#spotify wrapped fanfic ask prompt

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

13, for the Spotify wrapped promt

Thank you!!!! I am still taking prompts for this ask game: #13 is Neighborhood #1 (tunnels) by Arcade Fire:

And if my parents are crying / Then I'll dig a tunnel / From my window to yours / Yeah, a tunnel / From my window to yours

Her hands are shaking as she picks the phone up off the line. She knows the feel of the chipped plastic like the back of her hand, the way the chord slithers against her wrist as she tries to look down at the phone to dial. Her instincts are always wrong now – first to look and then to feel. Luckily, she pushes the familiar number in by rote and waits for the ringing to stop.

Max Mayfield (née Hargrove) thought things were supposed to get better once that née was penned in ink. But maybe that’s not really for when your step brother dies horribly and your step father can’t cope so he drives off into the sunset, thanks a lot, fuck you very much. Maybe it doesn’t count when the only living Mayfield left is in the living room slurring her words around the sounds of bottles breaking. 

The phone stops ringing; Max listens to the staticky buzzed breathing flowing through the line, up through telephone wires, bringing them together in real time. “Max?” El says happily. 

“Hey,” Max says, casually. Or, as casually as someone who’s crying and is pretending she’s not can be.

The line is quiet for a moment beyond El’s quiet breathing. “Are you okay?” she says, pausing after each word like she’s choosing them carefully.

“Totally,” Max says, rolling her eyes, like it’ll carry over the phone. She’s cool. She’s casual. She’s cool, casual Max Mayfield who isn’t standing blind in her kitchen while her mom isn’t drunk in the other room. 

As if to contradict her, there’s the sound of glass shattering on linoleum. Max’s shoulders hunch, and she sucks in a startled breath, waiting to see if the sounds will grow louder. Nothing else comes.

“I will come get you,” El says. 

Max sniffles, just once as she wipes her eyes and runny nose on the sleeve of her flannel. “Sure, totally,” she says. Calm. Casual. “We can have a girl’s day. I’ll paint your nails, and we’ll rate boys from my mom’s cosmo.”

El puffs air into the receiver, like she’s stifling her laugh. “Yes, I will describe what their faces look like.”

Max scoffs. “Who cares about their faces?”

This time, El laughs for real, the one where she snorts like a pig at the end. Max smiles, reaches up her hand to feel the shape of it as she listens to her best friend squeal.

“I will come now,” El says. Max imagines her, standing in her own kitchen the same way Max is, nodding like she’s on a secret mission with dire importance, eyebrows furrowed, face serious. Max does a lot of imagining nowadays. “It is time for a girl’s day.”

“What?” It’s muffled, far away from the receiver, and unmistakably Mike Wheeler’s squirrelly ass. “I thought we were hanging out!”

El scoffs, and Max feels a little curl of pride unfurl in how well she’d corrupted El in such a short amount of time. “There is more to life than dumb boys, Mike.”

“Hey!”

“I will be there soon, Max,” El says. “Dad will drive me.”

She hangs up, not even waiting for a reply. Max is still smiling, teeth and all. Even as her Mom mumbles incoherently in the next room. Even as she has to find her way out of the trailer by trailing her fingertips along the wall. Even then.

There’s nothing like a girl’s day. 

[eurydicees]

The spotify wrapped prompt is such a fun idea!! My fav song on my playlist is #9, so that's the one I'll choose for you!

sorry for the delay--have a lil shiratorizawa/ushijima drabble :D

the strongest team in all the world

summary: shiratorizawa loses. there's no other way to put it. shiratorizawa loses. prompt: spotify wrapped #9, heartbreak feels so good by fall out boy pairings: wakatoshi ushijima & shiratorizawa volleyball club words: 955 warnings: none 

When you are eighteen, everything that hurts is its own little death. Every pain is like losing your own life, losing your heart, again and again and again. When you are eighteen, the world ends every time you close your eyes to let go of the tears. 

So Ushijima and Shiratorizawa lose to Karasuno, and he lies back on the court to stretch and, for just a moment, he closes his eyes. And the world ends. 

But: “Don’t you go slacking on me,” Tendou says. 

And then the world begins again. He opens his eyes.

I won’t, Ushijima thinks. He’s not sure if he says it out loud. It’s all still so surreal. They’re on the court floor, stretching, cooling down, and they’ve lost. It’s all over. 

He had trained for this game knowing—believing, being so sure—that they would win. They had all trained for this believing that. Maybe that had been their downfall: not considering anyone else in Miyagi a great enough threat to keep them from Nationals. 

Pride. Worthless fucking pride. 

A blink, and they’re done with stretches. A blink, and they’re getting on the bus. It was a good enough game to get on the bus. Not good enough to win. But enough to drive home rather than run there.

Ushijima and Tendou always sit together on the bus. The ride back from this game is no different. The difference comes with the silence. 

