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!

Apparently I have not posted fic to this journal since February of 2023, what the hell. Uh. Anyway, here is an extremely belated collection of the seven fills I wrote for the 2024 iteration of the Three Sentence Ficathon.

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( 1. ) For undeadrobins, in response to the prompt: any, any, cat and mouse, written 1/15/24

The Beginning of a Beautiful Rivalry (200 words)

Fandom = Narnia

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Anaprisma peered at the creature pinned beneath her claws -- a dumb rat, she had thought, the kind of pest that had no place in the royal library of Cair Paravel and which her position as Undersecretary left her morally (albeit not legally) obligated to remove before it gnawed or defecated on anything important -- and wondered if she had somehow stumbled into a stray enchantment or if someone had laced her breakfast tea with a hallucinogenic mushroom. She would almost have sworn that it had talked.

The tiny mouth opened, the matchstick ribs heaved, and the creature shrieked in a shrill but clear voice, "Unhand me, you fiend!"

Ah. Not a hallucination. Not a rat, either.

"My apologies," Anaprisma said, retracting her claws and managing to keep her tone both even and dry as the Talking Mouse scrambled onto its hind paws and brandished a long thorn that it was apparently using as a sword; "The Cair Paravel staff have yet to be notified of the existence of Talking Mice, though I assure you that will be remedied posthaste -- although perhaps I should accompany you to the infirmary before we consider other matters."

Talking Mice. What would Aslan think of next.

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( 2. ) For oceanmyth, in response to the prompt: Any, any, the cracking sounds bones make, written 1/15/24

A Sovereign Remedy (200 words)

Fandom = Narnia

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The level of glowing cordial in her flask never lowers as fast as logic says it should, but Lucy doesn't want to take the magic for granted, doesn't want to assume she can heal anything at any time, that it will never quite run dry; best to save it for wounds and illnesses that have no non-miraculous cure.

But oh, the sound and feel of bones and tendons snapping into place as she helps set a compound fracture or reduce a dislocated shoulder is horrid, the same wet crunch and crackle that signaled the initial shatter or sprain. The moans and tears and shrieks gnaw at her heart with the knowledge that she could wipe them clean, unwrite them from the story.

And yet, there's something more real about her blood-streaked clothes and aching wrists than the eerie way her cordial erases harm -- this healing, raw and messy and pained, is part of the world's fabric rather than a rejection of its laws, an acceptance that the bitter and the sweet come intertwined and triumph cannot exist without disaster; and so Lucy sets the diamond flask upon the shelf to fill her hands instead with soapsuds, bandages, and sharp-toothed hope.

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( 3. ) For galaydryels, in response to the prompt: Chronicles of Narnia Rthverse, Jalur, Murdermittens, written 1/15/24

Dare Seize the Fire (90 words)

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"Tiger's having kittens, wearing fluffy mittens, oh woe is he!" the Otter sing-songed breathlessly as she ducked under Jalur's charge and reversed direction in the second before he landed, hindpaws scrabbling for purchase in the muddy ground as she bolted toward the dubious safety of the water. "Big strong paws, long sharp claws, but none of it matters if you can't-- catch-- me!"

The Romp of Otters shrieked and scattered in mingled fear and glee as the snarling Tiger hurtled into the pond a hummingbird's heartbeat behind his taunting foe.

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( 4. ) For anonymous, in response to the prompt: any, any, west of the sun, east of the moon, written 1/17/24

And Take the Hidden Paths (600 words)

Fandom = original

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East of the sun and west of the moon stands a castle you may well have heard of, that was home to the Queen of Trolls before a brave peasant girl came there to steal her bridegroom back, but there are other hidden lands less famed in song or story, and in one such place, which lies west of the sun and east of the moon (and never you mind about logic, for magic need not abide by such rules), there stands a sunless garden where the plants are made of stone and the spring at its heart wells forth a river of sand instead of sweet, clear water. Nobody lives there today, but once upon a time Lilith (who has been Wife of Adam, Queen of Giants, Mother of Demons, and many other titles in her day) dwelt there for a time after she left the more fabled garden to make her own way in the world.

The North Wind knows the way to the castle east of the sun and west of the moon, but the four Winds do not blow in the stone garden west of the sun and east of the moon. There the air is always still. Nothing lives; nothing grows; and the only light comes from the faint glow of sparks that the grains of sand strike against each other as they flow in their endless circuits.

How Lilith came to the stone garden, none can say, but if you would follow in her footsteps (and so some people will always seek to do, for reasons of their own; I sought so myself in my youth), the method both witches and scholars deem least likely to fail is to carve a doorway into a rock, fix the garden and its stillness in your mind until your thoughts are empty of all but the heartbeat of stone, so slow that a dozen generations could live and die between one pulse and the next, and step forward.

If you are lucky, you will break your nose and go nowhere. But perhaps, just perhaps, your foot will swing through a gap in the logic of the world and your next step will land in the garden where nothing grows -- west of the sun and east of the moon, in the land without water or sky.

The castle east of the sun and west of the moon was filled with gold and silver and all the treasures that one may spend on everyday things. When another Troll or enchanter discovers that land, the castle will fill again until the next brave peasant girl or boy comes to rescue their beloved and best the monsters with their own greed.

The treasure in the stone garden west of the sun and east of the moon is more subtle and cannot be held in the hands or spoken with the tongue. But there is treasure nonetheless, and I can see in your eyes that you are determined to claim it (as the old woman I met on the road saw the spark in my eyes long ago), so I will waste no breath on admonitions to turn back or think of your god.

Instead I will give you this pebble, worn smooth by the stream that flows past my house, and remind you that magic need not abide by rules.

The stone garden stands in the land of absolute truth, with no space for pity or hope. No friends or enemies await: only yourself, and the silence.

Think well on what you bring, as well as what you plan to take.

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( 5. ) For anonymous, in response to the prompt: any, any, last test and proof, written 1/18/24

To Destruction (235 words)

Fandom = Nine Worlds

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The denunciation of Jackory Greenwing was meant to be her triumph, the last test both of her academic skills and the bridle she'd tightened around Jemis's will until he was her creature body, mind, and whatever phantasm might pass for a soul -- her bauble, her prize, her passing fancy snared for the wild flavor of his unused magic who serendipitously proved to be heir to an Imperial title (for all that he was blind to that truth) and a piece of true weight and power in the game of coins and kings -- and yet somehow the quarry had slipped the noose, fled bleeding into the woods, and all Lark was left with was the hollow surety that he would bear the scars of her fury till death.

She hurled her pipe across the room and snarled as the ivory splintered, spilling the smoldering mix of tobacco and less legal herbs onto the age-smoothed hardwood floor; "Pack my things -- I've called the coachman and we leave in one hour," she snapped over her shoulder at Violet, and ignored her pet spy's protest that she was scheduled to present her own final paper tomorrow.

She had failed this test (but how? how had she gone wrong?) and unless she thought of a foolproof way to recoup her losses and strengthen the family's position by the time her carriage reached Orio City, the consequences would be past bearing.

