#the prompt that won't be written

[keicordelle]

FFXIV Write Day 5: Stamp

[Stained parchment, crumpled and worn, rendered nearly illegible by age. Found behind untouched crates in a storage room in the Waking Sands.]

Seventh day of the Sixth Astral Moon, year 0 of the Seventh Astral Era Dear Mr. Tragbharsyn and Mrs. Uwilsyngwyn Dear Wilfsunn and Bloewyda Bloewyda and Wilfsunn, I know not how I might Moenbryda is I regret to inform you I cannot express my sorrow that The words to express such a It is with great sorrow that I must inform you of Moenbryda I have failed to protect Moenbryda was struck down while trying to preserve Moenbryda has valiantly given her life You would have been proud of her How could one possibly express the sorrow of losing From distant shores did she come, and to distant shores I wish it had been otherwise I was not strong enough to save Her bravery has saved I cannot begin to I wish, as I am certain you do, that I had been the She was I cannot

7.11.0 Bloewyda, Wilfsunn, I'm sorry.

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Jaskier receives a love letter that says it’s from Geralt.

The thing is… it’s obviously from Ciri. It’s clearly her handwriting. And Geralt has never once used the word “pulchritudinous” in his very long life. In fact, if Geralt wrote a love letter, it would be one paragraph—maybe even one sentence—not two pages.

What to do? Does he bring this to Geralt? Ignore it? Play along?

I love this!!! <3 She was tired of hearing Geralt bitch and moan about his beloved, and decided to do somethng about it for him!

[cresneta]

Don't mind me, I'm just imagining a scenario where Loid does something amazing for Yor's birthday, and when she asks him when his birthday is he says it was a couple months ago or something. Think of it as a twist on the classic scenario where the man forgets, or doesn't know about, a date that is important to his partner, and they get mad at him about it.

[necrotic-nephilim]

Hey, I'm so glad you enjoyed! Your comment was so thoughtful too 😭 I loved the dissection. I'm not really someone who bases my works off their Canon dynamic a lot, so I'm glad you ended up enjoying it when I tried! All your prompts were amazing. I actually really liked another one of yours too (the time travel one), but I couldn't figure out a way to write it the way you requested. Would you mind if I took that prompt anyway? I can credit you for it, I just loved it a lot and want to take a crack at it. - @rottenapricots

hi! i *loved* your fic so dearly, the comment was the *least* i could say. i kept thinking of all the things i wanted to mention and then forgetting them so my thoughts were all of the place but i truly loved your fic so much <3 you did *such* a good job with their canon characters while still melding them beautifully to the AU!

please go ahead!!! you can take any of the prompts you want and change them if you need to, or keep them the same, honestly go wild! i'd *love* to see what you come up with for the time travel idea.

[marlynnofmany]

I did the cover art myself, and I think it turned out pretty good! The ideas inside are better.

If you enjoy thinking about werewolves on the moon, and what would happen if a robot invited a vampire in, then you’ll find some fun concepts here.

Inflict them on your friends! It makes a great gift.

[sollucets]

could you maybe write something where akk calls aye his home?

i absolutely can do that, nonny, thank u for asking! have a little bit (1.5k. of course.) of long-distance akkaye :') loosely related to the last prompt but fine to read without it

💜

“Akk, are you sleeping?” 

Aye’s voice is tinny, the noises of a subway station behind him just the right side of too-loud through Akk’s phone speakers to catch his slow-moving attention. His headphones must have slipped out; he doesn’t remember it happening. 

“No,” he answers, like a liar, and pushes himself upright on his dorm bed with some effort.

He’d given up on holding his head up to look at the screen part way through Aye talking about one of the other international students he works with and her hopeless crush on a Thai grad student senior of theirs that Aye is 100% sure is taken, and all of the accompanying drama. “You think P’Win has a partner already.” 

“That’s the last thing you heard?” Aye asks, pouting a little on the tiny screen under his big blue scarf. His cheeks are pink. It’s really, really cute. Someone passes behind him; Akk thinks he hears the edges of a robotic voice making an announcement. “I don’t just think so, I know so, and I was telling you all the evidence.”

“Do you have a conspiracy board for this too, or am I still special?”

Aye says something extremely inappropriate for a public place in response, but he says it in Thai, so he’s probably safe. Akk still opens his mouth to scold him on principle, but he’s caught by a yawn before he can say anything, jaw cracking unpleasantly. 

