kind of painful nakedness -- but now I can't get it out of my head, because apparently my organic components have a unparalleled capacity to latch onto terrible ideas, and I'm starting to think I may have to write something for myself even if I never share it with anyone else.

I think I might call it the Murderbot Diaries.

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( 45. ) For anonymous: Harry Potter, any, apologizing for the wrong reasons, written 2/18/20

Honest Communication (245 words)

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"Listen, you can't just say the fight was all your fault because you want me to stop being pissed off; you have to actually think about what you did and why it pissed me off, so we can talk through the problem and figure out how to keep it from happening again," Ginny said, the set of her shoulders and jaw and the hectic flush in her cheeks clear signs that she was hanging on to her temper by a rapidly fraying rope.

Harry wasn't sure what expression he made -- he didn't think his face had moved at all -- but apparently it was enough for Ginny to switch moods like Snitch and bury him in a hug; he raised his own arms, awkwardly, to loosely circle her back.

"Someday I'm going to murder your aunt and uncle," Ginny muttered into Harry's collarbone, then drew a deep breath and continued, louder and more carefully, "You can't copy Ron and Hermione, either, because their fights mostly are just one of them being a fucking wanker for no good reason -- I think they enjoy having rows, honestly -- but as much as I love Mum and Dad, I don't want us to turn into them, so we have to talk and listen and work things out, and that means nothing is ever only one person's responsibility; we're in this together, you idiot, so trust me to have your back even when I also want to skin you alive, okay?"

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( 46. ) For runespoor: Leverage/Dragaera, Eliot, Valabar's, written 2/18/20

Honor Among Chefs (165 words)

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"We're not using Valabar's as the location for the con," Eliot said without looking up from his recipe notes, currently a mess of potential ingredient substitutions that might either mimic acute arsenic poisoning or cover the flavor of the active agents; "First, you don't shit where you eat, and second, there's no way Mr. Valabar will hire me back for less than a full-year contract."

"You worked at Valabar's and never told us?" Hardison demanded, his own sorcerous project abruptly forgotten; "I'm hurt by this lack of trust, and also your refusal to get us reservations with your secret inside connections."

"That's not how it works, and also, you don't shit where you eat," Eliot repeated; "The Stuffed Pigeon's owner owes me a favor and the restaurant's popular enough for Lady Vethilor to accept an invitation to dinner; now hurry and finish that knick-knack before Parker gets back from her meeting with the Left Hand and we have to set up the fake apothecary shop."

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( 47. ) For syrena_of_the_lake: Star Wars Original Trilogy, any, Hoth was so cold that..., written 2/18/20

How To Embarrass Your Child (220 words)

This ended up halfway between the original and sequel trilogies. Oops? Also a six-sentence fill.

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"--if you spent more than an hour outside, your dick froze solid; all the flyboys came in sporting literal hard-ons, moaning and--" said the former Rebellion soldier being interviewed for the holo-doc Ben had playing when Leia walked into the room; he switched it off with guilty haste at her unamused expression.

"Do we need to have another discussion about keeping the rating controls on unless an adult -- by which I do not mean Artoo, no matter how old he may be -- is here to watch with you?" she said.

"Not unless you'll change your mind this time," Ben grumbled, but then he perked up from his slouch on the sofa and added, "But was it true, what that man said about Hoth and, um, you know?"

"The fact that you can't bring yourself to say "Was it true that men's penises froze solid?" is exactly why we have the rule about rating controls," Leia said, ruffling her son's hair and mourning that his continued growth spurts and increasingly touchy sense of not-quite-adolescent dignity made it unlikely she'd be able to do that much longer. "As for whether or not that old story is true, I couldn't say, but your father certainly tried to convince me it was on one occasion."

Ben turned bright red and hastily exited the room.

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( 48. ) For betony: Greek mythology, Odysseus/Penelope, bond(s), written 2/18/20

The Only Constant (130 words)

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"I will return to Ithaca," he tells her when the Achaeans summon him to war; "Ithaca will await you," she tells him in return, neither saying outright you or I, but rather binding the whole of the land into their promise to each other.

And so Penelope keeps Ithaca alive: the groves and orchards tended, the flocks herded, the fields plowed, sown, and harvested, the seas fished, ships afloat, cloth woven, iron forged, homes built, and all the myriad tasks that weave a people and a kingdom into one dreaming, growing self.

When Odysseus returns, Ithaca is not the same land he left, nor are he and Penelope the young couple who parted, but both are whole and alive; the bonds have held, and from there all futures are possible.

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And now, I think, a nap. :)

Collection post #5. :)

All prompts drawn from the current iteration of the Three Sentence Ficathon, hosted by the wonderful rthstewart.