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( 6. ) For undeadrobins, in response to the prompt: any non-zombie fandom, any, surviving a zombie apocalypse, written 1/18/24

Eye of the Storm (250 words)

Fandom = Chronicles of Narnia

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They worked out, much later, that the spell which had interacted so banefully with Lucy's cordial had been cast as a trap -- the goal had been a straightforward assassination; the contagion merely an unintended side effect -- but at the time all Susan cared about was that saltwater slowed the change, and she would pick up a sword and dismember anyone who tried to kill her baby sister out of misguided mercy.

She filled every room and hall of Cair Paravel with tubs and barrels of brine; recruited every spare hand and paw to guard and nurse the infected; gathered, quarantined, organized the refugees streaming to the coast -- some brought scraps of news from Peter and Edmund's struggle to pin down the growing horde and burn a mile-wide swath of barren land to stop lone victims from slipping past the sentries and starting a new flare of the plague -- and gnawed the inner flesh of her cheeks to shreds to trap the furious shriek of despair and betrayal behind her teeth.

When this was over, when they found a cure, Susan swore she would claw her way to Aslan's own country -- whether she had to sail off the edge of the world, climb the encircling mountains past the roof of the sky, delve down through the burning heart of the earth -- and stab him once for each labored breath Lucy struggled to snatch past the rot in her throat; then, and only then, she might allow herself to break, and weep.

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( 7. ) For galaydryels in response to the prompt: any, any, the courage of a guinea pig, written 1/19/24

Fearless (300 words)

Fandom = Chronicles of Narnia

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There are many types of courage celebrated in proverb (some more obscure than others), for not only does courage come in different flavors, the characteristics that humans ascribe to various animals vary wildly in their accuracy.

The courage of a lion is most famous (though lions generally think prudence the better part of valor, having neither much interest in wasting strength on foolish posturing nor desire to be gutted by their prey on an inadvisable hunt), but the courage of a bear is also praised, the courage of a mother in her nest or den (in this case the species of animal becomes nearly irrelevant), the courage of a mongoose pursuing a snake, and the courage of a loyal dog defending their family, and so on; but all beasts have their own fears to overcome, and often do so -- the courage of a mouse venturing forth to gather seeds despite the threat of owls, hawks, and foxes; the courage of a caterpillar or tadpole giving its body over to change; the courage of a seal diving beneath vast sheets of ice and trusting it will find a gap to the surface before it runs short of air -- these are less lauded but no less real.

The courage of a guinea pig is of a different order altogether, as any human who has been screamed at by a stumpy, awkward bundle of fluff that can fit in the palms of your two hands can attest -- short-legged, near-sighted, its only defense sharp teeth that are easily evaded, but still the guinea pig shows no fear and raises its shrill defiance toward the heavens; yet some question whether courage is truly the right label, for can bravery truly be said to exist when the animal in question has no inborn fear to overcome?

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I also need to make a post about my 2024 NFE fic, and get all my 2023 and 2024 3SF fills up on AO3. But I think those are tasks for future!Liz.

This year, the Three Sentence Ficathon has its own dedicated Dreamwidth community: threesentenceficathon.

Here is the information post.

Here is the first ficathon post (now closed for new prompts, but still open for fills!), and here is the second ficathon post. The ficathon will remain open for new prompts through February 12.

Here are my fourth set of fills:

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( 19. ) For siver, in response to the prompt: Howl's Moving Castle, Any, a dash of folly, written 1/17/23.

A Fool and His Folly (165 words)

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"My hair is not a potion ingredient!" Howl yelped as he ducked Sophie's third lunge with the pruning shears and scuttled around the kitchen table; "Even if you did need human hair -- which you don't, unless you're making a healing potion or an emotional influence potion and need to tune it to the drinker, and I'm neither ill nor in need of an attitude adjustment -- my hair has spent so long exposed to magical charms and dyes that it would be an explosively unpredictable reagent."

"That's exactly why I need it," Sophie said, stalking Howl as he backed warily toward the stairs, arms outstretched as if his silk cape might somehow deter her; "It's a luck potion, the instructions call for a dash of folly, and you are the biggest fool I know -- and if chucking explosives into a boiling pot doesn't count as folly, I'd like to know what does! Now stand still and let me snip a piece where it won't be obvious."

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( 20. ) For arveldis, in response to the prompt: Six of Crows/Shadow and Bone, Kaz, I knew that something would always rule me, written 1/17/23.

As a seal upon thy heart (125 words)

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Idealism withers in the face of the Barrel's iron logic, and vengeance inevitably burns itself out in either triumph or death, but all men must have some ruling passion -- the question is whether each man is wise enough to choose his guiding star or whether he lets his appetites and fears make that choice without his knowledge or assent.

Greed is common, as is pride, or any of a thousand particular fears, but vices distort perspective and Kaz relies above all on his ability to see an obstacle or opportunity whole and clear in all its moving parts; money and reputation are useful tools, but poor masters.

Love is even more foolish and delicate a vice than idealism, but for Inej, he's willing to submit.

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( 21. ) For paxilam, in response to the prompt: any, any, trembling reaction, written 1/22/23.

Pawn to Queen Four (245 words)

Fandom = Greenwing & Dart (Victoria Goddard)

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"Why do you wish to serve the Indrillines?" the girl (surely no older than Violet, and while normally she would squash the embers of resentment that her own mother hadn't trusted her with responsibilities equal to what The Indrilline evidently deemed suitable for his heir, now she fanned that lick of flame the better to lend verisimilitude to her act) asked, with a bored smile on her lips that was nearly perfect in its air of casual amusement save for the empty chill that lurked in the corner of her eye.

Violet gathered herself, proud and angry, resentful that she must rely on another's whim to achieve her own ends, and underneath that bravado, fingers trembling with poorly concealed nerves: "I want money, and power, and a shield against the marriage my mother has arranged," she said, letting that truthful stew of emotion flavor her lie; "I see no reason why her promises should bind me when I never swore fealty to her, and I won't swear unconditional loyalty to you either, but I have some talents and some connections among the Lady's faction that I think you'd find useful."

"Presumptuous," the Indrilline girl said, still in that tone of bored amusement; "Tell me, Violet of no family and no name, what conditions would you presume to set upon your loyalty?" and Violet fought not to sway with the sudden rush of relief that she might yet play this game through to its bitter end.

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( 22. ) For dawen, in response to the prompt: any, any, I'd like to have an octopus on my shelf (from this Stardew Valley screenshot), written 1/24/23.

An Ambassador from the Sea (235 words)

Fandom = Nine Worlds (Victoria Goddard)

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"But why do you want to keep the octopus in your workroom?" Kip asked as Fitzroy swept into the house, a sphere of seawater floating above his left shoulder; inside the water, an octopus with a head roughly the size of Kip's fist rippled from gray to ochre and back as it jetted about to peer in all directions.

"If I were rescued from drowning by a strange sea creature and provided with a magical supply of air, I would unquestionably want to stay underwater for a while and learn everything I could about my new situation," Fitzroy said as he flung open assorted cupboards and pulled out miscellaneous glassware that he promptly discarded in a heap on the kitchen table; "Octopuses are highly intelligent, so I think it's only fair to give this one a chance to explore -- one could even argue that as the former Lord Magus of Zunidh, it's my responsibility to provide opportunities to all inhabitants of this world."