Aye’s expression melts from put-upon irritation to fondness so quickly it’s impressive. “You don’t have to stay up so late for me,” he says. “Don’t you have class in the morning? At nine, right?” 

“Don’t remind me,” grumbles Akk with a sigh, but he swings his legs over the side of the bed, picks up his phone sans headphones, and heads into the bathroom barefoot. “It’s not really so late. And besides, you’d pout if I went to bed without calling. It’s our day.”

Their day, Thursday specifically, had been the day that worked best with both their busy schedules and the six-hour time difference for most of the first semester of their time apart. They’ve missed only once, during Akk’s midterms, and Aye had texted no less than thirty times that day, all test-taking memes and supportive emojis. Now, though, Aye’s classes combined with his new work in his university's tutoring center run into the London evening; it’s midnight in Chiang Mai. 

Aye says something in response, but whatever it is is drowned out by the noise of a rush of people behind him, all probably getting off of a train. 

“What?” asks Akk, propping his phone against the bathroom mirror and grabbing his toothbrush. 

“If it’s really not that late, then why are you falling asleep while I’m talking, hm? Am I so boring to you?” 

Akk rolls his eyes, squeezing out a little toothpaste, and says, “Maybe I just didn’t want to hear you go on and on about P’Win anymore, hm?” 

As expected, Aye zeroes in on that immediately. “Aww, is my baby jealous?”

Akk sticks his toothbrush in his mouth to avoid answering and weathers the ensuing and expected storm of teasing very bravely, if he does say so himself. He lets the ease of falling into a familiar dynamic soothe the very slight sting, and he listens patiently without showing even a hint of a smile on his face at how pleased Aye looks to have ‘won’ that admission. 

“And he’s almost as handsome as me,” Aye is saying, in his most annoying tone of voice, when suddenly he seems to stutter for a moment, his expression freezing in place on his face. It’s odd enough that Akk makes a questioning noise through his mouthful of toothpaste. 

“Akk…” Aye starts. He looks conflicted now, mouth turning down even as he speaks. “You’re not — really, though, right?”

Akk blinks. Then spits. Then says, “No,” even though it’s not 100% true.

His face must show it, because Aye’s frown droops even further and he says, clearly enunciated, “It’s not like that. You know I’m just—”

“Teasing,” Akk interrupts, having mercy on him. “I know. Aye, no, you’re fine. I don’t actually think you’re serious, or you wouldn't have spent the last half hour explaining why P’Win is absolutely definitely taken anyway.” And you wouldn’t usually worry that I did, Akk thinks, so why?

Usually, if he thinks he’s gone too far, Aye just drapes himself over Akk like a particularly affectionate cat, no matter what he’s doing. He kisses his way back to forgiveness, he brings Akk dinner or looks over his homework or buys him stupid, cute little charms to put on his phone keychain, and Akk always lets him even and especially if he isn’t actually mad, and — he can’t do any of that, six hours and half the world away. Oh. This is that communication thing they’re supposed to be better at by now. 

Aye is still staring at him with giant, horrible pleading eyes, because he doesn’t believe him, and he shouldn’t because Akk is still sort of lying. 

Akk sighs. “I’m jealous of anyone who gets to see you all the time.” He can’t keep looking at Aye, his gaze drifting towards the edge of the bathroom counter. “Just a little. That’s all it is. I’m— glad you have Thai friends, actually. You seemed a bit homesick lately. I think it’s cheering you up.” 

It’s silent for a little too long, and Akk finally looks up to make sure nothing’s happened to the connection and finds Aye with one hand over his mouth, eyes still huge but soft around the edges now. 

“What,” he mumbles. 

“My boyfriend is the sweetest,” Aye says, as he’d feared he would, all earnest and sincere and completely without the teasing edge, which makes it worse. 

Akk jerks his head away again, in a motion he couldn’t control if he wanted to. He puts his toothbrush into the cup with more force than is strictly necessary. “It’s just the truth, isn’t it?” 

“Phi reheated omelets on his break the other day and I thought I was gonna cry for a minute,” Aye tells him, laughing an embarrassed little laugh. “They’re not right here. They’re all undercooked and flavorless.”

“Did you get to have any?” asks Akk, imagining Aye looking (up, statistically) at this mysterious P’Win with his awful begging eyes.

“I wouldn't steal my senior’s lunch.”

Akk can’t help the little satisfied twitch of his mouth at that scandalized tone. Aye steals Akk’s lunch all the time. “Too bad. I get it a little, though. I really miss the way my mom prepares things.” 

