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Master List of Elizabeth Culmer's Fiction
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FANFICTION:

General Disclaimer: These stories are based on characters and situations created and owned by other people and corporations. I make no money from this borrowing of intellectual property, and intend no copyright or trademark infringement.

Organization: This list is organized primarily by fandom; within each fandom, it's arranged first by associated story cycles and then by writing date. Word counts and writing dates are approximations.

Content/Warning Policy: 1) I am not consistent about warnings! I use them when I remember, for a few relatively broad categories of potentially problematic content, but if something is off-page, non-explicit, or generally backgrounded, I probably won't think to note it in the metadata. Read at your own risk! 2) The things I try to warn for are explicit sex, rape, murder, torture, cannibalism, incest, depression/suicide, familial dysfunction, and occasionally also societal dysfunction (aka dystopia). Sometimes I just slap a general content warning on all my fic for a given fandom and don't label each individual fic. I also don't generally warn for violence, unless the violence in a fic is dramatically out-of-step with the violence in its source canon. 3) I don't use any content rating system unless I'm posting to a site or community that requires or encourages ratings, because I find movie-style ratings counter-intuitive when applied to written fiction, and not particularly useful for anything other than denoting the presence of explicit sex, which I already note in the metadata.

Quality Rating System: I've marked my favorite stories with asterisks, on a scale of 1 to 4. The more asterisks, the more I like the story. This doesn't necessarily mean that stories without asterisks are bad, just that I don't like them as much. Also, I am not claiming to be an arbiter of taste; you may love stories I dislike, and vice versa. I am just providing a heads-up about the ones that I think are best written and/or most interesting.

Where To Read: What I post on my journal tends to be the equivalent of a beta draft. If I have cross-posted a story literally anywhere else (except Tumblr; fic content there is just a mirror of fic content here), read the version that isn't on my journal. Versions on AO3 are definitive. If there is no AO3 version, read the ff.net version. If there is no ff.net version, read the FictionAlley version (only applicable for HP fic). Failing that, read the journal version, because that's the only one there is.

Harry Potter Fanfiction

Naruto Fanfiction

Angel Sanctuary Fanfiction

Chronicles of Narnia Fanfiction

Homestuck Fanfiction

MCU fanfic (assorted)

Minor Fandom Fanfiction
(currently includes BtVS/A:tS, The Dark Is Rising, the Darkangel trilogy, Enchanted Forest Chronicles, FF7: Mercverse AU, Inception, and Star Trek: AOS)

Miscellaneous Fanfiction
(Currently includes: American Gods, An Ash-Blonde Witch, Arthurian Mythology, Batman, the Bible, the Black Jewels series, the Bourne trilogy, Charlotte's Web, Code Geass, Death Note, Discworld, Doctor Who, Girl Genius, The Girl with the Silver Eyes, Glee, Gormenghast, Hamilton, Hexwood, The Homeward Bounders, Howl's Moving Castle, Labyrinth, Lord of the Rings, Lucifer (comics), Mad Max: Fury Road, Merlin, the Oz books, Ranma 1/2, Rise of the Guardians, Sailor Moon, Saiyuki, Seaward, Shakespeare, Star Wars, Tam Lin (Pamela Dean), Vorkosigan Saga, White Collar, Wolf Hall, X-Men, and Yu-Gi-Oh!)

Crossover Fanfiction
(I do not cross-list crossovers and fusions under their component fandoms; this is the only place to find them. Currently includes: the Anita Blake series, ASoIaF, Avatar: The Last Airbender, the Black Jewels series, BtVS, Cardcaptor Sakura, Chronicles of Narnia, the Darkangel trilogy, The Dark Is Rising, Discworld, Doctor Who, Enchanted Forest Chronicles, Ender's Game, Gundam Wing, Harry Potter, Hikaru no Go, Homestuck, Inception, the Indiana Jones movies, Leverage, Lucifer (comics), MCU (various), Merlin, Naruto, the Oz books, Sandman, Stargate: SG-1, Star Trek: AOS, Vorkosigan Saga, Welcome to Night Vale, and a couple other things that only appear in memes rather than actual fic.)

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ORIGINAL FICTION:

These stories are all mine! *grin* I use the same warning policy and quality rating system as for my fanfiction.

