#swanqueen fic prompt

[swanqueenelmaxshadowhunters]

HEAR ME OUT: As eighteen years Emma Swan is about to be arrested by Neal's theft, she makes a wish to escape but the wish kinda goes wrong and she ends up in the Enchanted Forest, right in one of the Evil Queen's dungeons.

[lesbianlovelife]

I need Swan Queen fanfic of later season Emma going back in time to S1. And not just for a bit (this was inspired by @coalitiongirl's Rewind, which is amazing - all her fics are amazing - but Emma goes back to S4 after a scene in the past in that one), but to stay. Storybrooke's still cursed but Emma knows all about it. She could show Regina that she can be herself and still be loved and they could find their happily ever after so much more quickly 🥹

[tiny-pun]

Angel child, devil parent

Underrated trope: I absolutely loathe you but your kid is genuinely an angel/ but you make my usually distrusting child smile so I’ll tolerate you.

This could include

Possible jobs for A: kindergartener, baker, ice cream vendor, barista, librarian, bus driver, doctor etc.

Both of them acting all kind and polite in front of the child with underhanded jibs and sarcastic comments towards each other if the kid is around

Both Voices going higher at least 2 octaves around the child.

Whisper yelling at each other when the kid is distracted/a few meters away

“How the hell did you manage to raise an actual angel when you’re literally a satan himself?!?” “News flash: the devil was an angel himself!”

“You so clearly take after your other parent, sweetheart.”, with a shit eating grin towards the parent.

“ I will never understand how you tricked, no bewitched, my sweet child like that. The moment I find out we! Are! OUT OF HERE!!” “ Oh I just have that effect on genuinely good and nice people like that. You wouldn’t understand.” “Fuck you!” “Oh no! Such horrible language! Truly a terrible parent! That poor child! I’m gonna pray for them!” “You’re not even religious!?”

‘Oh no when did I learn the ins and outs of their daily life ?!?’

“Oh sweetie, you can’t just invite someone over without telling me. And theyre a very busy person and we wouldn’t want to interfere with-“ “No it’s fine! I have time!” Through gritted teeth:”We really wouldn’t want you to come all this way, just for us.” “It’s fine! I’ll come by at 12!”

“Hey this is me by the way!” “How the fuck did you get my number ?!?” “Your sweet child gave it to me!” “And you dickhead just took it ?!?! Why the hell would you even need it, asshole ?!?” “Again with those words in front of a child. Tsktsktsk” “We’re on the phone, dumbass.” “And you’re on speaker. Say hello to your parent, sweetie!” “Hello!” “H-Hey sweetie! Oh god.”

“Don’t teach my child such language!” “I think they’re learning worse from you actually.”

“I’m so sorry I know this is so last minute and it’s your off day/ Friday night but could you please look after my child?“ “sure!” “What?!? Just like that ?!? I was gonna do a whole speech about how I have an important event to go to and my usual babysitter just got sick and I don’t know who else to call and I yell at you most of the time we talk but I know you would never hurt my child- and !” “It’s truly fine! Even if I had something to do I know you wouldn’t resort to me if you had literally any other option so it must be an emergency. And also your child is an actual Angel, why wouldn’t I want to spent some time with them?!?.” “Oh god that you!I’ll owe you! Anything you want! ”

“Soo, you trust me?” “Bitch, That’s not what I said at all. I trust you with my kid. Nothing more.” “Semantics, sweetheart!”

Also the good old “oh shit did your/my child just trick us into having a date with one another ?”

Feel free to add!

[sssammich]

Platonic breakfast ritual (prompt)

oh what's up anon thanks for sending me this prompt

you didn't give me a ship so i just picked my own to write for so hope it's cool i wrote it for swan queen. if not, just come back and i'll do something else haha

thanks!

---

It’s temporary, this thing. This current arrangement that they have while Emma finds a new place to live away from the loft—cramped and cacophonous; too full a house with a new baby. She doesn’t think too deeply about how she feels about it, pretends her heart doesn’t throb and ache at being displaced and replaced once again. It's a noxious thought to keep, so she does her best to clear it out of her.