Usually, Tendou keeps up a steady chatter while they ride back. Goshiki rambles on about his favorite plays during the match and only a few of the benchwarmers listen, mostly other first years. Shirabu sleeps, and he always snores. Semi’s music, though he has headphones in, always bleeds out into the rest of the bus. Reon and Yamagata talk in low tones about things they could have done better. 

There are always layers upon layers of sound. There’s always something.

This bus ride is silent. No one talks. 

Tendou always sits at the window. He likes to count the green cars that pass by. Ushijima knows this, because last time that they beat Aoba Johsai, there were seven of them and that had been a record. Ushijima knows this, because he knows Tendou and his intricacies. Ushijima knows this, because he loves Tendou and his intricacies. 

Today, Tendou stares at his hands. He doesn’t point it out when a green Honda passes by. Ushijima nudges his shoulder, pointing. Tendou nods. Gives him a tight smile. 

A blink. The world ends. 

Then they’re back at Shiratorizawa, and the world begins again. It’s getting dark. The sun is red and hollow in the sky and the clouds hang like heavy pauses in a conversation about defeat and pride and strength. The earth is turning still. They lost, and the earth is turning still.

“Six in the morning tomorrow,” Coach Washijo says. “Third years’ presence is optional. But if you don’t come tomorrow, don’t bother coming again.” 

He turns around. Walks to the athletic offices. They all watch him go. They just stand in their little semicircle and watch as he walks away from them. He doesn’t look back once. 

There’s no sense of urgency to it. Instead, there’s a sense of emptiness. Of vast blank space in their lives. In their futures. All of the time that they had set aside for volleyball, for Nationals: just empty space. 

So they all stand there, in the setting sun, watching their coach turn away from them—the losing team—and walk away. He doesn’t even dismiss them as he usually does. He doesn’t say goodbye to the third years who may not show up again. He just leaves. Step by step by step, until he disappears behind a door. 

Ushijima could say something, now. But all his words have already been used. Besides, they all know that he’ll be at practice at 5:45am tomorrow. Coach Washijo probably knows, too. He knows that they’ll all still show up. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t look back. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to face them. 

After all, he, too, failed. He, too, lost this game. He, too, let go of something. 

So: a blink, and Ushijima is starting the long walk back to the dorms. The team follows him. Eyes on his back and he keeps walking.

Ushijima turns around only once. He turns around to look at his team: his beautiful, wonderful, crying, strong, prideful, defeated team; with the sunset behind them, filling in all the empty spots in the great big sky; with all the weight of loss and all the weight of the future on their shoulders.

Yeah. His beautiful, strong, defeated team. He loves them, the Shiratorizawa that lost to Karasuno. Whether or not they have lost. They are still his team. They will always be his team. 

And those who are left, those who come after him, those who continue, those first and second years, they will try again. And again. And again. They will fight again. They will honor what has come before and they will create something new. They will lose again. They will rise again. 

Take this loss and make it something greater, Ushijima thinks. 

When you are eighteen, every loss is the ending of the world. Then you blink, and time has passed. A new team arrives. A whistle is blown and a new game starts.

Ushijima takes a deep breath. Promises himself that he’ll come watch their games next year, just like surely some of them will come watch his. A tear falls over his cheek and over the curve of his lips and he doesn’t wipe it away. Just lets it fall. It’s only one tear. Only one apocalypse.

A blink. And the world begins again.

[arizonapoppy]

Hey Poppy! 8 & 12 for the fanfic asks, please! 💕

Hi, Sunny! Thank you for the ask!

8. Do you listen to music while you write? If so, share a song that’s been inspiring you lately.

Oh yes! I pretty much always have a playlist. Sometimes I'll go too far down a rabbithole and spend too much time on the playlist and not enough writing. Or I'll end up with a very skewed Spotify Wrapped that had five different versions of All the Things You Are. One WIP that I have currently going on has Lana Del Rey's "If You Lie Down With Me" as a major piece of my soundtrack.

12. Is there a trope you haven’t written yet but really want to?

You know what I'd really like to do? A Soulmate!AU or Arranged Marriage. Those seem like they would be hard to pull off though. There are so many good/popular ones out there that I am afraid of failure and not matching up. And then I never start even though I have a really good idea for a SW rarepair.

My ask box is always open in case anyone else wants to ask!

List of prompts here

[bifuriouswaterbender]

Send me a ship (or fandom) and a number between 1 & 100, and I’ll use my Spotify Wrapped as fic inspo

[kira-nerys-rocks]

Inspired by a few other posts: send me an ask with a number 1-100, and I'll tell you what fabric I'd write (or have planned) for the corresponding song in my Spotify Wrapped top 100 songs list

[tessiete]

For the Spotify fanfic ficlet: 12 for the Kenobi-Kryze fam? 🥺

@lightasthesun so here’s the deal. I STRUGGLED with this. Because I wanted to give you happy, fun, fluffy times, and there are some real bangers on my Wrapped. I mean, relative bangers.