"I still think we should have cooked it for lunch; grilled or fried octopus is delicious," Kip said, "but if you want to keep a temporary pet" -- ("Temporary guest!" Fitzroy corrected) -- "then I'm sure someone has a fish tank they'd be willing to lend us for a while; meanwhile, you can tidy your shelves so your new friend will have a view of something other than a thousand sheets of crumpled paper."

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( 23. ) For topaz_eyes, in response to the prompt: Any, any, They say that he got crazy once, and he tried to touch the sun, written 1/24/23.

Alone in the Sky (200 words)

Fandom = Nine Worlds (Victoria Goddard)

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They called it sun-madness at court, though people spoke of it but rarely: the impulse, whether fleeting urge or deep-seated obsession, to touch the Emperor despite the taboos and the certainty of death for anyone who had not undergone months upon months of painstaking ritual purifications to shield them from the blazing vastness of the Empire's magic as it coursed through the linchpin of the Emperor's own flesh.

For some, it was akin to the inexplicable self-destructive curiosity that seizes people at the edge of cliffs or on the brink of some social disaster, that insidious whisper of what would happen if...?; while for others it was an equally destructive need to conquer, to prove one's own strength against the ultimate test; and for still others it was born of greed run wild, crying out to hoard the greatest imaginable treasure where no one else could reach.

If the Emperors and Empresses ever felt an equal but opposite urge down the aching centuries, to reclaim the slender comfort they had known as children before the weight of all Astandalas crashed down upon their shoulders, or to take revenge for the humanity denied them, that was not spoken of at all.

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( 24. ) For primeideal, in response to the prompt: Project Hail Mary, Ryland Grace & or / Rocky, touch-starved, written 1/24/23.

Wire Monkey (135 words)

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Touch isn't quite the same for Eridians as it is for humans: on the one hand, they're a lot less squishy so all contact has to translate through their thick exterior shells and lacks the immediacy we unprotected meat sacks feel; but on the other hand, they're vastly more sensitive to sound, so touch and hearing are very nearly the same thing -- to speak kindly to another Eridian is like the echo of a hug, and to shout in anger is the shadow of a blow.

Which is a long way of saying that I can hug Rocky, more or less, but given our incompatible temperature and atmospheric needs, he can't readily return the gesture -- and I might be going a little squirrelly from lack of human contact.

We've started working on some mechanical arms.

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More to follow!

The 2023 Three Sentence Ficathon is live!!

This year, to spare poor rthstewart's inbox, Ruth has some co-mods and the ficathon now has its own dedicated Dreamwidth community: threesentenceficathon.

Here is the information post.

Here is the first ficathon post (now closed for new prompts, but still open for fills!), and here is the second ficathon post. The ficathon started on January 13, and will remain open for new prompts through February 12.

Anyway, here's my second set of fills:

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( 7. ) For scytale, in response to the prompt: The Darkangel Trilogy, Aeriel&/Erin, learning, written 1/13/23

A time to every purpose under heaven (180 words)

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In their first month, Erin learns that Aeriel used to be desperately ticklish behind her knees, that Aeriel wishes her new body retained that imperfection and fears what its lack may mean, and that covering her skin with kisses helps soothe that ache.

In their first year, Aeriel learns that Erin feels empty and small in the face of Aeriel's burden, that Erin has a knack for gears and screws and soldering wands, and that even the pearlstuff will fall silent and cease its complaints if she holds her ground and brings her love into the great work as an equal partner.

In their first lives, Erin and Aeriel learn how to be two women who each can stand alone against the world, but who choose to shape themselves around another instead; and when at last the pearlstuff deems their task complete and Aeriel pours it into the spring at the heart of Crystalglass so all who drink may gain a whisper of Ancient truth, when they depart as flames for deep heaven, they are ready to learn anew, together.

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( 8. ) For elementalraven, in response to the prompt: Narnia, Mabel Kirke, the apple has strange effects on Mabel, written 1/13/23

Third Eye (235 words)

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Mabel Kirke never told anyone about her dreams' turn toward the fantastical -- flocks of winged horses filling the sky from horizon to horizon; four children wandering through a cruel and endless winter in overlarge coats; a dragon bending its neck and swearing allegiance to a bewildered knight; an underground city foundering beneath a great wave; a dozen women made of petals and gems and water and leaves dancing together in a sunlit field; a small ship with the gilded prow sailing through a sea of lilies; a dozen beasts of all sizes and species gathered around a table and arguing like men -- for surely they were nothing more than an aftereffect of her illness, perhaps a lesion left on her brain by the cruel pressure of the tumor before the cancer miraculously began to shrink and wash away.

Nonetheless, the scenes were vivid in her mind's eye, and she committed several to canvas between her more serious works; in her will, she specified that they should be sold at auction and all proceeds be given to her son's great friend Polly Plummer, who had become nearly as close as her own daughter might have been, had Mabel's health permitted more than a single child.

How, many years later, one of those paintings came into the possession of someone on good terms with Harold and Alberta Scrubb, is a tale I shall leave for another day.

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( 9. ) For scytale, in response to the prompt: The Darkangel Trilogy, Irrylath, kingship, written 1/14/23

in the chillest land, and on the strangest sea (220 words)

Content note: Reference to Oriencor's abuse of Irrylath.

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Irrylath barely remembers his father the king; instead, his models of power are his two mothers: the one who bore him and the one who stole him.

Oriencor's example is a litany of things to shun -- do not be capricious, do not assume all places and people exist for your pleasure and convenience, do not lay the land to waste -- but he spent his time in Isternes planning war and clinging to the barest thread of hope that he might not drown in the black pit he dug for himself to please his mother, his lover, his goddess who locked his heart in lead and promised to drink his soul to take his pain away; he did not study how Syllva ruled, and she will not leave her city to guide him and Sabr as they take their first steps into the fragile dream of Avaric reborn.

"Stay and tell me how our mother would govern?" he asks his brothers as the warhost finish the feasting and funerals beside the mere, and begin the slow return to their several lands; and though he dares not depend on ties of blood, and made no effort to befriend this unlooked-for late-come family, perhaps there is more to life than despair and grim resignation, for the answer to his plea is, simply, yes.

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( 10. ) For loveandrockmusic, in response to the prompt: Narnia, Mrs. Beaver and Reepicheep, she sews him a debonair costume, written 1/14/23

Gaily bedight, a gallant knight (150 words)

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"You're already wearing a belt for your sword -- a sash and a cloak aren't that much more fabric," Mrs. Beaver said, fixing the newly-arrived Mouse with a stern gaze. "One must be properly attired for court, after all, and if paying respect to King Frank, Queen Helen, and Aslan himself isn't argument enough to convince you, consider the many secondary uses of a cloak, such as laying it across mud puddles to keep a lady's paws clean, wrapping it around your forearm as a makeshift shield, or simply letting it catch the wind or swirl artistically around your ankles -- I've never yet known a knight who didn't love swishing about dramatically, and I doubt you'll be the first exception."