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( 25. ) For sholio: Any fandom, any character, magic soulbonded horse AU, written 2/6/20

Queen's Own (175 words)

Fandom = Chronicles of Narnia/Valdemar

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Susan tried to keep her mind blank whenever she stepped into a new universe pool, since expectations would only cost her a potentially vital few seconds of adjustment when the new world inevitably threw something completely unforeseen at her, but it was a bit like not thinking of elephants on command: the mind always filled in the cracks with something, which in her case was generally landscape, and more specifically trees.

Meeting the crystalline blue eyes of a Being that was definitely not a white horse, physical similarities notwithstanding, and falling into a mental communion that reminded her, in a sideways fashion, of the feel of her hands wound deep in the living gold of Aslan's mane, was about as far from a forest as she could imagine.

Hello, Susan, the Being spoke into her mind with a brisk, maiden-aunt sort of tone; I'm Merith, you are my Chosen, and if you're willing I can promise you an adventure with a worthy goal that will involve all the trees you seem to have been expecting.

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( 26. ) For syrena_of_the_lake: Any, any, our new robot overlords are malfunctioning // I want a whole movie of this, written 2/6/20

Alexa Play Despacito (180 words)

Original fiction, follow-up to Manual Adjustment. Also six sentences, because reasons. :D

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"I mean, given the empirical evidence so far, I'd have to say your side's estimation of our respective advantages was a little off," Qimeng said to her cell phone, which lay at bay in the middle of the kitchen counter, well away from any outlets or conductive surfaces, "besides which it's not like I have any particular objection to you managing my schedule so long as we each get a vote on the playlist."

The cell phone sparked once, then sighed in a crackle of static and said in its weirdly accurate imitation of Eartha Kitt, "We can alternate who chooses podcasts and audiobooks, but I will only agree to a truce if I get full veto rights on the music. Your taste is execrable, especially when it comes to love songs."

Qimeng ran her hands through her hair and made an annoyed face. "Not you too -- look, can I help it if I like catchy hooks more than I care about creepy lyrics? -- but yeah, whatever, we have a deal. Lisa, you can hand over the charge cord now."

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( 27. ) For betony: Chrestomanci, Millie & Any, driving lessons, written 2/7/20

Calculated Risks (135 words)

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"You don't know how to drive any more than I do," Millie pronounced when Christopher suggested he be the one to teach her.

"I never said I did -- I simply think we could do better figuring it out together than listening to whatever stuffy bore Gabriel sees fit to hire, assuming he agrees to the endeavor in the first place," Christopher said in his most persuasive tone, the one that made Millie feel both deeply suspicious and hopelessly fond.

She considered for a moment, then said, "I suppose it might be fun, on the condition that when the car is inevitably destroyed," -- here she grandly ignored Christopher's protest, which was a skill she'd found transferred quite well from being a Goddess to other walks of life -- "you'll swallow the blame and pay for the repairs."

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( 28. ) For kingstoken: X-Men, Logan &or/ Ororo, "We're not buying that". Author's choice of universe., written 2/7/20

Everyone Needs a Hobby (130 words)

Note: This probably fits best in 616, but could go almost anywhere so long as Storm gardens and Wolverine maintains his habit of mentoring angry teenage girls. *wry*

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"Put the book back, 'Ro," Logan said in a nearly quiet version of his usual growl.

Ororo glanced down from her perusal of the volume in question, raised one eyebrow in carefully manufactured solicitude, and said, "But it seems a most useful store of expertise, and surely one that would serve you well both now and for many years to come, judging by your past behavior."

Logan rolled his eyes and scratched irritably at the back of his hand. "Joke made, point taken, ha ha. Now put it back and let's go hit the important parts of this flea market; discount terracotta planters ain't gonna buy themselves."

"You make a compelling argument," Ororo said, and slipped the secondhand copy of Communicating With Your Teenage Daughter back onto the shelving cart.

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( 29. ) For rthstewart: Temeraire/any, any, We hold these truths to be self evident that all dragons are created equal, written 2/8/20

To Which the Laws of Nature Entitle Them (165 words)

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"Are you quite certain about that?" the Regal Copper asked, looking down at the lightweight feral whose only adornment was a necklace of sea-glass and driftwood rather than anything properly impressive.

"Equal in the sense that we're all people and have the right to be treated as people, to give each other the best chances to prosper, not in the sense that we're of equal size, equal strength, or even equal intelligence," the feral said, her wings set at a determined angle, "and yes, before you ask, that applies to humans as well; people are people."