But you picked probably the most Obitine-angst appropriate song ever, and I was like......oh, no. I can’t - I can’t do that to them.

So, after several days of thinking about it, we came up with this. It’s...I refuse to call it angst, bc everyone is alive, and well. It’s just like, some family fun times. Thanks, especially to the Obitine discord, and @duchess-of-mandalore @mg024 and Finn!

And anyway, I hope you love it! Thank you so much for the challenge! <3

Prompt: The Chain (Ingrid Michaelson)

THE CHAIN

The sky over Capital City is grey, and tremulous when they arrive on Coruscant. A natural storm had surged over the breakers of the planet’s ancient atmo regulators to sound its rage and fury out above the city. It’s rare, but not unheard of, and though some might take it as an ill omen, Satine thinks it a fair reflection of the twisting winds within her breast. Rain falls in great, heavy drops, lashing its grief across the transparisteel viewports as they break through the clouds. Thunder cracks, righteous and defiant. Lightning fractures the plate of the sky, reaching out with jealous fingers to touch the earth. Korkie has slept through it all, but Satine doesn’t want to miss any moment more than she must.

They hit the pad with the sudden jolt of gravity reasserting itself, the locking clamps securing them in place. She feels each shudder of the ship echoing in her bones, the soft satyn of her simple travelling gown like water over her skin. Every contrast feels sharp, and malicious. She takes Korkie’s small hand in her larger one, and together they wait for the ramp to lower, releasing them into the wilds outside.

And they are met.

Across the platform, standing silent in the downpour, is Obi-Wan Kenobi. 

Though her vision blurs, and renders his face unreadable, she can see the straight line of his shoulders, the proud tilt of his chin, and the defiant stance of his feet spread wide. His hands are hidden in the fold of his cloak, and at his back are Masters Windu and Jinn.

At Satine’s back is the black maw of the ship, and the wind whistling through it. Korkie laughs, and she looks away from the Jedi to see her son, hands out, catching rain. 

“It’s wet! Belli, look!” he says, showing her his hand, shining in the grey light. “The sky is crying!”

Satine feels the rain coursing over her own face, and smiles in recognition of his delight.

“It is,” she says. “Happy tears, of course. Coruscant is glad to meet you, kih'kairkiyc.”

He grins at her, and she squeezes his hand, and together they cross the narrow bridge from the ship’s dock to the reception platform where they are met by Obi-Wan. He steps forward, and bows, deep, and formal.

“Duchess,” he says. His voice does not waver, but lies flat, and orderly in the space between them. 

He is much the same as she remembers, though his hair is longer, and his braid is cut. A beard has grown in, at long last, though she does not like how it covers his mouth, and hides half his face, and she longs to reach out and wipe it away so she might be able to read him again, like she used to. But there is more than an arm’s length between them, so instead, she nods her head in acknowledgement.

“Knight Kenobi,” she says, like glass, clean and showing nothing of itself.

Korkie tugs at her hand, and she pulls him forward to introduce him next. His fingers linger at the tips of hers as she lets him go. He takes a step. He takes a breath, and just as they’d practiced, he bows with his hands clasped before him, until his back is level with the floor.

“How do you do, Knight Kenobi?” Then, in succession, “Master Windu. Master Jinn.”

The three Jedi return the gesture. Master Windu is tense, and wary of her, she can tell, still unconvinced of the wisdom in this. Obi-Wan’s eyes are fixed on her, but Qui-Gon Jinn smiles at the boy, and Korkie stumbles back until he falls against his mother’s stomach, his hand reaching out to fist in the fabric of her gown to steady himself.

“Hello Korkie,” the old Jedi greets. His voice is soft, like birdwatchers in Keldabe before. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

Obi-Wan is pulled from his study of the past by this reminder of their present company. His hands drop, and he shifts, leaning towards her, his head ducked and uncertain.

“I apologise for the weather,” he says. “I would have - if there had been any indication of inclemence such as this, I would have suggested somewhere with a roof.”

“Of course,” Satine says, too quickly. Then, bridling herself, she continues. “Coruscant is usually such a civilised, and well-behaved planet, it could not have been foreseen.”

There is the promise of forgiveness at the end of her declaration, which Obi-Wan accepts with relief, and they smile at each other. It is brief, and carried more in their eyes, than in their mouths or hands, but it is there nonetheless.

“And you, Master Korkie,” says Qui-Gon, with a smirk of his own. “Are you more civilised, and well-behaved than you appear at first glance?”

He gestures to Korkies rumpled tunic, and mussed hair which sticks up in wild tussocks like knots of grass.

“Someone was rather exhausted by our journey,” says Satine, fondly. “He fell asleep just past Corsin.”

“It was rather a long flight,” says Korkie, in his own defence. “And I don’t much like flying. Lightspeed always feels funny.”

At this, Qui-Gon kneels to meet Korkie on his level, and speaks as if he is confessing some great secret.