Chiang Mai is easily 14 hours of travel from his house, more if you count having to switch trains, and he’s only been back once. He dutifully calls his parents every Sunday, but they don’t really have good enough reception there for regular video calls. 

Aye makes a sympathetic noise, then glances at something up and to the right of the camera. He frowns. “Baby, I have to go soon.” 

“‘Kay,” answers Akk, raising a hand to cover a sudden yawn. 

“Don’t worry about me too much,” Aye says, smiling at the screen all little and v-shaped. “I’m okay. I’ll go to a market and get my own ingredients and make my own omelet, and I’ll text you all the time, and I’ll call my mom twice so she can pretend I’m her favorite over you. Don’t you get too homesick either, okay?”

“Even if—“ Akk starts, hesitates, then forges on. He can say these things; he’s worked to say these things. “Even if I visit,” he tells Aye’s tiny, beloved face, miles and miles away and here in his dorm bathroom, “I’ll still be homesick until you come back. You’re my home.” 

Aye stares at him, mouth open for a minute, then demands, “Pick up your phone.”

“What?”

“Just do it. Pick up your phone.”

Slowly and distrustfully, Akk takes his phone off the counter and holds it closer to his face. “Wha—“

Aye’s screen moves suddenly closer and then goes dark, the sound weird and muffled. “Hug me,” he says, just barely audible. 

Akk laughs a little, breathless and pointlessly fond. What must it look like, to those people in the subway station? Alone in his own room, though, he doesn’t hesitate to pull his phone to his chest, right over his heart. 

After a moment, though, he gives in to the temptation to peek and finds the screen still dark. “Aye.”

The station blurs into view again behind an Aye who looks notably pinker than before, a rush of people just like the last one passing behind again. “You’re so — I love you so much,” Aye tells him, sounding helpless, “and I miss you. It’s stupid that term break is still so far away.”

“Aye,” says Akk again, unable to stop grinning if he’d actively tried. “Don’t be late for your train.”

“They’re always late for me,” grumbles Aye, but he sighs and says, “Go to bed, okay? I’ll talk to you later.”

“Love you too,” Akk tells him, just before hanging up so he doesn’t have to deal with whatever new heart-squeezing thing Aye’s face is going to do at that. 

Just before he actually gets into bed, quiet in the sudden silence of his empty dorm, his phone lights up with a text: "❤️❤️❤️❤️"

And far away, in a subway car in England, Aye barely represses a little noise of delight to receive “❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️” in return. 

[declawedwildcat]

Flirting with Fate - Chapter 1

Chapters: 1/7 - A Bet with a Stranger Rating: Mature Warnings: ❗ Major Character Death Word Count: 2,752 Tags: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Chatfic, Matsuoka Rin Swears, First Meeting, Implied/Referenced Stalking ( see more on a03 )

Summary: When an Olympic hopeful finds a mysterious app demanding attention on his computer, he’s sure it’s just a hacker trying to scam him. Instead, the next week of his life descends into a shadow of shifting perspectives.

Only one of them can win this competition, and Rin has never been much for losing.

[violetsareblue-selfships]

good morning!! <33

[bookwyrminspiration]

ok its been so fun watching you scream abt the secret santa fic and im so excited to read it but like also from an omniscient pov & knowing who your person is and what they asked for as a gift is just. adding to the anticipation. oh my god

YOU AND ME WE KNOW! YOU N ME AGAINST THE WORLD!! I HOPE I DO YOU PROUD!! I gotta admit when you assigned me my giftee and prompt I was like. no way. holy fuck. you did that on purpose. well, obviously it was on purpose, but you know what I mean.

I also gotta admit I have no idea what I'm doing, but usually that means I'm on the right track. I wanna do good I wanna do so so good. there are so many goddamned pov changes. the document is 57 pages long. i got to use the word bastard three times. i wrote an arc I only realized could be interpreted metaphorically at the end and then went oh shit the mental illness metaphors. i have been holding back so much to not give away the characters but i wanna SCREAM

[sionisjaune]

22!

[setting asks]

"So, I used to play here when I was little. With Cisca. I guess Dad didn't keep it up since we, like, grew up." Lando just barely fits under the roof of the treehouse, but Carlos has to hunch over so that he doesn't hit his head.

"I like it," says Carlos, even though he can't possibly like it. It's dirty and some of the floorboards have rotted through, and fingers of light shine through the holes in the walls. "Hey, watch out for that--"

Lando jerks his head around to find what he should watch out for, and backs directly into a giant cobweb. The instant he feels the threads on his neck, his entire body feels like it's crawling with insects. Carlos rushes forwards.