All Original Fiction

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My various bingo cards: Cotton Candy Bingo, Round One (blackout!); Cotton Candy Bingo, Round Two (blackout!); Genprompt Bingo, Round 12 (blackout!); Genprompt Bingo, Round 15; Ladies Bingo; Daredevil Bingo; Domestic AU Prompt List

Another set of six. :)

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

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( 7. ) For alexseanchai: any, baked in, written 2/3/21

Tactical Ingredients (110 words [counting the emoticon])

Fandom = original

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

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

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

My boss has been eating them for months.

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

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

Verify Your Sources (40 words)

Fandom = The Magnus Archives

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Jon smiled as the static rose around him.

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

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

Let There Be Light (175 words)

Fandom = Rusty Quill Gaming

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

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

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

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

This Feels Like a Metaphor for Something (125 words)

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

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

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

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( 11. ) For wolfish_willow: any, any, caught in the middle, written 2/4/21

Swing Your Partner (140 words)

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

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

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

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

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

Whoso Pulleth out This Sword (325 words)

Structural restrictions are for the birds. *wry*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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More to come at some point. :)

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*

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. :)

I am very bored at work, so have another tiny installment in Edmund and Ginny Go to Harfang. :)

Written 1/8/20, in response to the genprompt_bingo square honey. (100 words exactly)

[AO3 crosspost]

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Wild Honey
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The honeycomb gleamed pale greenish-gold as Edmund withdrew it from the tree-bound hive and brushed off a handful of bright blue bees, still sleeping peacefully under Ginny's charm.

"Is it safe to eat?" Ginny asked, her voice unexpectedly close to Edmund's ear. "I mean, green's not the usual color, is it? And I know some honey is poisonous, if the bees make it from certain plants."

"I'm game if you are," Edmund said, and snapped the comb in half. As Ginny sniffed her portion warily, he brought his newly free fingers to his lips and tasted sweetness when she smiled.

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End of Ficlet

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It's not at all clear in the text, but they are heading up the Nandrapragaan River, toward the mysterious mountains and lakes/inland sea west of Calormen and Kutu.

A small thing I did today:

As part of tidying my apartment in preparation for Susan's visit this weekend, I typed up a bunch of my paper notes into proper electronic files. This means that A) they won't be clutter anymore, and B) I will actually be able to find their contents when I need them instead of losing them at the bottom of a several inch thick stack of paper scraps.

Some of them I don't have any context for anymore, while others are pretty straightforward background worldbuilding or story outlining. And others are scraps of actual stories.

I have a lot more random story snippets than I remember actually writing.

Here are a few that I am pretty sure aren't going anywhere anymore:

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( Harry Potter - untitled Hermione and Ginny fragment )


(I have no idea where I was going with that.)

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( Homestuck - untitled Rose Lalonde fragment )


(Again, I have no idea where this was going.)

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( Daredevil - untitled post-Season 1 fragment )


(I think I abandoned this because it was more didactic than I wanted.)

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( Daredevil - miscellaneous fragments whose context I have lost )


(I think the first was an attempt at a Black Jewels crossover/fusion thing. The second is clearly a divergence post-Season 1, but beyond that, I got nothing. *shrug*)

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( Riddlemaster Trilogy - Not Compassion (Those from the Sea) )


(This was clearly an attempt to give the nameless Earthmaster woman some backstory (and also assign her a name that seems plausible, given the "Those from the sea. Edolen. Sec," line that... I think one of the dead kids under the mountain says to Morgon?) and try to make sense of the inherent tension of a society where everyone has that kind of unfettered power even if they haven't quite realized it yet. But I never really had a plot, so it stalled out here.)

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( Original - untitled fairy-tale fragment )


(This is one of the seeds of Sunbright and Shadowfall, even though I think it originally started as some kind of sideways Homestuck AU? By which I mean, IIRC this was loosely drawn from a dream, in which the lonely witch was Jade Harley, but I dunno exactly; it was a long time ago and I never wrote the details down.)

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And that's that for my brain-dump. Everything else is either too fragmentary to be comprehensible, or is something I actually do still mean to finish someday.

It's time for another tiny installment in Edmund and Ginny Go to Harfang. :)

Written 3/25/18, in response to the genprompt_bingo square introspection. (300 words)

[ETA: the AO3 crosspost is now up!]