“Do you know,” he says, “That Knight Kenobi also dislikes flying.”

Korkie throws a wondering glance at Obi-Wan, who shifts beneath the scrutiny.

“Truly?” he asks Qui-Gon.

The Jedi nods. “Yes, truly. Only he stays awake the whole time.”

“Why?”

“I think in order to complain,” says Qui-Gon. “He needs to be sure that I am equally as miserable as he is, otherwise he feels lonely for company. But it does make for a very long trip, from my point of view.”

“That’s silly, Knight Kenobi,” declares Korkie. He turns to address Obi-Wan directly, and though he speaks critically, his brow is lifted, and his eyes wide in an earnest desire to ease the knight’s discomfort. “It’s much better if you sleep,” he says, with all the wisdom of a moment. “The time goes by much faster.”

Obi-Wan is forced to accept his master’s censure with grace as to spare the gentle feelings of an innocent child, so he smiles, and bows to acknowledge the boy.

“As you say, Master Kryze. You are probably right.”

“I know I am,” Korkie says. “Even though I do look a little wild in the end. But I feel tidy. So I suppose it’s just a matter of which part of me you look at.”

With a rumble that starts deep in his belly, then tumbles out like thunder, Qui-Gon Jinn laughs.

“A man after my own heart,” he says, giving Korkie a little clap on the shoulder. “I foresee you will become a great Jedi, Kiorkicek Kryze.”

“Sorry to interrupt, Duchess, Obi-Wan,” says Master Windu, stepping between the parties, “But as this rain doesn’t look to be letting up any time soon, may I suggest we complete the investiture ceremony somewhere a little drier?”

He levels Obi-Wan with a challenging glance, but its severity is diminished somewhat by his own bedraggled state. Despite their equal exposure, the rain has somehow managed to do more damage to Mace Windu’s composure than any of the others. Perhaps because he is more conscious of his position, and his dignity than the other two, Qui-Gon being rather untroubled by such pretensions, and Obi-Wan still humbled and distracted by the circumstances in which he’s come face to face with the unquiet ghosts of his past. Both of them wear the rain with ease, but Mace has struggled, unable to convince himself of the need to shield himself, but conscious of the desire. His cloak is patchy with damp, and the top of his head reflects the sky, the water washing his face, and dripping from his lips and chin. It is clear that Obi-Wan feels this indignity on his superior’s behalf, but Satine fights laughter at the spectacle.

“I think that would be wise, Master Windu,” she says, her voice tripping and sparking with barely repressed delight.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he says, with a shallow bow. And then he says, “There is an air car waiting.”

And Satine feels her stomach drop.

She meets Obi-Wan’s eye over Mace’s shoulder. His gaze is steady, and somber and as he makes his answer to the master’s request, and she can hear farewell in the heaviness of his voice.

“Yes, Master Windu,” he says. “Satine, I’m sorry we must be so brief, but I -” and he stands gaping, and voiceless for a moment.

The tight knuckle of sickness twists in her gut, scraping across the raw nerves of the underside of her skin, buckling muscles, and shifting against her bones, but she swallows the nausea back, and saves Obi-Wan from the inexorable void of silence.

“Do not apologise, Obi-Wan,” she says. “These things cannot be helped. Perhaps it is better this way. Perhaps the sting will be less.”

“Like a plaster,” he says, numbly.

And she agrees. “Just like.”

Master Jinn’s rises from his crouch, leaving his hands to ghost over Korkie’s shoulders, his hand still wrapped in her own, and Obi-Wan still staring at her, still drowning in the rain. Master Windu is merciful then, and bows out his leave taking.

“I’ll prepare the car,” he says.

“Thank you, Mace,” says Qui-Gon, when no one says anything else, and Master Windu leaves them to say goodbye. 

But still, no one moves. Silence falls, a fragile, lacework thing, too delicate to touch with the clumsy fingers of speech. They remain suspended in its web for an age, until Qui-Gon braves what the others cannot fathom, and speaks again.

“Obi-Wan,” he says, stepping away from Korkie to reach for his own grown padawan. “A word.”

He draws him aside, turning away, turning their backs to Satine and Korkie, and speaking quietly in Obi-Wan’s ear, an arm about his shoulders, and drawing him close in private assignation. At another time, she might feel ostracised and othered by this, but now, she is grateful. It is she who is with Korkie, and the Jedi who must stand apart.

She kneels to face her son, heedless of her skirt, of the thin satyn and how it catches at the rough duracrete, pulling taut, maybe tearing beneath the pressure of her knees. She doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter. What matters is this: herself, and her son, and the rain washing away the things between them.

“I don’t want to go,” says Korkie, and she grips his hands tighter than before.

“You must,” she says. “You must. You are going to be a wonderful Jedi Knight. Just think of that.”

“I don’t care,” he says. “I know I said before, but I changed my mind. I want to go home.”