"A fair touch on all points, my lady," said the Mouse, and he swept her an elaborate bow that would look much better as soon as she finished his new cloak.

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( 11. ) For anonymous, in response to the prompt: Any, any, accidental cat acquisition, written 1/14/23

A Conspiracy of Kittens (225 words)

Fandom = Greenwing & Dart (Victoria Goddard)

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The first batch of kittens, I was quite willing to accept as an accident -- Mr. Moo needed to dispose of them, I happened to be at hand, and he trusted I would find them good homes. That this involved holding up a coach in the middle of the Arguty Forest was merely a logical consequence of Mr. Moo's profession, for a man engaged in the wild lay is just as unlikely to come into town on an everyday basis as a respectable gentleman is to go tramping about in a forest notoriously filled with outlaws and other disreputable souls.

The second batch of kittens was somewhat more suspect, though again, it wasn't illogical for Mr. Moo to encounter me on the outskirts of the Arguty Manor grounds, nor for a highwayman to abscond with all the luggage in a fancy coach and only belatedly discover that one box contained a heavily pregnant cat wearing a collar set with diamonds (naturally he did not hand over the collar along with the cats), and I duly found this set of kittens good homes among my father's former military companions.

However, when Mr. Moo knocked on the door of Elderflower Books with a mewing, squirming satchel in his arms and had the cheek to grin at my astonished cry, I was certain that some new conspiracy was afoot.

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( 12. ) For anonymous, in response to the prompt: Any, any, detective and thief AU, written 1/14/23

Two Roads Converged (245 words)

Fandom = Greenwing & Dart (Victoria Goddard)

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"What could possibly bring such an august personage as the Lady Jessamine's own daughter, swiftly becoming famous in her own right for dismantling the Indrillines' criminal empire, to a quiet backwater like Ragnor Bella?" the young man asked after rising from an elaborate bow and resettling his plumed tricorner hat atop his neatly queued brown hair.

His manners would have been more convincing had he not been wearing a mask over his upper face and standing beside Violet's coach with a bloodstained sword only just withdrawn from her driver's shoulder, but Violet chose to take his question at face value: "Rumors of cults to the Dark Kings, assorted long-lost heirs popping out of the woodwork, and a new criminal element extending tendrils out of the Arguty Forest toward both Ronderell and Chare," she said dryly; "Dare I hope that you might be in a position to answer some of my own questions in turn?"

"Alas, I must disappoint," the masked man said with a swift grin, "but I will leave you with two pieces of advice: first, the Viscount St. Noire is hosting a dinner party the evening after next, to which I'm certain you will be extended an invitation and where you may gather all manner of fascinating gossip; and second, that I recommend Elderflower Books off the market square most highly as a haven for all whose tastes run toward adventure -- you may tell Mrs. Etaris that her former clerk sends his regards."

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More to follow!

The 2023 Three Sentence Ficathon is live!!

This year, to spare poor rthstewart's inbox, Ruth has some co-mods and the ficathon now has its own dedicated Dreamwidth community: threesentenceficathon.

Here is the information post.

And here is the first ficathon post. The ficathon started yesterday, on January 13, and will remain open for new prompts through February 12.

Anyway, here's my first set of fills:

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( 1. ) For wearing_tearing, in response to the prompt: any, any, tarot, written 1/13/23

Cards on the Table (385 words)

Fandom = Greenwing & Dart (Victoria Goddard)

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"Fascinating," I said, shuffling the Tarot cards one final time before returning the deck to the Ystharian ambassador's niece, a young woman of indeterminate ancestry with scandalously short hair and an ingenious set of spectacles that Hope assured me could not possibly be made from glass. "The symbolism is rich despite the repetitive nature of the suits, and the Major Arcana add additional layers of possibility -- what games do you play with them?"

"Hardly any these days," Miss Soledad Aguilar said as she tucked the cards into the canvas satchel slung over her shoulder. "We use a simplified version of the minor arcana for thousands of games, but the full deck is mostly used for divination, which means many people think playing games with the Major Arcana is disrespectful or dangerous -- though most card-based divination is of dubious strength or accuracy."

I thought of the layers of Poacher, the ways that prosaic gameplay and the more arcane aspects intertwined to build upon each other until the great masters could nearly read a man's soul from his discards, and slipped my own deck from my pocket. "I think we took the opposite road on Alinor," I said as I fanned out the deck, displaying various Fish and Happenstance cards to Miss Aguilar's evident interest, "to the point where some people will deny Poacher has any power beyond that of parting fools from their money, but I assure you from personal experience that the cards can speak messages from the gods themselves."

"Fascinating," Miss Aguilar echoed, pausing for my nod before she slipped a pair of cards (the Salmon of Wisdom and Friend with Errand) from my hands to examine. "Mr. Greenwing, I believe there's an empty table under the pergola. Would you mind teaching me the basic rules of Poacher in return for instruction in some simple Tarot spreads? With, perhaps, the Lady Violet to help both of us demonstrate -- I know one of my uncle's predecessors taught her some Tarot, which is why I brought my deck in the first place -- and I assume she knows at least the rudiments of Poacher."

"Miss Aguilar, it would be my pleasure," I returned, and clicked my heels and offered her my most elaborate bow before I began pushing through the crowded afternoon fete in search of Violet.

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( 2. ) For betony, in response to the prompt: Queen’s Thief, Gen/Attolia, apotheosis, written 1/13/23

Prayer Like a Knife (170 words)

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Eugenides is named for a god and touched by a god; sometimes, in some lights, he may even embody that god; and these days he carries the painful brightness of that attention, visible only from the corner of one's eye: a flaring ember of divine fire and glory that reflects from his eyes and teeth like the breath of dew rising from grass at the touch of morning sun.

Attolia bows to the altar in the temple she has erected to honor her husband's gods and says, so quietly that no air moves to carry her words to mortal ears, "If you steal him, or burn him up in your plans, I will find a way to lay siege to your heavens myself until you repay the fullness of my loss."

As she steps back into the light of day, she ignores the way her shadow seems fainter and less sharp-edged than those of her handmaidens, as if some impossible light has lingered in her hair and beneath her skin.

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( 3. ) For wingedflight, in response to the prompt: Duck Hunt (discord game), Strong Duck, shake it off, written 1/13/23

Horatius at the Bridge (90 words)

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If you can hold them off long enough -- just one more bullet, one jammed gun, one pause to reload or change out a magazine -- your sister will have time to set off the explosion.

The hunters think it's murder-suicide, but in truth it's only cover fire to let the younger, sillier members of the flock escape.

A third bullet smashes through your wing and you stumble at the searing pain of shattered flight feathers, but you're not dead yet, and you will sell your life as dearly as you can.

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( 4. ) For wingedflight, in response to the prompt: any, any, this is the darkest timeline, written 1/13/23

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines (340 words)

Fandom = Nine Worlds (Victoria Goddard)

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"This is, without a doubt, the darkest timeline that has ever, will ever, and could ever exist," Fitzroy announced as he burst out of the tent (much larger on the inside, courtesy of some highly experimental magic) where the rest of the Red Company were taking their ease after a filling lunch.