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The Consolation of Philosophy
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"My sin? Pride, naturally," Coriakin said as he unrolled a brilliantly colored map over his banqueting table. "They all come to pride at the root -- to thinking that we alone know best and others' needs or wants signify nothing when set against our own. Even when masquerading as a virtue -- the desire to take all suffering onto oneself and so spare others pain -- it remains a magnification of one's own ego over anything that others wish."

"I know a dozen people who could stand to learn that last part," Ginny said without looking up from the pages of Coriakin's grimoire. "A baker's dozen, really, if I'm honest and include myself. It's funny how often people do the worst things from the best intentions."

"Mmm," Edmund said, peering down at the painted expanse of ocean, broken here and there by the green rise of islands that seemed almost real enough to touch the closer he examined them. "And then there are the ones who don't bother with any such pretense, who simply reach for whatever they want, and damn anyone who stands in the way." As he and Jadis had both done. Her reach had been far greater than his, but petty cruelty stung those it touched just as deeply, especially coming from one they loved. "I suppose the real trick is to avoid falling into one form of pride while trying to avoid the other. And speaking of falling, are you two quite sure your magics will mesh well enough to transport us to Ettinsmoor without dropping us into a trackless waste of water?"

"I am not still so proud as to assume I can foresee all possible circumstances, let alone command them," Coriakin said, "but I think, on the whole, yes."

Behind him, Ginny twirled her wand and smiled.

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End of Ficlet

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Spoiler: they are not going to land in Ettinsmoor. *evil laughter*

I added some words to a couple WIPs, but not nearly enough to get anything finished, blargh. So anyway, have another tiny installment in Edmund and Ginny Go to Harfang. :)

Written 11/20/17, in response to the genprompt_bingo square space AU. (250 words)

[ETA: The AO3 crosspost is now up!]

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Music of the Spheres
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As he whirled from star to star, lightened feet pushing off the tiniest grains of dust in great bounding steps that covered miles of fragrant, wine-rich air until his next companion held out shining hands to catch and weave him into the heavens' endless dance, Edmund's lungs and heart and fingers filled with the pure, explosive joy of movement until it bubbled from his mouth in reflexive song, a cracked and dusty baritone harmony under the stars' own fierce, bell-like chorus.

Leagues away, yet sounding as though she were at his very shoulder, close enough to touch if he should turn his head and switch partners, Ginny's voice soared golden and clear in the same hymn of wild delight that poured from his own lips; and they grew neither tired nor thirsty nor footsore nor out of breath though the night stretched on forever as the stars plunged beneath the westernmost rim of the earth to dance across a mirrored world all of stone and crystal, its barren beauty sculpted by naught but endless wind and the feather-light footsteps of stars.

On the eastern horizon, they sprang once again into the sky, chasing the waxing moon and the last, ember-soft rays of the sun, drunk with music and motion, and when at last the stars let loose his hands and sent Edmund drifting down to the soft, welcoming earth, he thought he might weep at the knowledge that he could never return, living, to their dance or recreate their song.

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End of Ficlet

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The sharp-eyed may notice that they lost their boat somewhere along the way. Oops.

Also, I am undecided where they landed. Obviously it is not Harfang! But I can think of several options that would be fun to write, and am willing to take input on what people would like to read. (Vinyedvyeri is not an option. It's too close to Harfang and Ginny and Edmund still have several detours to go before I will let them reach their destination... whereupon there may be some diplomacy, followed by the inevitable trouble on the trip back. *evil laughter*)

Apropos of nothing in particular, here is another tiny installment in Edmund and Ginny Go to Harfang. :)

Written 6/10/17, in response to the genprompt_bingo square extraordinary. (200 words exactly)

[ETA: The AO3 crosspost is now up!]

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The Test of Gold
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"I didn't wish to voice misgivings where our hosts might take offense, but by all logic this journey ought to be fatal," Edmund said as Ginny leaned over the side of their borrowed skiff, trailing her fingers through the liquid fire that served Bism in place of water. "We should have long since scalded our lungs attempting to breathe this close to something hot enough to soften stone, let alone touching or drinking it, not to mention the air down here should have turned poisonous ages ago."

"I know," Ginny said with a delighted smile. "And yet here we are, sailing toward a volcano with a basket of rubies for lunch. Isn't it amazing?"

She cupped her hands into the swift-moving current and raised a pool of white-gold flames to pour over her head. Droplets clung to her hair and skin like shining jewels, and Edmund felt his breath catch in his chest with unexpected desire.

