the deep moans round with many voices

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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( 55. ) For betony: Howl series, Howl/Sophie, she comes in colors everywhere, written 2/21/20

And Set Such Colour There (130 words)

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One of the tribulations of sharing a bathroom and a magical workroom with Howl was that he was both extremely vain and bad at organizing his things, which frequently led to annoyances like hair dyes left on the shelf with rare and expensive spell ingredients, or failed experimental potions clogging the shower drain.

And then, very occasionally, more drastic problems reared their metaphorical head -- or rather, Sophie's head, which was now covered in hair dyed every shade of the rainbow and possibly several others that didn't, strictly speaking, exist in the human range of vision.

"I don't see why you're complaining," Howl said; "Consider my feelings for a minute -- how on earth am I meant to find a suit that won't clash hideously with at least part of your hair?"

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( 56. ) For anonymous: Harry Potter, muggleborn students, the benefits and/or hardships of continuing to keep up with muggle schoolwork (especially math), written 2/21/20

Mathemagics (105 words)

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"Why do you bother?" Alice's roommates asked every now and then, when she theatrically collapsed over her trigonometry textbook or painstakingly worked and reworked physics and chemistry equations late into the night; "It's not like you need any of that to go into charms or potions professionally."

"Yes, but I need to understand all this in order to get a degree in electrical engineering," Alice responded, "and I need that because you can't jam magic and science together and expect the results to work if you only understand one side. And I am going to make a cell phone that runs on magic, or else."

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( 57. ) For anonymous: Any, any, "if things get any better I'll have to hire somebody to help me enjoy it", written 2/21/20

Eutrophication (155 words)

Fandom = The Magnus Archives.

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"Help you undo the apocalypse? Why on earth should I do that? Look around you, Jon. The world is so easy to twist now, so many minds strained almost past bearing; I hardly need to do more than whisper and they tip over the edge and lose themselves forever. If things get any better, I'll have to hire somebody to help me enjoy it."

"It won't last, Helen. When the world is so easy to twist that everyone is already half-broken, there's nothing left to offer contrast. Even the most careful monster can't keep victims from burning out eventually -- trust me, I know -- and when every human's hope is exhausted, what's left for them to fear? What's left for us to eat?"

A long, crackling sigh, echoing despite the lack of surfaces to reflect the sound. "Yes. I know. But not just yet. Let me enjoy myself a little longer before you close the doors."

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( 58. ) For anonymous: Any, any, but still I have trouble with/ most days and nights, written 2/21/20

Circadian Arrhythmia (200 words)

Fandom = The Magnus Archives

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Denise sleeps in the daytime now -- the dark is out of the question, since it literally grew fangs and claws and tried to eat her, and electric lights are either too harsh or too feeble to burn away her fear -- and it's wreaking havoc on her schedule and her health. What she really needs is to find a night job, some kind of shift work where she goes in at dinner and leaves at sunrise, but good luck finding an office job with that kind of schedule; instead, she's been studying a bit of programming in the empty, tooth-clenched hours between sundown and sunrise, and maybe soon she'll be able to wrangle some kind of telecommuting thing or gig work where they don't care about when you clock in or out so long as your projects are done on time.

Until then, she collapses into bed the moment she gets home, only to wake in terror as the streetlights blink on; mainlines caffeine through the nights; and as dawn creeps gray and tremulous through her curtains, snatches a few more precious hours of escape into a world where the worst a shadow has done is sway unexpectedly with the wind.

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( 59. ) For syrena_of_the_lake: Any, any, cow tools (based on the Far Side cartoon), written 2/22/20

Traditional Pursuits (130 words)

Fandom = Chronicles of Narnia

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"But what are they for?" people constantly asked Alberta when they stopped by her booth at the monthly fair to prod and turn and wave about the various pieces of ceramic and wooden hoof-work she had on display.

"They're for solving Cow problems," Alberta said serenely each time, before gathering up her wares (their number sometimes slightly reduced; she did occasionally have Bovine customers, or people who bought her work as some type of artistic statement) into two panniers and heading home.

There was something wonderfully relaxing about private jokes, to say nothing of the meditative aspect of shaping and then destroying random bits of junk; but really, how could so many otherwise intelligent Narnians fail to notice that the only items her fellow Cows ever purchased were the back-scratchers?