Jullanar counted to ten, then uncricked her neck and glanced up from the ethnographic and cartographic study of southern Colhélhé that she had bargained fiercely for in a small market stall just that morning. Fitzroy looked slightly put-out at her delay in giving him her full attention, but neither calm enough nor wild enough for this to truly be serious, and so she merely raised one eyebrow and said, leadingly, "Oh?"

"Yes, because Pali ate the last of your gingersnaps and laughed at me for being too slow to claim it," Fitzroy said, and flung himself down on the grass to rest his head in Jullanar's lap like an oversized cat -- or perhaps like a younger brother asking for comfort without yet knowing how to vocalize his needs.

Jullanar wondered if he would ever tell them the truth about his childhood, and what he had been doing before he fell out of the sky and into that rowboat between her and Damian. She was fairly sure it couldn't have been anything pleasant, not with the way he sometimes treated normal human interaction like a vast, intricate puzzle constructed by intelligences as foreign as, say, termites.

She was equally certain that mentioning her concerns wouldn't help anything.

"I'll bake some more gingersnaps after I finish my chapter," she said, "if, and only if, you hold very still and let me use you as a bookrest. I think that's a reasonable bargain."

"Deal," Fitzroy said instantly, and closed his eyes. Soon thereafter he drifted off to sleep, and Jullanar allowed herself the small pleasure of combing her fingers gently through the wild curls and squiggles of his hair.

She read three chapters rather than disturb him before he woke on his own.

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( 5. ) For scytale, in response to the prompt: any, any, sheep, written 1/13/23

A Good Shepherd (180 words)

Fandom = The Dark Is Rising

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"The thing about sheep, see, is that they make sense," Bran said as he and Will wedged their hands under nearly twelve stone of panicky flesh and sodden fleece, then heaved the fallen sheep off her back and onto her side; the sheep hastily scrambled to her feet and staggered off on wobbly legs toward the rest of her flock.

"They may not be the brightest, or the most sensibly designed," Bran continued, wiping his muddy, oily hands on his equally muddy trousers, "but sheep want to have enough food and water, to be around other sheep, to make little baby sheep at the right time of year, to not get too hot or cold, and to not get eaten by wolves or minks or terrifying sheepdogs -- simple and sensible, and easy enough for a farmer to arrange -- and they don't bother with things like taxes or religion or the costs and benefits of the devolution of parliamentary authority."

"I know where you're going with this," Will said preemptively, "and no, I won't replace the British government with sheep."

"Shame."

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( 6. ) For wingedflight, in response to the prompt: Sandman, Dream, Rose, and Jed, family dinners, written 1/13/23

First Steps (230 words)

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"Is family dinner going to be a regular thing?" Rose asked as Jed excitedly handed his dinner request to the chef; "Because if this is going to be a regular thing, you need to tell me so I can rearrange my schedule and fall asleep normally instead of you showing up out of nowhere to blow sand in my face and only explain after the fact."

(There were no gilded and leather-bound menus to match the fancy silverware and china plates of the private dining room Dream had conjured up to the left of the great hall, just two blank sheets of heavy paper that the fanged chef assured the Walker siblings would record the foods they wanted most, even if they didn't consciously know what those foods were; Rose admitted it was a neat trick, and mentally awarded Dream a half point on her tally sheet -- at this rate, he might break out of the negative before Jed was old enough to vote.)

Dream looked even more stiff and awkward than normal, which should have been anatomically impossible, but he somehow managed; "You have my apologies for the short notice, and my word that, if you and Jed find yourselves willing to attempt another meal after this, I would be willing to visit the waking world so that you may choose a time and location more convenient for you."

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More to follow!

Batch the fifth, more to come. :)

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

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( 25. ) For gold_pen_leaps, in response to the prompt: The Magnus Archives, any, voyeuristic of you, written 2/1/22

Watch and Wait (280 words)

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The thing is, and Sasha still has no idea how to bring this up with Tim, she's not really that into sex -- or at least not sex that involves someone else touching her body. Yes, there's an element of interest in not knowing exactly how the other person will touch her clit or thrust inside her or stroke her side or pinch her nipple or whatever other act may or may not be on the table, but honestly, she can manage the physical stimulation fine on her own, and being tangled up so close makes it hard to see. Physical stimulation is only half the story, after all -- the brain is the biggest sex organ in the body, as the saying goes -- and she needs mental stimulation to properly get going.

So yes, she had sex with Tim and it was all right. She likes Tim a lot. He's good with his hands, he's very appealing to look at, and he's fun to listen to. But she doesn't want to have sex with him again. She wants to watch him have sex with someone else while she sits on a sofa with a vibe and some lube and gets herself off.

And that is an awkward and scary conversation to have with anyone, let alone somebody you have to face at work five days a week, so she's been putting it off and putting it off and putting it off some more.

As she flees into Artefact Storage, Sasha thinks that when this catastrophe is over, she's going to tell him and damn the consequences. After all, what could possibly be worse than almost getting eaten alive by supernatural worms?

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( 26. ) For gold_pen_leaps, in response to the prompt: any, any, became a sommelier for charity, written 2/1/22

Gala Night (160 words)

Fandom = Greenwing & Dart

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"Explain to me again how this farce is meant to aid the poor of Orio City?" I hissed into Hal's ear as I passed, a silver pail filled with snow and three bottles of an inordinately expensive white clutched in my gloved hands.

Hal bowed (somewhat ironically, I could tell by the set of his shoulders, though I doubted anyone who hadn't roomed with him for years could see through his earnest facade) to the latest group of notables who had stopped to twitter around him at the host's podium when they entered the repurposed ballroom, and delivered them courteously into the hands of another young gentleman who was playing at wait staff.

"Because sometimes the best way to pry money from tight pockets is to make the people attached to those pockets feel indulged and superior," he murmured, "and what better way to accomplish that than to have fellow aristocrats wait on them hand and foot for a night?"

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( 27. ) For cornerofmadness, in response to the prompt any, any Girls Just Want To Have Fun, written 2/8/22.

A Spoonful of Sugar (185 words)

Fandom = The Magnus Archives

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"Are you sure you don't want to spend the afternoon in my corridors?" the Distortion asks in Helen's best reasonable-friend voice; "I promise I'm an excellent listener if you want to shout, you can't hurt anything if you want to kick my walls or shred the wallpaper, and I have a nice variety of ice cream for winding down afterwards."

For a moment, Melanie looks genuinely tempted.

"Ah well, maybe some other day," the Distortion says in response to Melanie's eventual headshake of refusal, because patience is a virtue and a well-seasoned meal is always more filling.

She can wait while the sharp, pulsing song of the Slaughter continues to strengthen in Melanie's bones (her fierce denial of any outside, unnatural influence, no matter how clear the line from war ghosts to phantom bullets to the ability to harm creatures of the Flesh, makes such tasty, twisty echoes), and then wait some more while Melanie's incandescent fury adds spice to the terror of other victims wandering Helen's guts.

When the Distortion swallows Melanie for keeps, her screams of betrayal will be delicious beyond human words.

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( 28. ) For swirlsngirls, in response to the prompt Any, any, sophisticated, manipulated, written 2/8/22.