"Yes. Amazing." He turned aside to busy himself with the tiller and coughed to clear his throat. "Regardless, we should prepare for the upwelling that the salamanders promised would carry us back to the surface. I suspect that will be a difficult ride."

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End of Ficlet

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I dunno if this will actually turn shippy or if Edmund is just having an 'oh help, she's hot' moment and he and Ginny will simply become even better bickery platonic friends and fighting companions. Either way, I feel I should remind readers that both characters are only about 17-18 years old here and therefore prone to dumb teenage shenanigans despite the pressures of war and kingship and rebellion. *wry*

Last set of fills, until the next ficathon rolls around. :)

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( 23. ) For silvr_dagger: Inception, Ariadne / or & any, minotaur, written 1/4/17 [AO3 version]

no morality by instinct (200 words exactly)

At the heart of every person's mind is a guardian, territorial and feral, that exacts repayment in blood and pain for all attempted intrusions; they can be evaded, confused, and with time and practice soothed to sleep, but they are never truly tamed; even the people a dreamer loves and trusts the most can still be ripped apart if they grow careless and startle the beast awake.

"Like a minotaur, a proper flesh-eater both maddened and cunning, sent to humble those who grow too proud of their power and cleverness and forget to observe the proper rituals," Eames says with a careless smile, "and you a combination of Daedalus and your own lovely namesake, both to build the maze that traps the monster and to spin the thread that guides us safely through."

"Ah, the benefits of a classical education," Ariadne says wryly, watching the slow and suspicious patrol of the squirrels and songbirds that populate the wilderness she's built in Eames's mind, and wonders whether, when Arthur begins testing her rough-draft maze for flaws, she'll have time to shoot herself awake before she learns what it feels like to die sliced apart by a thousand tiny claws and beaks.

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( 24. ) For silvr_dagger: Any, any, stealing the sun, written 1/8/17 [AO3 version]

years of drought and famine (225 words)

The clouds are thin in the first years, translucent veils that drape in narrow, scattered bands across the sky: the world's victory sari, people call them, and marvel at the way they seem to catch faint fire at sunset or sunrise, kindling Solstar's white to color within their refracted folds, or to reflect Oceanus's blue-green shine like a dream of verdant growth. But gradually they grow thicker and more frequent, and eventually begin to blot out Solstar's light for hours at a time: an ill-omen, people say now, and wonder in whispers whether perhaps the white witch of the mere cursed the world in her death-throes, or whether the Aeriel was corrupted in her victory; wait, say others, the world was not born in a day, nor can its rebirth be easy; all changes are terrifying even when they bring prosperity and joy at the end of the shift; but patience and trust come hard after generations of the world's slow fall and there are mutterings against the work of Crystalglass, words that might grow into deeds without a countersign, and soon.

And then, at last, in the midst of a daylight darkness, there comes a thing unseen for generations: wrapped in the lowering gloom of oppressive clouds and the fear of the stolen sun, the sky breathes rain once more unto the thirsty earth.

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Note: Darkangel Trilogy, obviously. :)

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( 25. ) For silvr_dagger: Mad Max: Fury Road, any, chasing the sun, written 1/10/17 [AO3 version]

truth, like the sun (175 words)

They say if you drive west fast enough, the sun never sets; drive west fast enough and a single day lasts forever. The true metal, the true V8, they race across the sky in a blaze of glory too bright to look upon with pitiful fleshy eyes, and they will never die; this is Valhalla, the promise and the dream, where everything is caught in an eternity of perfect, howling speed and chrome.

"Flashy and hollow, just like the rest of Joe's lies, and easily turned around if the people here weren't too cowed and beaten down to think," Angharad says when Furiosa relates this bit of warboy lore, words dragged halting and unfamiliar between her teeth like a slow fuel leak she can already tell will leave her stranded and weaponless one of these endless days; "What if you drive east to meet the sun as a partner, instead of west to capture it?" and Furiosa sits in gear-ground silence for the rest of her watch rather than admit she's never thought to ask the question.