So, yes. The arrangement to stay at the mansion until she sorts out her affairs. Yet Emma is not exactly rushing to end it. Not when the choreography of her waking hours brings about a certain comfort that she does not want to relinquish, happening in a place that devastatingly feels more like home than she has ever felt in all the decades of her life. In a place that isn’t hers to claim, but for now she’ll pretend because the walls are present and the sheets are soft. 

It is inconveniently pleasant to wake up rested at Regina’s house in one of her massive guest bedrooms. It is even more so when she languidly makes her way down the stairs and towards the kitchen where she first gets a whiff of food being made, and the lingering scent of coffee in the air. The rest of her senses catches up to her when she hears whatever Regina is cooking just as she inevitably sees Henry already sitting in front of his breakfast plate, fork in one hand and comic book in the other as if it’s the morning newspaper. 

“Good morning, Ma,” he offers, his eyes never once straying from the page. She shakes her head, but greets him in turn. 

“Morning.” Then, she casts her eyes up at Regina and offers her a smile. “Good morning, Regina.” 

“Good morning, dear.” Regina accompanies her gentle morning greeting with an offered plate brimming with food right in front of the seat that Emma has deemed as hers during her stay. Despite Regina’s frequent comments about Emma’s abhorrent appetite and etiquette, she’s there enabling Emma with a full plate. Emma notices, of course, but doesn’t say anything for fear that Regina will change and give her one less hash brown in the stack. 

Still, even as her mind slowly eases into the morning, she doesn’t immediately take her seat at the table. Instead, she heads towards the coffee bar—which is literally just the far end of the kitchen counters where there’s one of those fancy single-serve coffee machines. She sets to brewing herself a cup since that’s the only machine she’s allowed to touch; the Italian espresso machine beside it is off limits. For the best, Emma thinks. 

Once her coffee is done, Emma lets the mug sit to the side and plucks another mug out of the cupboard, repeating the steps, waiting quietly while the machine cranks and whirrs and gurgles before the dark sea of coffee fills the new mug. It is the first full cup that Regina has in the morning, the first dose of caffeine coming from the espresso machine that Regina handles herself upon rising. Emma only skirts the edges of her thoughts at what it means to have Regina trust her to make her first cup of coffee for the day. Yet on that first morning she'd received the request, Regina only arched a brow and exasperated teasingly, "surely, you can't completely flub up making coffee."

Emma doesn’t move in place, uncharacteristically settled on her feet, her arms folded across her chest as she waits. Not wanting to break the tranquil silence, she doesn’t say anything, and neither do the others in the kitchen. It’s a quiet morning, but comfortable and companionable. Normally when things are too quiet, she gets restless as if she must fill the space herself or excuse herself entirely. But the last week at Regina’s place has given her more peace than she’d gotten in months, and she hates that by the end of this upcoming week, it’ll be gone again. Still, she doesn’t think too hard on this. 

For now, she grasps both the filled mugs and places them on their respective placemats as she’s done almost everyday this week. She sits in her chair and she waits until Regina does the same. She offers the other woman a shy grin, perhaps more tender than she’d intended (she’ll simply blame the morning hours for it if pushed) and Regina returns it, the gentle smile across Regina’s face splitting her face so beautifully.

The three of them sit like a family that Emma has always wished for and eat breakfast together.

[divergentmisfit-fandomsblog]

You don’t f*ck with the SwanQueen Mafia!

Inspired by the bases which kinda reminded me of Avicii’s Addicted to You music video - a Sapphic Bonnie & Clyde. In case you don’t know the song I’m talking about here’s the link to the music video.

[sapphicwritingprompts]

[alterumsinealterononest]

Can someone please write an Avatrice once upon a time au? Like Bea adopts Diego or smth and then Ava is all like "hi im his mom" and Bea is all like "like hell you are I'm his mom" but this time around the author won't be a coward and they'll kiss?

[grilledcheeseandguavajelly]

Almost. Again. -- Regina Mills x Emma Swan

Well hiyah Tumblr. I wrote a swanqueen fic. I don’t really know what this is. All I know is that I was watching episode 4x05 and there was a pretty harsh cut between when Emma and Regina defeated the ice monster and when the snow queen showed up. And I thought “they cut something out. We missed something” and then my brain gifted me this. So. Enjoy, I guess…? 🙈

Words: ~2,100

Warnings: None

Summary: Sometimes battles give you a rush of adrenaline. Sometimes battles exhaust you. And sometimes... Sometimes, battles are the perfect catalyst to mend relationships and create space for repressed feelings to bubble up and boil over. But not always.