Two-Step (235 words)

Fandom = Greenwing & Dart

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The first trick to manipulating Lark is to keep all the important actions just beneath her sight, where she doesn't even realize something might exist to overlook: for example, it was obvious to anyone paying the slightest bit of attention that Jemis's final paper must be nonsensical -- he was flying so high in the penultimate stages of wireweed addiction that any coherence was the next best thing to a miracle -- so hiding his insight into the relationship between Ariadne nev Lingarel's poem and a guide to Orio City's famously impregnable prison was easy as making a snide remark about Jemis's fixation on yet another treasonous minor historical poet and laughing at Lark's answering jape.

The second trick is to eschew complicated plots: even if Lark suspects Violet's impending betrayal (and with her sophisticated eye for clothes, she cannot have missed the declaration in Violet's color choices during Lark's carefully scripted audience with Jemis and his friends), she would expect Violet to disclaim that declaration as a way to toy with Jemis, suborn a guard or find a mage to whisk him out of the prison, and then play cat-and-mouse through the fog and the foulness of Orio City's streets toward a well-disguised ship in the harbor.

Instead, Violet steps through the mirror into the inescapable prison, secure in the knowledge that even should she live a thousand years, Lark will never understand what just happened.

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( 29. ) For swirlsngirls, in response to the prompt Any, any, set a fire in my head tonight, written 2/8/22.

Not Wholly Unwilling (155 words)

Fandom = Greenwing & Dart

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"Unlace me," Lark commanded, and as I obediently began undoing her stays, she turned her head to favor me with an assessing gaze that lingered over both the bruise blooming plum-dark around the raw and oozing scrape across my cheek, and the new-grown swell of my breasts beneath my plainer bodice; there was something satiated in her eyes, like a cat well-fed and pleased to toy with mice, and under that a swell of renewing hunger.

"Face the wall," she commanded when I had finished and the shoulders of her dress fell loose down the deceptive softness of her upper arms; I turned, silent, and let her unlace my dress in turn.

As she pulled me to her bed, she kissed the bloody wound her own hand and rings had made, kindled a throb of pain and desire, and the part I will never tell a living soul is that I fell willingly to flame.

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( 30. ) For topaz_eyes, in response to the prompt: Any, any, the skin around every city looks the same, written 2/8/22

And Taxes (180 words)

Fandom = The Hands of the Emperor

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Every city is fundamentally the same upon approach: wilderness and pastures give way to grain fields and tended forests, which give way to market gardens and little blots of houses, which give way to walls and narrow streets and buildings reaching skyward for lack of space to sprawl. People need food and fuel, and transportation is expensive; these concentric rings are the inevitable collision of those truths, with only occasional exceptions for fishing fleets or long-distance water-based grain trade.

Cliopher rides into Astandalas the Golden in the back of a vegetable wagon magically sped along the imperial highway from a hundred miles away, and doubts the evidence of his own eyes when he sees the sharp delineation between the city of roses and the gorgeous, wasteful, parks outside its walls. The power to shape an entire region to serve aesthetic whims rather than human needs is earthshaking, and the mindset that would make that trade is beyond his comprehension.

Of course the Empire fell. No society can balance on such a narrow edge forever; one day, the debt comes due.

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When I see an 'any' fandom prompt, I ask myself, "Can I make this about Greenwing & Dart?" The answer is generally, "Yes." :D

Batch the third, more to come. :)

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

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( 13. ) For mad_madam_m, in response to the prompt: any, any, anniversaries, written 1/25/22

Memorials (85 words)

Fandom = Greenwing & Dart

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No one on Alinor marks the anniversary of the empire's fall, not even for mourning or paying respects.

No one marks the end of the Interim either, and only partially because time grew so vague during those years (months? decades? the former imperial citizens of Alinor collectively settle on years) that agreeing on a single date as their end would be next to impossible.

Alinor's children maintain decorum by the skin of their teeth, and draw a conspiracy of silence over things best left forgotten.

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( 14. ) For mad_madam_m, in response to the prompt: any, any, working late, written 1/26/22

A Scholarly Bent (220 words)

Fandom = Greenwing & Dart (six sentences, oops!)

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"Jemis, it's half eleven; time and past for all good souls to be abed," Benneret said as he nudged his stepson's door open and saw the boy bent over his desk, beeswax candle burning like a defiant shout against the thick, sleepy darkness of the summer night.

"Oh!" Jemis said, startling to his feet and whirling to face the door; "Sorry, sir -- I lost track of time and didn't realize I was wasting the light."

"You've no need to worry over the cost of candles," Benneret assured the boy, wondering for the thousandth time how to break the pane of awkwardness that had lain between them since Jackory Greenwing had returned to life and died again within a single month. He ventured into the room to rest his hand on Jemis's shoulder and added, "I only meant that the mind is part of the body and requires similar care. Your books will be waiting in the morning, and you'll face your studies better with a good night's sleep and some of your mother's excellent breakfast in your stomach."

"Yes, sir," Jemis said, expression and posture screaming his own, equal sense of awkwardness, but he pressed back against Benneret's hand for a moment, chasing that contact, before he turned to put away his books and pen and pinch out the light.

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( 15. ) For vialethe, in response to the prompt: Narnia, Susan/& any, cold patrol, written 1/26/22

Winter Diplomacy (220 words)

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As Edmund slipped back into the royal tent, snow dusting the hood and hem of his cloak, Susan stifled a shiver at the cold draft and said, "Was aught amiss, or was the sound, as I told you, merely a branch cracking under the weight of ice?"

"The weight of ice and an Owl who misjudged her landing, so we were both correct," Edmund said, then held up his hands, one bare and one still gloved, and added, "Peace, the message was nothing ill; merely our good Ambassador Coltsfoot sending word that we are warmly awaited in Vashnoi, and that the King of Vinyedvyeri seems most amenable to the plan for a joint strike at Harfang come spring."

"So long as the good Owl is uninjured," Susan said, and quirked an inquiring brow -- ("Merely dazed, and grateful for a warm perch out of the snow") -- "then I was more correct than you; as forfeit, I sentence you to warm your feet by the brazier (for I have no wish to share a bed with a block of ice) and reflect that a king who cannot trust his people to manage a night patrol without his presence at every minute is a foolish king indeed."

"As you command, Su," Edmund said, and neatly caught the cushion Susan tossed at his face.

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( 16. ) For elementalraven, in response to the prompt: Narnia, any, mirror universe, written 1/27/22

The Sun Never Sets (150 words)

She destroyed her own world by accident, a hideous unforeseen consequence of a last, desperate spell to stop the Empire of Charn and her traitor sister from conquering the last small land that still gasped shallow breaths of freedom, but she has learned caution since that day -- and yet, some things never change; the casual arrogance of imperialists is a constant across all times, all places, and all peoples.

"And what, pray tell, is your home like?" she asks the human child as he sulks by her sleigh (damn the Lion for blighting this land with endless Winter as vengeance for her attempt to free his cowed and hoodwinked slaves!), blithely confident that no harm can truly touch him despite all evidence to the contrary.