“You can’t go home, kih'kairkiyc,” she replies, her tongue growing thick with a truth she hates to speak. “Remember? We talked about this. It’s dangerous. But you will be safe here. Knight Kenobi will protect you.”

“But who will protect you if I’m not there?”

“Oh, many people, Kiorkicek,” she says. “A whole court of people. All the people. The people of Mandalore will be my strength, and they will take very good care of me while you’re away, and one day, when you come home, they will be glad to meet you again, and so will I.”

“Do you promise?” he asks. “You won’t forget me? Even if I’m gone for a very long time?”

“Even if you were gone for almost as long as forever, I would never forget you, Kiorkicek Kryze. Ni kar'tayl gai sa'ad. Ratiin.”

“Ratiin,” he repeats. “Always, and always.”

“Yes,” she avows. “Now, do you remember what I told you?”

“To wash my face, and brush my teeth every day, even if I’m very sleepy.”

And she laughs, pulling him close to her breast, and tucking his head beneath her chin.

“Yes,” she says. “That is very important, but what else?”

“To listen to the masters, and study hard, and show respect, and try my best, and to always, always be very kind to Knight Kenobi, because he isn’t always very kind to himself.”

“Yes,” she whispers. She presses a kiss to his hair, and combs it as flat as she can. “That last part, most especially, kih'kairkiyc. Look after each other. For me.”

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Belli.”

“Bal Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, balyc.”

“Satine?” The call is Obi-Wan’s and she looks up from the cradle of her embrace, and her son within it to see him standing cautious, and concerned a few paces away. “It’s time to go.” 

“Of course,” she says. She stands. She takes Korkie’s hand, nestled in her own, and places it in Obi-Wan’s. For a moment, the three of them are one, together, and then…

She lets go.

“Goodbye, my Kiorkicek,” she says. “Remember what I told you. Kote, ijaa, aliit. Ratiin.”

He nods, and she can see his grip tighten on Obi-Wan’s hand, fierce determination rising in the face of her expectations. It is Obi-Wan who falters.

“Satine, I -” he shakes his head. His eyes match the storm. “I will do my best by him, I swear. I will not fail you. I will not.”

“I know,” she says, steady where he is not. “I would not give him up to another. None but you, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Gar ratiin ru’kar'taylir. Be gentle with it.”

He nods. There is nothing else to say, and they’ve always been terrible at goodbye. She smiles at Korkie one last time, and he points at the sky.

“Happy tears,” he says, and grins, wiping the salty streaks from his own face.

And with that, he tugs on Obi-Wan’s hand, and leads him off towards the distant figure of Mace Windu, and the air car waiting patiently to take them home.

But Satine is not alone.

Qui-Gon Jinn steps close, until she can feel his shoulder jut up against her own, the warmth of his body breaching the barricade of wet clothes, to soothe her own chapped skin, and she shivers against him.

For a moment, they say nothing, just watching as Obi-Wan turns to Korkie, and Korkie to Obi-Wan, chatting animatedly, his free hand swooping through the air. She imagines he must be telling him of their departure from Mandalore, and the world he left behind, and she hopes that selfishly, she might be included in as many of these stories as he thinks to tell, because he is in all of hers. Qui-Gon chuckles beside her.

“Fast friends, already,” he says.

“Forgotten just as fast,” she whispers, nearly losing the words to the storm. But Qui-Gon is listening closely.

“Never that,” he says. He wraps an arm around her shoulders, and she yields like water, dropping her head to his shoulder, and weeping into the crook of his neck.

“I thought I was ready,” she says, hitching breaths to match the shifting winds. “But it has come too soon.”

She feels his chin press against her skull, and though it isn’t exactly comfortable, there is comfort in the angles of his affection, and she leans closer to him, until her arms sneak beneath the wet folds of his outer robe, and wrap around his waist. She clings there, as though she might blow away. This is familiar, though it is an old, old memory, now. She was once a girl, before she was a Duchess, and Qui-Gon Jinn was once to her the very thing her father could not be. She was bereaved, but never lost, and there were many nights that Qui-Gon held her while she wept just like this. It is easy to reach for him, now. It is easy to look back.

“You are never ready,” he says, his voice vibrating so near to her ear it is as though he speaks to her from within her own mind. “But he is not going very far. He is with his family. He is with his father. You are not losing him to the wilderness.”

“No,” she says. “Only to the Force.”

He does not chide her for the bitterness upon her tongue.

His own words remain gentle, and soothing, and he rocks her in his arms, as they watch the matched set of their hearts walk away.

“Then I have lost my own heart twice,” he says. “First to the Force, and then to you. But people always come back, in one way or another. No one is gone forever.”

And as they reach the car, as though he hears their call from across a vast, unending night, and over the wind and roar of the storm, Obi-Wan looks back, and Qui-Gon smiles.

“Oh, look,” he says, as the knight turns once more to his son. “There he goes again.”