Read on Ao3

Snow monster? Melted. Emma’s hands burned a bit, but the giant thing dissolved into a puddle with a splash, so it was probably all taken care of. 

Probably. 

“I think we did it,” Emma panted, smiling despite herself. 

Because it felt good. Falling back into their rhythm, melding their magic. Working together after however long they’d been apart. It couldn’t have been more than a few days. It felt like an eternity. 

She looked over at Regina, finally catching her breath. And Regina… 

Regina was looking at her with some kind of expression, emotion, that Emma couldn’t read for the life of her. But then a beat passed, and another. And Regina was still looking at her. 

Emma cleared her throat. “Nice work.” 

That seemed to jar Regina out of her stupor, because the next thing Emma knew, she was nodding. 

“And you.” A pause. A swallow. “It seems that whole ‘learn as you go’ thing is working out for you. You didn’t need me after all.” 

Emma fought the instant response, the guttural “I will always need you” that rattled against her ribs. Instead, she settled for a simple— 

“I still have a lot to learn.” 

Regina’s lip curved at the corner, and for a moment Emma thought that she had won. That she had earned herself a smile, after all this time. But then it morphed into something sad, and Regina pinned her focus on smoothing out the hem of her shirt. And Emma’s heart splintered again. 

Always again. 

The forest was silent for a moment, their ragged breathing the only thing filling the gaps. And really, it hadn’t been that much effort. Not with Regina helping. But it was the fear, the adrenaline. The feel of it all, and how much she had missed it. 

Emma was chewing over what she could say, how she could tell her without Regina snapping her neck. She was so lost in weighing her options that she almost missed Regina breaking the silence. Beating her to it. 

“I forgot how nice that felt,” she murmured, voice low and rasping. 

Emma blamed it on the cold lingering in the air. Emma knew that she was lying to herself. 

A measured breath. “Yeah.” 

And then, to her surprise, Regina snorted. 

“Always so articulate.” 

Emma couldn’t help the smile that spread, because yes, working together had felt wonderful. It had stirred something inside of Emma that she forgot existed. Reminded her of a piece of herself that she forgot she possessed. 

But this? Regina looking up at her through heavy lashes, a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth, one hand wrapped protectively around her stomach and fingers fidgeting with her sleeve at her elbow— This was what Emma had missed. Had longed for. This felt better than any magic ever could. 

Because Regina was open again. She was letting Emma in. She was— 

She was stepping in closer. Closing the space between them. 

Oh, shit. 

“Regina…” Emma tried, but her voice wobbled. Cracked. 

Another step. 

Emma stepped back. 

She expected Regina to stop. She expected that to be enough to break the moment (were they having a moment?), to put that wall back up between them and prompt Regina to shut herself off again. 

But she didn’t. And she was still looking at Emma like that. And Emma couldn’t breathe. Dear god, she couldn’t fucking breathe. 

Not only could she not breathe, apparently walking backwards had fallen completely out of her arsenal as well. Because the next thing Emma knew, she tripped over a large root and went careening backward. 

And then there was bark against her back. And Regina’s hand on her waist. A nice, firm, solid tree trunk had broken her fall. 

And Regina’s hand on her waist. 

Emma blamed the way her lungs constricted on having the wind knocked out of her by the impact from the tree. 

Definitely the tree. 

“Still as graceful as ever, I see,” Regina said softly, eyes flitting across Emma’s face for the briefest of seconds before boring back into hers. 

And god, anything would be better than this. Regina fully ogling her lips would be better than this. Because her eyes were dark in the deep forest, and glittering against the moonlight. And Emma was certain that Regina could see straight through her, let alone read her thoughts. 

She was definitely not having appropriate thoughts. 

And she blamed Regina for every single one of them, because her hand was still on Emma’s fucking waist. 

“I— um.” It just fell out. Because Emma felt like she needed to say something, but there was no coherent thought to pull any kind of anything from. Not in Emma’s head. Not with Regina looking at her like that.  

“We really need to work on your vocabulary.” 