"I'm from England, and we have the greatest empire in the world!" the boy says with pride, and Jadis begins to prepare again for war.

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( 17. ) For paxilam, in response to the prompt: any, any, a collection of rocks, written 1/27/22

Interesting Rocks (120 words)

Fandom = Greenwing & Dart

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When someone says they collect rocks, most listeners, Hope has learned, assume the rocks in question are valuable, shiny, or carved into interesting shapes -- often all three. She never saw much point in that sort of collecting, and not merely because it was far beyond her modest finances: gemstones are such a tiny fraction of the world's minerals, playing scarcely any role in the great geological processes that lift and shape the land, and a collection whose component parts are all alike is less a selection and more of a hoard.

Besides, several fist-sized chunks of granite, gneiss, and common silicates serve a far more practical defensive purpose than a palmful of dust-speck diamonds, however bright the latter may shine.

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( 18. ) For wearing_tearing, in response to the prompt: any, any, dragons, written 1/30/22

Form and Function (215 words)

Fandom = Greenwing & Dart

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"There is something that has been bothering me about your imprisonment in Yellton on the charge of murdering Fitzroy Angursell in the form of a dragon," Mr. Dart remarked one evening as we prepared for our journey to Orio City; "Leaving aside the general trumpery and nonsense of the whole business, to say nothing of the general legality or illegality of killing dragons, is it even possible for a human -- whether a wild mage of his own volition, or someone under the influence of a curse -- to take the form of a dragon?"

"I have never heard of anyone doing so," I said after a pause to riffle through my half-remembered history and theory of magic lessons from Morrowlea, "and I am quite certain if Fitzroy Angursell had managed that trick, we would all know a dozen songs or more about his achievement."

As Mr. Dart laughed, I continued, "I think it would be like a human trying to become one of the Good Neighbors; one might manage the outer semblance, but neither the inherent magic nor the cast of thought -- which is just as well, since if you did change your inner self so utterly, who could say that the dragon who ended the spell was the same as the mage who began it?"

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No one wrote me Greenwing & Dart fic for Yuletide, so I will just have to write it myself. *wry*

Batch the first, more to come. :)

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

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( 1. ) For kalira: any, any, tea makes everything better, written 1/15/22

Relevant Applications (100 words)

Fandom = The Magnus Archives

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"Tea most certainly does not make everything better," Jon snapped, "which is trivially easy to demonstrate: consider a stack of papers or an electronic device; under what circumstances would they be improved by the application of tea?"

"Oh that is hard, let me think -- no, wait, a toddler could solve it!" Melanie sniped back; "The relevant circumstance is when the statements and tape recorders are evil, just like the ones we handle every day but you won't let me destroy."

In the break room doorway, Martin paused, sighed, and turned around to gather more supplies; some situations also required biscuits.

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( 2. ) For anonymous: Any, any, children's hospitals and colour theory, written 1/15/22

Civic Responsibility (220 words)

Fandom = Addams Family. Nine sentences, oops! (Contains references to Covid-19)

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"Red is an ideal color for a children's hospital," Morticia remarked approvingly as she scrolled through the selection of gory and horror-themed memes that Pugsley had thoughtfully emailed to her. "Vibrant, eye-catching, and the way this design resembles a trail of spilt blood is a wonderful reminder that life is a constant, glorious battle. What better way to rouse a passion for renewed health?"

"A passion for renewed health is a little abstract for most people, but children haven't yet had their natural morbidity squashed into saccharine conformism and love to see their parents wrong-footed by reminders that life is inherently bloody and precarious," Wednesday said, her voice slightly flattened by the Zoom interface.

"All the better, then!" Morticia said. "There's never enough healthy morbidity in the world -- even now, surrounded by plague on a worldwide scale, the majority remain obstinately oblivious rather than taking the opportunity to indulge in a cathartic, years-long gothic swoon."

She tapped one glossy, ebon nail against her lips, considering. "Perhaps I should talk to your father about endowing some renovations or new services at the local hospital, on condition that we get full control over the interior design elements. I hear the staff are dreadfully overworked these days, and I'm sure they could use some support, to say nothing of a rousing color scheme."

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( 3. ) For syrena_of_the_lake: Enchanted Forest Chronicles, Cimorene, adventures in organizing a dragon's hoard, written 1/15/22

Delegation (210 words)

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The trouble with the King's Hoard (the Capital Letters were not only implied but pronounced) was, firstly, that it had been gathered over centuries and consequently had more time than any individual hoard for items to accumulate and to spoil (or have their spells start to fray, whichever was more applicable), and secondly, that it had been gathered and partially reorganized by multiple dragons during those centuries, which meant there was neither rhyme nor reason to be found.

Kazul's hoarding tended toward fancy weapons and rare magical items, but apparently other dragons were more interested in intricately woven carpets, or jewelry (Cimorene was unsure if the big gaudy items and the small delicate items came from two dragons or one with wide-ranging tastes), or silk paintings from Cathay, or fragmenting papyrus scrolls, or inconveniently large sculptures, or any number of mismatched themes -- many of which required special conservation skills that Cimorene did not have.

"We're hiring a director and turning the Hoard into a museum," she announced to Kazul at breakfast; "We'll pay the salary out of ticket sales, and trust me, once we publicize a list of what's in here, every scholar in the world will pay an arm and a leg for a chance to respectfully poke around."

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( 4. ) For rthstewart: Any, any, "no plan survives contact with the enemy", written 1/15/22

Cost-Benefit Analysis (50 words)

Fandom = The Magnus Archives

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"Of course we didn't plan everything," Annabelle said with a friendly smile. "Even the Mother can't control every variable, particularly when the other Dread Powers are in play; the effort would be far too costly and almost certainly doomed to failure."

"We prefer to focus on finding the right enemies."

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( 5. ) For elementalraven: Narnia/Journey to the center of the earth, any, Bism runs deeper and deeper still, written 1/15/22

Ouroboros (110 words)

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In another life, Rilian travels down: down from the Sunless Lands that were his prison for unknown changeless years, down through the fiery dance and pulsing joy of Bism, down through the deepest crevices where heat and light gush up through stone like blood, down past where anyone has ever traveled and returned.

In the deepest bend of the deepest tunnel, chasing the faintest glint of light, he swings his borrowed axe until he breaks through a shell of diamond to a sky of velvet black, bestrewn with its own living jewels who welcome him in echoes of his mother's voice.

The roots of the earth are nourished by stars.

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( 6. ) For scytale: any, any, no such thing as too many kittens, written 1/15/22

Roxy Lalonde's No-Frills, No-Fee Cat Café (165 words)

Fandom = Homestuck

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Listen, you have had a Very Difficult Year, and if defeating (or helping defeat) A) the alien fishqueen who destroyed your planet, B) an unbeatable universe-killing monster, and C) your own alcohol addiction, not to mention creating a whole new universe and recycling your poor battered homeworld doesn't entitle a lady to some choice rewards, you don't know what would.

And by rewards, you mean kittens.