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( 60. ) For syrena_of_the_lake: Firefly, any, whisky for my men and beer for my horses, written 2/22/20

Don't Explain the Metaphor (100 words)

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"More efficient to give beer to my men and whiskey to my engines," Kaylee said with a smile made loose and easy by an evening of good food and good sex, followed by Simon letting her curl up and cuddle with only token protest. "Volatiles'll fuck up a combustion engine's pipes pretty damn quick, not like pure ethanol, but until then you'll get at least a little bang for your buck. Beer's so watery you could practically use it to put out fires -- oh! -- which I guess is why you'd be giving it to your horses in the first place."

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Sixty fills! \o/

And now I am going to finish my tea before heading off to Not the IRS for a short afternoon shift with one confirmed appointment, because jobs keep happening even when you'd rather stay home and play with words. *wry*

I suddenly realized I hadn't posted any fic in May, so here, have a quick strict-form drabble in the Leaf and Letter AU.

Note: This fic was written in response to the prompt no, when i said i wanted you to help clean the house i did NOT mean you should do it wearing only, exclusively stockings, you insolent FOOL from snogfairy's wholesome domestic prompts list.

[AO3 version]

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The Letter of the Law
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"Beloved, I'm sure you have a pseudo-logical explanation involving an attempt to keep your clothes from accidental destruction at the hands of assorted chemical concoctions, but that," said Rose, "is not an appropriate house-cleaning outfit."

Jade glanced down at her sports bra, boy shorts, and red-and-white striped knee-high socks, and shrugged. "Okay. I'll fix it." She set down the sponge and bucket and began unhooking her bra.

"That's not what I meant!"

Jade waggled her eyebrows. "Be more specific next time, then," she said, and stripped off the boy shorts too.

Rose sprayed her with the kitchen sink's hose attachment.

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End of Ficlet

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There, I have written a thing. :)

Aka, my continuing adventures in finger exercises. (Also this year I seem to be leaning heavily into drabbles. I mean, if you're already applying one stringent structural restriction, why not go for two? Challenge is good for the soul!)

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

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( 13. ) For anonymous: any, any, roadtrip, written 12/14/18 [AO3 version]

Bright the hawk's flight on the empty sky (150 words)

"The difference between America and Europe is that in America, a hundred years is a long time, and in Europe, a hundred miles is a long way," the graduate student sent to pick up Father, Mother, and Susan said with a cheerful smile; "So brace yourselves -- New York to Chicago is a long way even for us, though at least you're not aiming for California."

Now, two and a half long days later and still not quite at their destination, Susan stares out the automobile windows at the blue-gray vastness of Lake Michigan, as endless as Indiana and Ohio's rolling fields of maize and alfalfa or the weary, forested mountains of Pennsylvania, and knows with quiet exultation that this world is so much larger than she'd dared to dream -- and so, in consequence, is she.

England was an egg, Narnia a nest, but she is fledged and ready to fly.

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( 14. ) For sawthefaeriequeen: The Hero and the Crown, Tor/Aerin/Luthe, court gossip, written 12/19/18 [AO3 version]

There's a lake I know (200 words exactly)

"The most ridiculous part is that it doesn't even matter, dynastically speaking, who the children's father is," Tor said as he tossed a pebble into the Lake of Dreams and watched the ripples spread across its deceptively inviting surface; "Aerin has always had a better claim on the throne than I do."

"Yes, but people do prefer a world where they can fold concepts into neatly organized mental cabinets, rather like folding freshly laundered linens," Luthe said without raising his head from Aerin's lap, "and 'The king rules by right of inheritance,' is tidier than 'The king rules because the queen was unofficially disinherited and then vanished to fight a sorcerer,' to say nothing of 'The king and queen have rejoined the royal bloodlines,' being tidier than 'The king and queen have made the vaguely ominous wizard of the mountains into their mutual lover and thereby potentially diluted the bloodline.'"

Aerin snorted inelegantly; "If being ominous were a race, you wouldn't even be at the starting line, and in any case I don't see why I should worry about fitting neatly into people's preconceptions now," she said, and held out her hand to draw Tor back down to her side.

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( 15. ) For anonymous: Any fandom, any character, cold blooded, written 12/19/18 [AO3 version]

Taxonomy (100 words exactly)

"Technically speaking, dragons are cold-blooded," Kazul said. "We just happen to also breathe fire, and that internal source of heat means we can carry on regardless of the ambient temperature; hibernation is for the lower orders of reptile."