Satine buries her face in Qui-Gon’s arms, and though she doesn’t feel at peace, for a moment, she feels like she has come home.

[adelaidedrubman]

4,10,13,19,23 for the fanfic asks??? 💕

thank you amanda ilysm!!!

4. total number of words you wrote this year

GOD i honestly wouldn’t know but my two biggest published collections together clock in at 115k so considering all the shit i haven’t published i would guess around 150k??

10. shortest wip of the year

i think that award goes to the no cult au christmas oneshot im hoping to finish before the holiday but that is currently clocking in at a measly 382 words. :') so we’ll see.

13. favorite writing song/artist/album of this year

i don’t really listen to music while i’m writing, but... did dolly parton end up my number four artist of the year on spotify wrapped primarily because i need to channel jestiny? mayhaps.

19. any new fics to start next year

hmmm i’m really hoping to buckle down and make the no reaping au a fully formed separate work at some point next year because i do have some fun ideas and a fuzzy timeline for it, and currently deciding if i want to reorganize what i have written of it on ao3 and brainstorming how to do it in the least obnoxious manner possible.

23. fics you wanted to write but didn’t

so, so many :') no reaping au as mentioned above, but also top of the list is probably the faith/tracey role reversal slash backstory fic. chapter one is actually completely written i just chickened out of posting it and never started additional chapters.  also, so many prompts rotting in my inbox but i feel especially guilty for the limited amount of jenna/faith content ive produced. and i was at one point going to do a john and jessie go to drubman family thanksgiving oneshot but didn’t write a single word of it because i was in a terrible writing funk at the relevant time.

also, below cut for nsfw mentions but of the several rotting prompts the one i am particularly haunted about carrying over into the new year is:

an orgasm delay/denial prompt sent in that according to google docs i have been working on since early august and am finally accepting i am... cue drum roll... not going to finish. wah wah. sorry john, maybe next year.

[anonsservice]

Jade West X Reader

Prompt: |"Pinky promise you'll love me forever?"| Jade has too much to drink at a party and turns into a softy. |

A/N: this is my first fanfic i’ve written in a while, please excuse the errors, i wrote and edited this at 5 am with no sleep the night before. I’m just getting back into writing so I’m taking the slow road and starting with fanfic before i throw myself back into writing again.                                        -------------------------

    You and your girlfriend Jade West had been out a while, partying into the night amidst your old high school friends until three in the morning. Which is when Jade had one too many cups of random booze you couldn't exactly name. She was stumbling all over the place, clinging onto you, and acting almost like a baby. She climbed onto your lap, forced you to cuddle her on one of the many arrangements of seats, and pouted when she wasn't your main attention focus. So of course, the two of you threw in the towel and said goodbye to your friends. Well you did, Jade more clung onto your waist and nearly took you both to the ground numerous times.

    "Come on Jade, I know you know how to walk," Jade had quit walking, sat on the ground, and demanded you carried her.

    "But Y/NNNN! I don't wanna walk!" Jade furrowed her eyebrows and pouted at you. Drunk Jade was practically nothing like how she normally was, well not really, normally she continuously wanted to be cuddled and wanted your attention but never asked for it and denied most times if offered.

    "That's it. Come on," You grabbed her forearm and forced her to stand up as gently as you possibly could.

    You grunted and started to drag her slightly, forcing her to walk, "You're not a toddler, you know how to take literally ten steps to the car,"

    Soon enough you both made it to your car and you unlocked the passenger door for her to get in. Jade reluctantly and weakly shoved herself in before you buckled her and closed the door. As you climbed in the driver's side you noticed Jade fiddling with the seatbelt.

    "What's wrong Jade?"

    "I don't wanna wear this- stupid- thing!" She grunted as she pulled at the seat belt, being unsuccessful in unbuckling it.

    You would have rolled your eyes if she wasn't as adorable as she happened to be. With a slight swat of your hand, she stopped and huffed, sinking back into her seat. Halfway through your trip back home you noticed how upset she seemed. 'just like a child', You thought, not in a degrading manner but rather an endearing way. You thought it was adorable how she acted when way too much alcohol entered her system. At the next red light, you pulled out your phone, connected it to the Bluetooth in the car, and handed her the phone with Spotify opened on it.

    Jade took the phone, a confused look upon her face. "Put on some music, love" Jade blushed at the nickname but complied. She played one of her favorite playlists and a song that was featured in her favorite movie 'The Scissoring' played. And as you suspected, a smile spread across her face and she was now content.

    Not long after you pulled into the driveway of your apartment, you had to literally drag her from the car.

    "Y/N! Y/N! I don't wanna go!" Jade struggled against your hands, though it was ineffective and you still managed to get her from the car.

    "You can't just stay in the car, let's go inside." Jade shook her head and tried to pull herself away from you like a child trying to get away from their mother.

   Jade whined and pleaded but she made no more noise as soon as she hit your shared bed.