"Lando! Lando, calm down." Carlos pins Lando's limbs to his sides with an arm around his body. Lando didn't realize how bad he was freaking out. His eyes sting like he's going to cry. Oh God, he's going to cry.

He squirms in Carlos's grip. "Is it on me? Is it on me? Get it off. Get it off."

Carlos tightens his grip and rakes his fingers calmly through Lando's hair. "It's gone. Just a little spider."

"A spider?" Lando shouts. There are probably more on him. It probably laid eggs in his hair--

Carlos presses his lips to Lando's hair. He wouldn't kiss Lando's hair if there were spider eggs in it. "It's gone now."

[tvrningout-a]

hmm how would we feel if i remade

[angelsdean]

when the little writing demon grips me by the chest and tells me to rewrite all the many thousand words of my current WIPs to past tense,,,,,,, the struggle is so real. i can never decide. past tense is my go-to in original fiction, it feels more literary. but i also love the immediacy and closeness of present tense esp in fics, hence why it became by fic writing go-to. i hate making choices :(

[harrowharkwife]

swear to god if i open a fanfic ONE MORE TIME only to be greeted with an author's note saying "i asked chatgpt to tell me a story about-" i am going to go fucking NUCLEAR

[livvyofthelake]

utterly cannot stand the type of post thats like "what are the female characters you like" and i KNOW it's not the fault of the people who make those posts i know they only do it because 95% of this site's blorbos are men. but i hate it anyway. like really the only way you can get fandom people to talk about women is to explicitly tell them to talk about women. and it always comes off so disingenuous because i KNOW most people reblogging those posts would never say those characters on a generic "what are your favorite characters" post. like it's all just so bleak :/

[llondonfog]

[yaminerua]

Managed to churn out a second little thing today to catch up with Smegtober and it's another sad one. For some reason both of the things I've done today have had such a melancholy vibe to them;;

Smegtober prompts by @a-literal-toaster-wtf

Anyway Day 2's prompt was Lonely, and boy is Lister really feeling it;;;

Words: 1544

****

It was strange having Red Dwarf back again, not least because for a long while it had seemed as though it would never happen but also because in the time that it had been missing so much had changed. So much had taken place.

Having free run of the ship after so long confined to The Tank was an odd enough thing to experience. Just like it had been all those years ago when he had first stepped out of the stasis booth to be met with what had essentially become a ghost ship, it was odd to wander around the same old corridors, once again rendered just as cold and empty as they had been after the accident. It wasn’t quite as eerie as it had been back then, though. Instead, Lister found that it was oddly familiar, comforting in a strangely melancholic way. Maybe it just felt good to know that despite how much else in his life had changed and would likely continue to do so, Red Dwarf would remain a constant enduring presence, something that not even nanobots or highly corrosive chameleonic microbes could completely break down altogether.

Even as the roster of crew members changed and fluctuated, as familiar faces came and went, Red Dwarf itself remained, a single solid pillar of stability in an otherwise volatile universe.

That didn’t make the emptiness of its corridors feel any less lonely, however, even with all the time in the world to get used to it.

Wandering aimlessly around the old Z-shift route, accompanied by little more than the constant creaking and groaning of the old ship all around him, Lister hummed quietly to himself, tapping his hands on his legs in time to the beat of an old tune which in bygone days would have earned him an exasperated scolding and a report forwarded to the captain that would likely have just been brushed aside like all the others. He smiled a little at the memory and found that it wasn’t nearly as aggravating to look back on as it had felt at the time. In fact, perplexingly, like most things to do with his old bunkmate did these days, he found it made him miss the infuriating smegger more and more.

That was maybe the worst thing about having Red Dwarf back to normal – it wasn’t actually back to normal. Sure, things were functionally back to some semblance of how they had been before they had been forced into an extended game of catch-up but the absence of one Arnold Judas Rimmer felt magnified somehow, more pronounced than it had been on Starbug and nowhere else on the ship was it felt more strongly than in the old bunk room.

Yawning as he dragged his fingers along the cool metal walls, he dug the heel of his palm into his tired eyes and decided he was probably thoroughly exhausted enough by now to finally call it a night. God only knew what time it was. He’d been wandering the ship for what surely felt like hours, putting off the inevitable. Kochanski and the Cat had long since turned in for the evening and even Kryten hadn’t been able to keep him company for long before he too had had to turn himself in to recharge. Lister had appreciated the company nonetheless. It was better than the alternative but he could only put that off for so long.