Possibly slightly unwise numbers of kittens, but you are going to be a responsible cat owner this time around and get them all (well, mostly all) spayed and neutered at the appropriate ages, and make sure they have lots of space and enrichment and microchips to find them if they sneak out and get lost, and look -- you just want to make your home a comfy, welcoming place where all your friends can drop by whenever they want (or need) and there will always be fresh food, soft pillows, cool video games, and a purring cat for their laps.

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In more current writing news, am still hung up on the evil teacup story, but I have set it aside for the moment to percolate (I'm having trouble managing the tone shift from "this is a bad relationship" to "this is a supernatural horror story" and suspect I may need to add some more stuff to the lead-in) and am once again working on tiny fills. So, expect some more posts of this nature in days to come. :)

Three-Sentence Ficathon 2022, courtesy of the amazing rthstewart!

I am at work and trying to actually Do Tasks, so I will not be participating just yet... but the moment I get home, I intend to dive in. :DDDDDDDD

Batch the twelfth. :)

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, but you can continue filling prompts and commenting on other people's fills for as long as you like!

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( 67. ) For anonymous: Any, any, a goddess made of starlight and shadows, written 3/31/21

Creator of the Stars of Night (95 words)

Fandom = The Silmarillion

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It is easy to forget, when faced with her glory, that Varda is not only a goddess of light. She who wrought the stars and set them on high as a comfort and a warning, she whose sight is keen, whose mind is clear, whose purpose adamant, she whose touch destroys evil, is too vast for light alone to encompass the truth of her being, no more than the brilliance of her stars can encompass the whole of the sky.

You must always remember that for the stars to shine, there must first be dark.

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( 68. ) For notapaladin: Any, any/any, daemon AU, written 5/19/21

Sense of Self (1,845 words)

Fandom = The Murderbot Diaries

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Humans and augmented humans tend to assume that constructs have daemons because we straddle the line between true sentience and a bunch of pre-programmed subroutines mindlessly following orders (not that humans are as clearly on one side of that line as they like to think), but it has nothing to do with intelligence levels. It's just that we have a lot of organic parts mostly made from human genetic material, and where you have life composed of human DNA, you eventually get a daemon.

It's even odds whether the fact that our daemons never settle makes humans and augmented humans more or less uncomfortable around us. On the one hand, that kind of flexibility is unnatural for anyone with an adult-sized body, which makes us seem less relatable. On the other hand, humans tend to react negatively to the idea of juvenile humans (or their equivalents of other species) either killing or being killed. This is probably why it's company policy for SecUnits keep our daemons small and hidden within our armor -- unless we're in active combat, in which case there's a short list of approved battle forms.

We do settle sometimes, of course. Even governor modules and memory wipes can't always stop us from developing a sense of self stable enough to coax a daemon into a single form.

This is the second most common reason SecUnits are junked and recycled.

( cut for length )

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( 69. ) For rthstewart: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, any, reclaiming the narrative, written 5/26/21

Take a Third Option (310 words)

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"Want, take, have," Faith told Buffy back in the day, before the murder and torture and betrayal and all that -- and the thing is, the thing it took her a year in prison to sort out, piecing herself together without the pressure to play to or against anyone else's expectations (turns out, you beat a couple assholes up the first week in gen pop and treat the guards like part of the machinery, and most people are real quick to leave you alone), is this: she wasn't wrong.

Yeah, she fucked up the execution (turns out, just 'cause nobody ever respected her boundaries wasn't a reason to ignore everyone else's in turn; that's just passing on the trauma and pretending it's cool), but the core of it, the raw, bloody, beating heart that screamed her right to have desires -- to want sex, power, respect, love, life -- isn't dirty or shameful or whatever the fuck society feeds girls from babies to grandmas, all those lies about nurture and purity and selflessness until you start to think, fuck it, if wanting makes you evil, then why not be evil -- at least then you can be yourself instead of a shadow of all the people pressed around you, hungry, trying to hack off bits of your self and your soul until you fit their pet narrative.

Turns out, femme fatale is just as much somebody else's story as chaste heroine -- that old Madonna/whore thing Giles mentioned once to Wesley when they didn't realize Faith was in earshot, where you can be good or you can want things, but never both together -- and Faith is done with playing that game; when she gets out, she'll be more thoughtful with her methods (turns out, sometimes if you ask, people will even give you stuff without threats or bribes), but what she wants, she'll win.

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( 70. ) For anonymous: Any, any, a singing bird will come, written 5/26/21

A Wilderness in the Heart (195 words)

Fandom = The Magnus Archives

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When Agnes is young, it's easy to keep herself open to the voice of her god: to build her heart into a bonfire, to scour away doubt, to drown her very self in the task she was born to complete.

But as the years wear on, as Gertrude's web binds her and the Cult of Lightless Flame splinters around her, Agnes finds certainty hard to hold: the fire fades, the sandstorm stills, the flood ebbs, and Agnes watches the strange green shoots of new thoughts sprout first into weeds (hastily yanked and scorched) and then into moss, thickets, trees -- a thorny forest of questions and yearning.

When she meets Jack Barnabas, she realizes that for all her changes, for all the greenery choking her heart, her soul's landscape is still barren -- no birds have come to build their nests and sing -- and try as she might, she can never outrun the inferno whose embers crackle within her bones; happiness is not within her reach.

Despair feeds the god she no longer wants to serve; better to lay herself waste and let something new, something stronger, take root in her ashes and struggle towards the sun.

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( 71. ) For anonymous: Any, any, nectarines, written 5/27/21

All Summer in a Bite (180 words)

Fandom = Chronicles of Narnia

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Calavar was not peach country -- land good for horses was generally poor for orchards, and vice versa -- but Mezreel claimed all fruits among its thousand delights, and while Aravis would personally contest the quality of their figs and dates, none could truthfully speak against their plums and pears, apples and cherries, their pomegranates and nectarines.

One of her earliest memories was the flash of midsummer sun on her brother's knife, slicing through the delicate, already-bruising skin of a firm, white nectarine and his deft fingers holding out a slice for her own clumsy, plump-fleshed hands to grasp; the juice burst sweet and tart over her tongue like a dream she had forgotten and would yearn for from that day forward.

Archenland was not peach country either, but an esplanade on a south-facing wall, netting and heated stones to guard against late spring frost, bone meal and eggshells kneaded into soil, and a certain amount of bloody-minded faith won her and Cor peaches two years out of three, and her children grew with the taste of summer dreams upon their lips.

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( 72. ) For notapaladin: Any, any, a broken crown for a broken throne, written 5/27/21

Final Tithe (90 words)

Fandom = The Magnus Archives

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King of a ruined world? Why so you shall become, but your throne will be the threads of the trap that binds you helpless as your doom approaches, step by step from the pitiless north; and your crown will be the certainty of death: at first the barest drop dyeing the flood of others' fears, but waxing, ever waxing, until the multitudinous seas run incarnadine with your oldest terror come home to roost.

Enjoy it, Jonah Magnus, in the sliver of thought that remains to you before your self-wrought End.

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And that's as many as I wrote last year, though spread out over a significantly longer period.

I may keep going -- these are nice finger exercises when I don't have the brain to work on anything longer or more complicated.

I should probably also get started on cross-posting them to AO3. *sigh*