    "Mmh... soft~" Jade smiled into the pillow and in response, you smiled at her. You took off her shoes, socks, and washed off her makeup. After you brushed your teeth you came back to find her crying while sitting up.

    Concerned, you ran up to her spot in the bed, sat next to her, and pulled her close to you.

    "Hey, hey, hey, Jade, What happened?" You pet her hair as she lowered her head into your lap.

    "Do you love me Y/N?" She asked while staring straight at the wall in front of you two.

    "Of course I do angel, and I always will. Where's this coming from?"

    "B-but you were s-so mean to me earlier!" Jade explained her thought process.

    You sighed a little, "Jade, Jade look at me-" You softly grabbed her chin to make her look at you from your lap. "Look, I only did that because one, you don't need to be carried ten whole steps, two you need to wear your seatbelt in case something happens, I can't have my future wife getting all hurt, and three you need to sleep in a bed, not a car."

    Jade slightly nodded at you while you listed off all the reasons why you were 'mean' and how much you loved her.

    "Y/N c-can you do something for me?" you nodded and wiped the tears from her face.

    "Anything, my love,"

    She blushed and looked away before looking back, "Pinky promise you'll love me forever?" She stook out her pinky and watched you hopefully.

    You inwardly chuckled before nodding and grasping her pinky with yours. "Promise, forever, and always." She smiled before demanding more cuddles as you two went to bed. That following morning you would make sure to tease her, but for now, you just enjoyed the moment.

A/N: That's a wrap on the first one shot! First of all, I really wanted to write a super fluffy Jade so I just turned her into a soft drunk, and secondly, Sorry this isn't all that great or very long. This was just a quick fluffy story I wrote at 5 AM before needing to write 2 other essays for school. But, that's all for now! bye-bye!

[bipercabeth]

11, 13, 22, 37, 48, 49 <3

11. what’s your longest fanfic? 

roommates! the doc is a HEFTY 64k right now. 

13. what is your planning process? 

it’s A Lot. i’ve got posts in my writing tips tag but when u boil it down it’s a lot of outlining and daydreaming. usually two separate google docs for the outline and the actual writing 

22. do you listen to music during your writing process? what music do you listen to while you’re writing? 

i used to be really big on listening to the playlists i’ve made for specific fics while i wrote them, but something about quarantine has made me switch to silence? unless i really need a sense of atmosphere to get something done (like for i am no orpheus) silence has been working for me. i think it’s just bc i’m no longer writing in busy coffee shops on campus. but when i do listen, lately it’s been film scores! they really get me in the mood and they’re less likely to fuck up my spotify wrapped than playing one song on loop for weeks on end 

37. did your work ever get plagiarized? 

lmao i see u hannah. yes that steve/natasha thief tried to nab one of my fics

48. what is your favorite sentence that you’ve used in a fanfic? 

it’s actually a line i’ve had for the roommates epilogue. literally been keeping it in my pocket for years. however since that feels like cheating i’ll go with “Sunlight caresses her with a bravery Percy doesn’t quite have yet. Someday he will touch her just as gently.” absolutely fucking criminal that this line went into a 200 word prompt and not something bigger. 

49. where do you draw inspiration from? 

a lot of it comes from music! movies are too big for me to draw from without going overboard, but music is a nice slice of emotion that works better for my brain. and i am not immune to projecting my whims and desires onto fictional characters

Ask game for fanfic writers!

[stitchcasual]

Hey friendo! For the Ask Writer Post: 8, 9, 26, 45 and 48! Mostly for your Durill/Fenris fic 💖

aww, thank you!

8. Where do you take your inspiration from?

oh, all over! I’ve gotten brainstorms from unboxing Halloween decorations at work, from weird headlines husband tells me about, from my d&d games. Most of all from the games I write for. I love writing between the scenes, filling out the bits that we didn’t get to play, adding in the small (or big) moments that happen outside of gameplay.

9. In your Durill/Fenris fic, what’s your favourite scene that you wrote?

since my stuff for Durill is collected in a series of smaller fics rather than a large one, I’m gonna go with the favorite of those that I’ve written, which as of right now is one of the most recent, What Once Was. It’s an incredibly angsty fic of Hawke and Fenris’s reunion at Weisshaupt. But it’s my favorite partly because of this exchange:

“Try to make friends, Killer,” Varric had told him as they stood outside the ruined husk of Adamant after it all. The dwarf clapped him on the forearm and attempted a carefree grin. But even Varric was having trouble with those these days.

Hawke snorted. “All of my friends have led me into violent confrontations I’ve barely escaped from. I don’t need more friends. Just...tell Fenris where I’ve gone.”

26. Which part of your Durill/Fenris fic was the hardest to write?

ngl, all of What Once Was. That fic was painful to write, it’s painful to read, and it doesn’t even wrap up the emotional journey they’re on. (The next fic in that series will thus be the hardest because I’ll have all of that to bring to a satisfying conclusion and...oof.)