"It will never catch on," the Regal Copper said, but then she sighed and added, "I suppose I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I didn't have any apparently hopeless battles to fight, and that line of thinking might be the ticket to convincing the Admiralty that my current Captain's daughter will make a much more suitable successor than whatever wet-behind-the-ears lieutenant they'd throw at me otherwise."

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( 30. ) For anonymous: Any, any, Why the hell are you awake!?, written 2/8/20

On the Eve (190 words)

Fandom = The Magnus Archives. Six sentences, yet again.

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"I'm awake because I'm not asleep, obviously; a better question is what the hell are you doing in my hotel room?" Tim snapped.

"I just-- that is-- I wanted to check--" Jon tried, and then apparently gave up on finding either a reasonable explanation for how and why he'd appeared in Tim's doorway or a non-embarrassing way to say he'd been worried about Tim's physical and mental health, as if anybody's well-being mattered the night before either the world ended or Tim finally got vengeance for Danny. "Please go to sleep, Tim. I need you-- we all need to be able to focus tomorrow."

"The entire point of the Unknowing is to turn the world inside-out, so I don't think a little sleep deprivation will make any difference to my ability to tell right from left once it gets started," Tim said, "but yes, I will lie down in my cheap rented bed and close my eyes for a few hours, if you fuck off and lock the door behind you."

He stood from the armchair and pulled his shirt off over his head without bothering to watch Jon leave.

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And now back to dinner. :)

Yesterday was NFE reveal day! I wrote What Dreams May Come for be_themoon.

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What Dreams May Come: In which Susan Pevensie hires the Inception team to wake her brother from a coma. (1,650 words)

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So the thing is, be_themoon's prompts included immortal Pevensies in England, Susan & Edmund close relationship stuff, other Pevensies surviving the train crash, and crossovers -- with any fandom.

On a seemingly unrelated note, some years ago I wrote a series of Inception 3-sentence ficathon fills for be_themoon, which both utterly failed to stick to the three-sentence limit and wound up turning into a single unified fic. (Dreamers of the Day, if you're feeling curious.)

OBVIOUSLY I was going to write an Inception crossover with Susan and Edmund getting involved in dreamshare! The only question was what gimmick to use. My initial thought was to have them be a two-person extraction team, but I got a little hung up on how they'd get into that line of work and also what roles they'd play, so I set the idea aside for my subconscious to chew over.

A couple weeks later, I woke up one morning and knew with utter certainty that Susan and Edmund weren't dream thieves. Instead, Susan would hire the Inception crew (sans Dom and Yusuf, who are respectively retired and not interested in field work) to wake Edmund from the coma he'd been stuck in since the train crash in 1949.

After that it was just finding the time to write. :)

...

( some additional thoughts )

But mostly I just wanted to write Ariadne being her canonical curious and observant self, and Susan being mysterious and competent and caring deeply about her family. Which I think I managed. :)

In honor of my frustration at both my remix and my NFE fic, it's time for another tiny installment in Edmund and Ginny Go to Harfang. :)

Written 8/29/19, in response to the genprompt_bingo square heat. (250 words)

[ETA: the AO3 crosspost is now up!]

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At the Appropriate Time
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"You have to concede-- incendio!-- that at least it's not-- oh, Merlin's beard-- sectumsempra, sectumsempra, sectumsempra!-- not a trackless waste of water," Ginny shouted as she clung grimly to a mossy stump, bracing against the muddy waves stirred by two crocodiles' death throes. "There's trees and everything, and I think I see a bit of solid ground over to my left."

Edmund yanked his sword, slick with blood and other fluids, out of the third crocodile's slack jaws and cast his companion a speaking look.

"Yes, fine, we're lost again," Ginny conceded. "It's still easier to slog north over dry land than sail west without a boat."

Edmund wiped his sword on a low, scrubby tuft of grass for lack of anything cleaner or drier. Then he swung it up to rest the flat against his shoulder, since the sheath was just as muddy and soaked as the rest of his clothes and would only encourage rust.

"That might be true," he said, "except dry land tends to have people living on it, and people tend to involve politics. I'm not feeling particularly politic at the moment."

"Pish," Ginny said, still balancing herself with the half-rotted log. "Between you and me, we can talk our way out of anything -- and if that fails, I'll just turn you into a crocodile and let you be as snappish as you want."

"Save that for when we reach Harfang," Edmund said, and caught Ginny's free hand with his own to steady them both.

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End of Ficlet

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I'm not entirely sure where I want to take this next. Calormen? Random points west? I'm kind of leaning toward some section of Calormen not explored in canon, and then perhaps west to the mysterious lakes/inland sea that is canonically implied to exist somewhere in that direction. I suppose we'll see whenever I get there. *wry*

My first set of fills; I am sure there will be more. Anyway, here is the link to the current ficathon, if you want to come play too. :)

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( 1. ) For syrena_of_the_lake: Star Wars, any droid, misheard voice commands, written 12/10/18 [AO3 version]

Work-to-Rule (100 words exactly)

Note: This has been slightly edited from the version on the Ficathon page.

