Have another Into the Woods drabble. Maybe I should try to make this a 26-day challenge? IDEK we’ll see.
The Witch + angst + preference (200 words)
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Have another Into the Woods drabble. Maybe I should try to make this a 26-day challenge? IDEK we’ll see.
The Witch + angst + preference (200 words)

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Lately my brain has been simultaneously work-induced mush and also firmly hyperfixated on the original Bridge Theatre Into the Woods run, so when @emylilas mentioned trying a fic challenge, I jumped on the idea. The strict wordcount of (multi-)drabbles are tough for me, but that and the idea of a trio of random generators sounded appealing. Three deep now, with some kind of interesting combinations, so I think I'll start dropping them here before eventually collecting them on AO3. Maybe that'll help keep me accountable!
The structure is character + fic type + one-word prompt ... though for this first attempt the last was shoehorned in after the fact, shh.
Cinderella's Father + angst/fluff + unrest (wordcount: 100)
For the "things you said" fic game:
All of them! Jk, jk, but dang was it hard to choose, so many good ones 👀.
Let's say, 20 - Silrah
Fair warning: I legitimately have no idea what the fuck happened here, and I'm still not sure if I like the result, but I promised myself I'd do these as writing exercises and not linger on them, so ... here's this, whatever it actually is, and I'm sorry. 😅
20. things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear
“It should have been me.”
Granite bites into long fingers, presses cold and sharp and unforgiving against a callused palm. I should be bleeding is a hazy thought, distant against an agony that has never quite dulled.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
She wants to believe it means more than that, when she knows Aes Sedai means servants of all in the Old Tongue, but she cannot recall the last time she saw an Aes Sedai in Tanchico. As initiates of the Tower do, Liandrin learns what it means to be a member of each Ajah — and finds them wanting, as the shadow in her dreams knew she would.
Andylind + 💙
What do we do when AO3 is down? Write prompt fics! This went in a way I didn't plan, despite my trying to keep it somewhat lighthearted.
“Rosalind!”

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Andylind + Rosalind teaching Andreas to dance for his first Alumni banquet
This seems like a good birthday fic prompt, so ... happy birthday, Anne, and happy continued Andylind April! Hope you enjoy this attempted fluffylind. 😘
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
There is blood already — so much blood, the smell of iron heavy in the air, so thick that it strangles him. He has grown up with the threat of the Burned Ones, has seen the damage they can do, and he knows what happens with a wound that bad. Everyone does, no matter their age. But to know there are only two possible outcomes in such a situation is one thing, and to look that in the face — to see it reflected in his father's eyes, a silver-dark sheen over familiar blue, is another thing entirely.
"Da," he chokes out.
"Take the gun, Saul."
The stock is cool in his hands, the time-worn wood damp from the grass it had fallen into. He's held it so many times before but it suddenly feels too large for his hands, slippery and strange.
"Load it."
"Da —"
"Load it."
His hands tremble as he plucks out the spent shells, drops new ones in. His eyes are wet but he doesn't need to see, the movements drilled into him over the years they've hunted together. There is a painful finality to the sound they make as they slot into the chamber, too loud in the foggy morning calm.
"Aim." The words he's heard countless times in lessons, though his father's voice is tighter than usual, strained. It seems ludicrous when he's so close there is no way he can miss, but even if he wishes he didn't, he understands the reason behind the words. Without them, he's not sure he could bring himself to do what's necessary. With the calm of a drill, though, it is — not easier, but possible.
Under the sheen, the eyes locked onto his are still his father's, but they are changing even as he watches. Soon, too soon, they will no longer be. (He closes his own, unable to bear the sight of what will come next.)
"Fire."
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
“You.” “Me,” Farah — or the creature that looks like her — agrees, as though it’s an everyday thing to suddenly be there between one blink and the next. A conversation Rosalind never thought to have does not bring her any answers.
I wanted to write something Fate for Hallowe'en; this was not my original plan, but it wouldn't go away, so ... happy slightly early Hallows?