45. What spurs you on during the writing process?

most often, it’s people expressing interest! Most to all of these fics with Durill have been the product of prompt asks or questions send as follow ups to something else I wrote. A good soundtrack is very useful too! And that’s one reason why I have so many goddamn playlists on my spotify, like one dedicated completely to Durill...(the other reason is that I’m a playlist hoarder).

48. What’s your favourite trope to write?

sweet, sweet hurt/comfort. Durill and Fenris lend themselves so well to it, it’s honestly ridiculous. Both of them are headstrong, stubborn, front line fighters, so there’s a lot of opportunity for injuries and things of that nature. It’s....a trope that, now that I think about it, figures in these fics with...remarkable frequency. For good reason, apparently!

Questions?? fanfic ask meme

[fascinationfics]

Steve Rodgers x Reader Oneshot

Prompt: You’re Steve's to go to person to learn about history after he was frozen. You help him with questions he has about the 21st century and about the previous decades.

Warnings: None

GIF is NOT mine.

“Y/N?”

“Yea?” Y/N asked, not looking away from her laptop.

“What did the music from the 60’s sound like?” Steve asked.

“Let me make a playlist for you.” Y/N stated while she opened up Spotify.

Steve nodded his head while heading to the kitchen making cereal for the both of them.

While Y/N searched for the top 10 of her favorite songs, she was disturbed by a nudge of Steve's hand with a bowl of cereal.

“Oh, thanks.” As Y/N took the cereal she noticed that Steve gave Y/N her favorite cereal.

“Wait, how did you know where my favorite cereal was?” Y/N questioned knowing she hid her cereal somewhere so Steve or Tony won’t find it.

“I’ve always known where you hid your cereal. It’s really not that hard to find.” He smirked down at her.

“Ugh whatever, now I gotta hide it somewhere else.” Y/N made a disgruntled noise.

“I’ll still find it” Steve smirked.

After a couple of minutes looking for songs and answering Steve's other questions about the 60′s, Y/N finally made her playlist. Putting down the bowl on the nearby table, she grabbed Steve's bowl, and set it down near her bowl, she grabbed his hand to make him stand up.

“Uh, what are you doing?” He asked while still seated not nudging out of his seat.

“I’m trying to get you to stand up so we could dance, duh. Now come on dance with me” Y/N pulled Steve to the makeshift dance floor that was basically just in the living room.

Steve laughed while standing up going with her to dance, “fine, fine i’ll dance.”

“Woooo finally got an old man to dance” Y/N smirked while pushing the spacebar so the music could start playing.

“Hey i’m not that old alright.” Steve chuckled.

The first song that came on was “Wild Thing” by The Troggs.

“Come on and join me” Y/N gestured to Steve to join.

“But I don’t know how to dance to this kind of music.” admitted Steve with a sheepish smile on his lips.

“I don’t either but i’m still doing it, just follow my lead.” Y/N confidently said without breaking eye contact with Steve to join her.

Throughout the playlist, they danced like there was no tomorrow. Of course with a few breaks in between. When it got to Ray Charles “I can’t stop loving you” is when everything slowed down.

“Oh, we don’t have to dance to this, it’s for couples anyways.” Stated a shy Y/N.

“No it’s fine, let's dance to this” Steve reached out to Y/N’s hand to take into his while he wrapped his other hand around her waist.

Y/N looked away the whole time they were dancing until the last verse of the song when Steve, removed his hand from her waist to move it to her chin, lifting her head towards his face so she could finally look at him.

“What?” Y/N blushed looking at Steve's eyes.

“Nothing.” As Steve lovingly looked into Y/N eyes.

“Creep.” Y/N and Steve chuckled, not looking away from each other.

“Whatever.” Chuckled Steve

Steve was leaning towards Y/N when the song stopped and Y/N stepped away to go back to her computer to do the rest of her work when Steve, reached for her hand grabbing it, making her turn around towards him.

“Wha-”

Steve interrupted her when his lips meet hers for the first time. As soon as it started, it ended when Steve pulled away when he didn’t get the response he wanted from her.

“Oh not so fast, old man.” Y/N pulled him back from his shirt so their lips could once again meet.

Y/N was the first one to pull away from the kiss, huffing from the lack of oxygen.

Steve smirked looking at her catching her breath, “That’s so hot, i’ll make sure you’re out of breath for another reason.” Steve winked at Y/N as she playfully slapped his forearm. Y/N rolled her eyes at him, not believing him.

“You don’t believe me?”

“Not one bit.” Y/N held back a giggle.

“Let’s bet on it Y/N.” Steve knowingly knew he was gonna win.

“Alright, the bet is on Captain.” Y/N reached out her hand to Steve so they could shake on it.

Well there goes my first fanfic involving Captain! I hope you guys liked it ♥ Please tell me what I could approve on so I could get better! Thank you! ♥♥♥