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( 26. ) For silvr_dagger: Any, any, treason, written 1/10/17 [AO3 version]

the treason of pity (250 words)

"If I had it all to do over again," the Dolorosa says to her kismesis as they lie, sweaty, blood-streaked, and sated, in the little nest of torn sailcloth that serves as both pile and bedding ground for the slaves in Mindfang's crew, "I'd tell my son to aim for the Empress instead of the people; she is the Empire, after all, its incarnation as well as its creator; any attack on its power and order is an attack on her, and vice versa. Instead of making ourselves into a threat to put down, we could have shown her how the highbloods have already stolen control out from under her nose -- high treason on a scale to beggar belief -- and tried to set up something better in the wake of the resulting bloodbath; she admires strength and daring, after all, and surely after helping her regain power in practice as well as in theory, we would have convinced her that letting such qualities flourish among lowbloods does not automatically equal chaos."

"If you had it all to do over again, you'd do exactly the same as before," the Demoness says, a thread of weary resignation laced through her habitual scorn, "because I'd go back too, a thousand thousand times if necessary, until I nudged you back onto the path; my master only accepts the timeline that leads to his victory, and as we both know, there are punishments worse than death; do not seek more of them than are already your share."

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Note: This will make much more sense if read in combination with The Time-Traveler's Kismesis: Counterthesis.

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( 27. ) For lignota: Any, any, following smoke and remembering fire, written 1/12/17 [AO3 version]

the seat containing of unweary'd flame (Meet Adoration to My Household Gods) (200 words exactly)

Magic in this world, Susan reflected, was maddening compared to the magic she'd learned in Narnia; if that had been plucking ripe apples from low-hanging boughs in a well-tended orchard, this was wading through thorns and interminable flies in search of stray raspberries not yet discovered by birds or bears, or befriending some higher, older powers in hope of borrowing the bounty of their own hoards.

Still, she fought best from a distance, whether with weapons or words, and as bows were too conspicuous and handguns both too noisy and too illegal (not to mention of limited utility at best against vampires and demons), magic seemed the most immediately useful replacement.

Susan squeezed another drop of blood from her pricked fingertip, repeated once again in halting Greek (blast Peter for laughing when he realized she would have to learn multiple new languages and writing systems to master her new field), "Hestia, queen of hearth and home, strike this spark for your daughter," and smiled when the nest of kindling in her saucer breathed a sigh of smoke; it was no clear, bright flame to strike foes or summon aid, but all things would come with time, and work, and faith.

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Note: Part of my One Equal Temper of Heroic Hearts series, which crosses Narnia and BtVS. The halves of the title come from the Orphic Hymn to Hestia (#84, Taylor's translation) and Tennyson's 'Ulysses,' respectively.

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( 28. ) For anonymous: Any, any, tears of flowers, written 1/12/17 [AO3 version]

unwanted blessings (500 words exactly)

"The traditional blessing is for roses and jewels to fall from a poor but kind girl's lips with every word she speaks, but the fairy I met said that made it hard to hold actual conversations and tended to wreck local economies, not to mention the roses prickle something awful on the tongue," Morwen's new roommate, Rosamund, said when their conversation turned to their respective reasons for attending Stokey's Academy.

"Magic does have consequences," Morwen agreed. "Is that why you decided to become a sorceress? To see if you could unpick other traditional causes and effects?"

"Not exactly," Rosamund said with a frustrated scowl. "You see, the fairy still blessed me. She just blessed me to cry flowers instead of speak them, since she said if I was upset enough for tears, that's when I'd actually need flowers to cheer me up. It's a complete nuisance. The flowers are mostly violets and cherry blossom, which thankfully don't prickle, but the petals feel like tissue paper and slugs on my eyeballs, they get absolutely everywhere, and I can't even turn them into a garland or bouquet because they don't have any stems."

"Ugh." Morwen grimaced in sympathy and refilled Rosamund's teacup with the last of her aunt's best company blend that she'd brought with her from home. "That sounds like she was so proud of noticing the problems with the old spell, she didn't bother to make sure her new spell was actually any better."

"Yes, exactly," Rosamund said, and gulped the tea down like water. "That's not the worst part, though. After she cast the flower spell, the fairy said she wouldn't bother trying to make an endless gold spell that wasn't subject to abuse. Instead, she told me that my family already had everything we needed. That sounds nice, right?"

"In a vaguely moralistic and uplifting way," Morwen agreed.

"Very 'be content with your lot and beware the dangers of ambition,' yes," Rosamund said. "But it did sound nice... until we realized it was a spell too, and it was keeping our farm from ever turning a profit."

"How so?"