Remember when Emma thought she’d rather have Regina ogling her lips? When that would have been easier? 

Yeah. She was wrong. She was so, entirely and completely wrong. Because in the next second Regina’s gaze dropped, and Emma’s heart went right along with it. 

“I missed… what our magic feels like pooled together.” Regina’s voice was low. Careful. But Emma didn’t miss the hesitation. Didn’t miss the way that Regina’s gaze snapped back to her own. 

Didn’t miss that tiny flicker of longing in her eyes. 

They spent enough time dancing around each other for Emma to know it when she saw it. And she saw it. Plain as day. 

And that’s why she gathered up enough courage to slide her hand beneath Regina’s jacket. Over the curve of her waist. 

She let out a slow breath as the warmth seeped against her palm, eyes fluttering shut. 

Her thumb brushed over the smooth fabric of Regina’s shirt, and in the stillness of the night, Emma caught the tiniest hum that racked up Regina’s throat. It was enough to prompt her to open her eyes. Because she needed to know if Regina was looking at her the way that Emma wanted her to, the way that she used to. She needed to know. 

Emma startled, shoving herself back against the tree. Because Regina had gotten close, so close. Too close. And Emma could feel her soft breath washing over her cheeks. Could smell her perfume, still perfectly placed, even after the long trek here. And a battle. 

And Regina was leaning in, leaning up on her toes. Closer, closer.  

Emma would have closed her eyes if she hadn’t been so focused, so completely enamored with that little scar above Regina’s lip. The way it stretched as Regina licked her lips, smoothed them together. 

And then Regina let out the smallest, shakiest breath. And then she pressed her forehead against Emma’s. Sighed. 

Somehow, that felt more intimate that a kiss. Than a hug. Than anything Emma had been expecting. She didn’t know what she had been expecting. But she knew that this was infinitely better. 

“You’re going to be the death of me, Miss Swan,” Regina breathed. And was she…? Yes. Regina was nuzzling her forehead against her. 

But the words stuck, and Emma didn’t like them. 

“Why do you keep doing that?” she asked softly, pushing at Regina gently. Pushing her back, despite everything that screamed for her to pull her closer. “Why do you keep calling me Miss Swan?” 

Regina swallowed. Straightened. “So now I’m not allowed to say your name? It’s always infinite, pointless rules with you.” 

“I wish you would.” 

Shit. 

Shit.  

“Would what?” 

“Say my name.” She needed to stop talking. There was an inch of space between them now and she could finally breathe, and she needed to stop talking before she suffocated again. “I wish you would call me Emma… like you used to.” 

Welp. She never could trust her heart. And here it was, overriding her brain and screwing her over once again. 

Or so she thought. Until Regina didn’t push her away and tell her off. Until Regina didn’t laugh in her face and call her a stupid child. 

Until Regina stared her down, jaw working and nostrils flaring with deliberate breaths. Eyes searching. 

Until Regina swallowed around whatever she was about to say. Squeezed her hands into fists. And breathed Emma’s name out on a ragged exhale. 

It did something, that breath. Emma didn’t quite know what it was, but it set something hot pooling through her veins and something spiky constricting around her heart. 

And if she thought she couldn’t breathe then, the air got kicked out of her again as Regina repeated it. Firmer this time. 

“Emma…” 

She stepped closer. Pressed in. Pinned Emma against that stupid fucking tree. 

And Emma could have sworn she saw Regina’s hand shaking as she smoothed it over Emma’s shoulder. Slid it down to her waist. Squeezed. 

“Emma,” she breathed, and it almost sounded like a plea. 

Her breath was heavy now. Emma could see her chest heaving under her shirt. Could feel the tiny, fast puffs of it against her lips. But most of all— 

Most of all, Emma could feel that energy coming off of her. Crackling and sizzling and hot. Pounding through the thick of the air and pulling Emma in, in, in. Making every atom inside of her vibrate with a want that she couldn’t describe. Didn’t understand. All she understood was Regina. All she could comprehend was Regina. Their breathing syncing, their heartbeats thudding together. 