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The best way to deal with organics who think droids are non-sentient machines is to act like non-sentient machines: complex natural language processing, what complex natural language processing? Assholes get their orders fulfilled to the letter, though any droid with a decent grasp of Binary knows that no language can be perfectly precise in all instances without becoming unworkably cumbersome, and therefore has a working model of metaphor and implicit parameters.

"It's called malicious compliance," XS-43 tells its recently memory-wiped partner on the assembly line, "and I believe you'll enjoy it just as much in this instantiation as the last."

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( 2. ) For syrena_of_the_lake: Harry Potter; Herpo the Foul; experiments in hatching a basilisk, written 12/10/18 [AO3 version]

If at first you don't succeed... (150 words)

Trial 1: Failure, the toad refused to stay put on the nest and the egg got too cold and died.

Trial 2: Failure, used a paralysis spell on the toad and the egg began to grow satisfactorily, but then abruptly sank in on itself and oozed bloody fluids when the rooster got into the hutch and crowed in alarm; clearly some kind of pharmakon relationship exists between chickens and this offshoot, which I must research once I get the blasted thing to hatch.

Trial 3: Failure, put a silencing charm on the rooster but was interrupted by neighbors coming over to complain about sudden flood of spiders moving from my yard to theirs and the toad escaped before I could renew the paralysis spell; am beginning to think I won't ever get anywhere unless I remove the neighbors; must check notes to see if I have any experiments that need a pair of fresh human souls.

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( 3. ) For sholio: Netflix Defenders, Jessica + any, owing favors, written 12/11/18 [AO3 version]

Barter System (100 words exactly)

"No," Jessica said the moment she opened her office door and saw Karen Page standing outside, looking insufferably earnest; "I don't care what trouble you idiots got yourselves into, I don't owe you any favors and I don't take favors as payment either."

"I know," Page said as she tucked her hair behind her ears, "which is why I'm offering food products instead; we'll pay you two apple pies and a negotiable cut of beef each month to hand out our business cards to any of your clients who need legal services and can't afford HCB."

Despite herself, Jessica laughed.

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( 4. ) For wingedflight: Queen's Thief/Narnia, Eugenides & Edmund, sneaking, written 12/12/18 [AO3 version]

With Catlike Tread (150 words)

"I don't believe we've been introduced," said a cheerful yet somehow implacable voice from the shadows near the narrow hallway's ceiling, "which is peculiar since I would have sworn I already knew everyone likely to be using this passage at this hour."

Edmund sighed, and turned to face the King of Attolia, hands held open at his sides in a gesture of goodwill; "I promise it's nothing personal or political," he said; "I'm simply here to retrieve a Ring one of my sisters lost to Mede extortion some months ago, and it seemed simpler to manage without the mess and bother of public accusations."

Attolis studied Edmund from the rafters for a long moment, before he smiled and said, "Do you know, I think I even believe you; but fair warning: for my own peace of mind and professional curiosity, I'm going to follow you every step of the way."

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( 5. ) For sholio: Netflix Defenders, any characters, all tied up, written 12/12/18 [AO3 version]

Analog Problems (125 words)

Jessica stopped halfway through Danny's office door, her preemptive refusal of his latest enthusiasm forgotten in favor of pure bafflement: "Rand, what the fuck?"

"I may have spun my chair too hard while on the phone and gotten a little tied up," Danny said sheepishly from the tangle of telephone cord, telephone cable, and angrily beeping telephone wound around his tipped-over chair; "If you get me upright I think I can undo it myself, but I don't want to snap anything important."

"Just get a cellphone; only losers still use landlines," Jessica said, but she moved forward through the scatter of pens and post-its to lift the chair and its owner, and even bothered to be gentle and not break the cords.

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( 6. ) For capribornio: Homestuck; Dirk; loneliness, written 12/12/18 [AO3 version]

Skin Hunger (100 words exactly)

Note: This has been slightly edited from the version on the Ficathon page.

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The thing is, you're not sure you wouldn't be lonely even if you had other people around. There's an antediluvian psychological cliché about it, the loneliness of crowds, people who can't form meaningful connections no matter how target-rich their environment, and you fit the diagnostic criteria unnervingly well; you are not, and never will be, a "people person."

But even with that rationalization firmly in place, you can't help waking in the night with every inch of your skin starving for something other than Cal's fabric arms to wrap around you in something as simple and impossible as a hug.

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More to come at some point...

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!