"If we already had everything we needed, what reason was there for anything to ever change? So nothing does. Everything's frozen the way it was when I met the fairy. We can't clear new fields. We can't rotate crops. We can't even buy a new goat without one of our old goats magically dying for no reason, which means the blessing is actually more of a curse." Rosamund clutched her teacup with white-knuckled fingers and said, so fiercely that Morwen almost expected her eyes to burst into flame, "I came here to learn how to break it. Then I am going to find that fairy, if I have to chase her to the ends of the earth, and I am going to give her a piece of my mind."

"I'll hold her down for you," Morwen promised, and gently pried the teacup from Rosamund's work-roughened hands before it shattered.

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Note: Enchanted Forest Chronicles. This one got a little out of hand. Oops? Also, Stokey's Academy is a bit of headcanon I made up when I was giving Morwen backstory for various other fics; it is glancingly mentioned in The Affairs of Dragons and serves as the main setting for A Splash of Color.

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( 29. ) For lizzie_marie_23: Narnia/Harry Potter, Edmund ~ or / Ginny, hidden corners of the world, written 1/12/17 [AO3 version]

the gate of iron and emerald (375 words)

"This is why you missed the first minute of the battle and left us without our best distance fighter," Edmund said flatly as he continued to inspect his mail shirt for damaged links; "Because you tripped and fell down a hole."

Ginny twirled her wand between her fingers (the way Lucy sometimes spun daggers) and said, in a tone that implied she was attempting forbearance despite great provocation, because despite everything she was fond of him and so forgave his foibles, "Because while I was scouting for ambushes -- it's only chance that the attack came from the west instead of the east, besides which I can't believe you missed a half-dozen giants in land this flat -- I found a locked iron door in an emerald frame in the back wall of this cave, which is so ridiculously out of place that it might as well be screaming it's magical, even without the runes I can't read carved over the lintel, and I was in the middle of testing to see if opening it would be dangerous -- it shouldn't be, by the way, unless you're actually as useless as you act when you're trying to convince people you're young and ignorant, in which case I want a raise since bodyguarding that kind of idiot definitely deserves hazard pay -- but anyway, stop looking at me like I'm a particularly squishable beetle and let's go see what's on the other side."

"I feel that Susan would tell us that interfering with strange magics is a terrible idea, and counsel us instead to both employ caution and remember our mission," Edmund said, pro forma, but this journey to Harfang for truce negotiations had several days' flexibility built in to account for the general disarray of Ettinsmoor after Peter's latest summer war, and he could never live with himself if he turned down a chance to explore one of the hidden corners of the world, thus blatantly presented as both invitation and challenge; and so he motioned his other bodyguard (a grizzled She-Wolf by the name of Skadi) to alert the rest of the party to this turn of events and followed Ginny into the narrow cleft in the earth, to meet what fate awaited them beyond the mysterious door.

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Note: A loose sequel to By Its Cover.

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( 30. ) 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

the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers (300 words exactly)

Beauty walked the garden paths beside Lady Falcon-in-Flight's massive form, one hand on her spear (as always, for the spells that bound the castle were fraying with age and sometimes spun off monsters) and the other extended to rest lightly on her lady's shoulder: soft fur layered thickly over hard muscle that could drive a body tirelessly for days on end until a chosen quarry was brought to bay -- now twitching restless and unfulfilled as her lady fought to leash a beast's instinct and appetite into a pale mimicry of human form and function, just as she gifted Beauty with garlands and gold instead of the fragile heart Beauty yearned to cradle in her hands and guard from every wound.

"You should hunt, as your body aches to do," Beauty said, as she had each morning since the new moon; "Bring me back a stag or boar, hard-won with your own strength: for blood on snow suits midwinter better than soft, spell-wrought flowers that seek to make all seasons equally a lie."

Her lady tensed, and Beauty bit her lip in expectation of yet another refusal... but this day her lady sighed (a hot, metallic gust of air, like opening the door to her eldest sister's smithy), turned her great head to fix her golden, slit-pupiled eyes on Beauty's own, and said in her rumbling voice, "If you wish a kill, you may make it yourself, but you are right that this body needs to run; I will be your hound and horse together, if you will be my mistress and guide me with a firm hand lest I lose myself to bloodlust; and perhaps when we return we might search the garden until we find amidst the ice a rose that, like you, has remembered its birthright of thorns."

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You know, I think these ficlets could count for snowflake_challenge Day 7: create a fanwork, if I wanted to make this post multipurpose.

...I believe I will. :)