"I see," Cimorene said, and decided it was best not to ask where basking on sunny rocks came into the divide between the higher and lower orders of reptile, unless she wanted a lecture on her own similarities to the lower orders of mammal, such as, for example, the unsanitary family of mice she'd only just managed to evict from her kitchen.

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( 16. ) For syrena_of_the_lake: Star Wars, C-3PO, why exactly was he programmed not to impersonate a deity?, written 12/19/18 [AO3 version]

Protocol (175 words)

"I know you only claimed to be an incarnation of that customer's god to save me from a beating, but Threepio, you should never impersonate an aspect of the divine," Mistress Shmi says as she re-solders the snapped wires in Threepio's shoulder. He makes a noise of confusion, and her face softens; "It's disrespectful," she explains, "both to the divinity whose place you usurp, and to the people whose right to make their own choices you steal by assuming a false position of power; you make yourself their master and them your slaves, which no person should ever do to another."

"I see," Threepio says, because even if he doesn't quite understand Mistress Shmi's reasoning (just as he doesn't understand her aversion to proper forms of address), he can tell this is important to her, and so that night instead of shutting down for recharge, he takes an hour to carefully add a line to his central programming and restart until it's locked in almost as deep as the core around which the Maker built him.

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( 17. ) For sholio: Any fandom, any characters, dry heat, written 12/20/18 [AO3 version]

Adverse Working Conditions (100 words exactly)

"But you grew up in a desert -- aren't you used to the heat?" Kanaya's fellow trainees ask every time she complains about the oppressive internal climate of the brooding caverns. She does have to admit that the system is ingeniously designed, a combination of a natural geothermal upwelling that, as a side-effect, supplies several luxurious hot springs, augmented with some judicious plumbing and vents to improve both air and water circulation, but the point remains that eggs and grubs require water and while she's used to extreme heat, a desert is by definition dry.

Besides, humidity is terrible for fashion.

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( 18. ) For sholio: Any fandom, any characters, mood lighting, written 12/20/18 [AO3 version]

Mutually Assured Destruction (400 words exactly)

As you can see, this one got away from me a little. *wry*

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"So, cards on the table, anything said here will never leave this room, blah blah whatever," Terezi said as she dropped carelessly into a chair opposite Rose in the meteor lab's library. "What bullshit side effect did you get as the booby prize in the Seer package?"

Rose eyed her counterpart warily, then figured she might as well share; after all, if a fellow Seer (and occasional Dave-wrangler) couldn't understand, who in the multiverse possibly could? "Mood lighting," she said. "Appropriate to whatever sort of drama or nonsense is about to occur, occasionally with individual spotlights to pick out specific people's intentions or states of mind. It's annoying, distracting, and has caused Kanaya to assume I have some idiosyncratic form of color-blindness. You?"

"Text boxes," Terezi said, folding her arms on the table and propping her chin on her crossed wrists. "Did I ask to get constant peeks at people's shitty internal monologues, complete with non-sequiturs, tortured rationalizations, and a slew of intrusive thoughts I could have gone my entire life without knowing? No I did not. Did I get them anyway? Yes I did. They don't even have the decency to smell appetizing; the backgrounds are a particularly stale shade of yellow."

Rose raised her eyebrows. "Do I want to know what my text box says at the moment?"

Terezi countered with another question: "How masochistic are you feeling?"

"I see. Then I won't mention your lighting effects, either," Rose said. "On an almost but not entirely unrelated note, have you Seen anything useful about our arrival in the scratched session lately?"

Terezi dropped her face into the gap between her arms. "Ugh. No. You?"

"Alas, no."

Terezi made an indecipherable noise of frustration and the ambient purple light over her shoulders shifted further toward gray, darkening and desaturating in a mix of anger and depression. Then she lifted her head and grinned like she didn't have a care in the world. "Great conversation, very productive!" she said. "If you tell anyone--"

"You'll hang me? But why? We haven't spoken in days," Rose said.

Terezi's grin didn't change, but her lighting shifted a few points back toward full saturation. "I knew there was a reason I like you. Also, ask Kanaya on a date already. There is only so much mutual pining I can stand to read."

She swept out of the library before Rose could muster a reply.

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And now on to other internet housekeeping tasks that I've let slide for... uh... let's just say "a while" and leave it at that, shall we? *sigh*

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!