The doors opened with a hiss and Lister stepped inside and breathed out slowly, tiredly, casting his gaze across all the familiar old things, the mish-mash of personalities plastered on every wall in the form of polaroids and posters and revision timetables and no smoking signs.

He didn’t like to spend too much time in the old bunk room these days, not since he’d gained access to it again. Maybe it would have been fine if the Rimmer he’d spent the past couple of years imprisoned with in the brig had still been around to stave off the worst of the unease the old room held but he, like the Rimmer before him, had died as a result of his own hubris and this time the ship hadn’t even been capable of bringing him back a second time.

Maybe he could have relocated to one of the many vacant rooms on the ship but somehow that too felt wrong so instead he remained stuck between a metaphorical rock and a hard place, bothered by the empty silence and the ghosts of what ought to have filled the space but too stubborn and indecisive to commit to leaving it behind, held back by a fondness that bewildered him greatly. So much of the time Rimmer had spent here Lister had spent fervently telling him to smeg off and perplexingly now that he had actually gone he found that he missed him more than he would readily ever admit. It was a funny thing that absence did to the heart.

Shuffling over to the old storage cupboard, he pulled open the door and fiddled around inside, flicking aimlessly through a record collection that could render an insomniac unconscious with ease until he found one that looked somewhat bearable.

Setting up the old player, he slotted the disc in place and started it spinning before making his way over to the fridge, procuring for himself a final drink for the night as the sweeping mellifluous tones of violins crackled into life behind him and a sweet feminine voice began to sing her longing little tune, flowing like honey to fill the lonely space.

It wasn’t ordinarily Lister’s kind of music. It didn’t really have much of a beat and there wasn’t a guitar to be heard but it was better than Hammond Organ Classics by a longshot and it filled the otherwise unbearable, hollow silence of the room in just the way he needed it to. Rimmer had played it a few times before, lamenting the loss of any chances he might have had at love. On drunken, miserable nights he would hum sadly along to it until he fell asleep or until Lister had begged him to stop bringing down the mood.

If he closed his eyes he could pretend even now that he hadn’t been the one to put it on, that it had instead been Rimmer pointedly trying to irritate him by playing his sappy music, or his Learn Esperanto tapes, regardless of any protestations Lister might have made against it. He could pretend his presence was still around somehow, still capable of annoying him, of keeping him company in spite of everything about him that might ordinarily make him say he’d rather be stuck with literally anyone else.

Draining his drink and discarding the empty can on the desk, he sat himself down heavily on the lower bunk for a moment and listened to the soothing melody, letting the exhaustion coupled with alcohol blend together in a perfectly sleep-inducing partnership, dulling his senses. The lady on the record sang softly, soulfully, her wistful, longing tones resonating somehow now more than they ever had before. Maybe it was just the tiredness and the drink but he swayed gently along with it and half-mumbled half-sang whichever occasional snippets of the lyrics came to mind.

“There’s a somebody I’m longing to see…”

Distantly, he was aware that he should really be clambering up into the upper bunk right now, but in truth the opportune moment for that had already long-since passed, the bone-deep tiredness settling in his bones making him feel impossibly heavy. At this point he couldn’t reliably trust himself to summon the energy to will his legs to stand so instead he yielded to the tempting pull of sleep, tilting slowly to the side where he sat, letting himself descend slowly, spreading himself out on a mattress that wasn’t his and wishing somewhere deep in the hazy sleep-addled depths of his mind that its owner would come storming in any second now to reprimand him for stinking up the bed, but of course that wasn’t going to happen was it?

He wondered what Rimmer – his Rimmer, the one who had been there from the start and who had left what felt like forever ago now to become the next link in an endless chain of dimension-hopping adventurers – was doing right now. He wondered whether he was still alive – or as alive as it was possible for a hologram to be – and if he was doing alright, if he had succeeded in stepping into Ace’s shoes after all.

He wondered, as his mind sank finally into an uneasy sleep, if he regretted leaving as much as Lister regretted letting him leave.

The music on the record player played on regardless, oblivious to the fact its sole audience member was no longer paying any attention, the violins swelling and blooming as the song reached its emotional crescendo, and as those final sweet notes sang out softly to no-one in particular, they mirrored the longing that nestled stubbornly in Lister’s chest, heavy and cold, and refused even after all this time to budge.

“Won’t you tell him please to put on some speed? Follow my lead, oh how I need someone to watch over me.”