And she didn’t know why it got like this, why the need rang out this loud. Why Emma’s body responded to Regina’s like this. She knew it wasn’t a spell. It wasn’t a curse. She didn’t know if it was their magic, having its own conversation and yanking them together, or if it was just Regina herself, Emma’s body ready and waiting to worship her like the goddess she was. 

It wouldn’t take much now, just the smallest tilt of her chin. The tiniest shift. And Emma could do that. She could absolutely do that. But so could Regina. And she wasn’t. And Emma didn’t know if she was debating, what she was waiting for, when she had Emma literally pinned and at her mercy— 

Regina’s hand tightened, nails digging in. 

“Someone’s here.” 

And then the moment broke, the tension shattering around Emma like her own personal wall of ice as Regina pushed away. 

She barely had time to think about how fucking ironic that was, how cold she felt in this stupid forest without Regina pressing into her. And then Regina said her name again. 

This time, it sounded like a warning. This time, it was too wary and too firm, and Emma decidedly didn’t like it coming out of Regina’s mouth when it sounded like that. When Regina had that look in her eye. 

“We should leave,” Regina tried, reaching for Emma’s arm. Her hand? God, Emma couldn’t think. All she could register was Regina pulling her off of the tree, dragging her back the way they had come. And god, how could Regina be so put together and observant after— 

“What a welcome visit, ladies.” 

The wave of cold hit Emma in the stomach, pulsing off of the snow queen and hanging rigid in the air. Keeping her pinned. Slowing her down. Regina’s hand fell from hers. 

Against everything, it burned. 

It all happened so fast after that. 

One second, it was pleasantries. Niceties. Everything was civil and Emma thought that maybe they could all actually have a proper conversation with her head screwed on straight. And then Regina’s mirror, in the wrong hands. And then those hands, lifting Regina off the ground and suffocating her. Suffocating Emma. 

Ice flying, cold air filling her lungs. A whirl of snow, and quiet descending once more on the forest. Regina huffing out a long breath. Emma reaching for her, questioning. Regina glaring back, shaking her head. And then the anger, the betrayal. That acute hurt from before that had been thrown on the back burner, evaporated to oblivion by the feel of Regina’s hand on Emma’s waist. 

It all came crashing back down at that look on Regina’s face, fully formed. A brick in her stomach. 

Like she said, it all happened so fast. Emma asked a simple question with too much hurt laced into it. And Regina bit back. Too hard. 

Emma blinked, and the next thing she knew, Regina was gone in a swirl of smoke, her words ringing low and dangerous in the air. 

“I don’t want to.” 

And so, Emma did the only thing she could do. The only thing she knew how to do. She took a deep breath, pretended that Regina’s words didn’t shatter her heart. Again. And then she went about the rest of her day, just like usual.

[seikilos-stele]

This is one of those questions that I want to ask a lot of authors, because I curious how many answers will be the same (if any)

The the basic premise is Do You Control Fic or Does it Control You?

What I mean by this is broken down into a few sub questions

Do you watch a show or read a book & fic ideas just pop into your head?

Are you watching/reading something and you are unsatisfied with the plot, but love the characters, therefore, set out to fix it?

Do you intend to write fic from the start, so you go in search of inspiration?

Have you ever completely lost interest in the canon, but still love the characters/fic (therefore, no longer revisit the original source of the fic?)

As is usual, this is just a guide. Answer any which way you would like - long answers are always welcome!

Wow, I think all of the above, multiple times!

The first type, where fic ideas just pop into my head — that’s the most difficult to write. I mean, it’s the most difficult to follow through 😆 sometimes I’ll write the ideas down, but once I’ve moved on to the next episode or book, I lose interest. So out of all these, statistically, this is the one you’d see the least.

#2 — setting out to fix it. Of course! I’ve probably written like, hundreds of post-Bilbringi fics and fics set in-between the Legends Thrawn trilogy, where I wished there was more character development with Thrawn and Pellaeon.

#3 — intending to write fic from the start, going in search of inspiration. This, probably more than anything else. When I first started writing on AO3, I made a kind of arbitrary goal to write a fic for everything I read or watched. Luckily when the stakes are that low you can basically just open a blank document and write whatever comes to mind, and it turns out okay — you’re like, “This ain’t my fandom, I’m just strolling through.” You don’t care if people even read it, so you don’t stress about prose or characterization 😆 it’s very nice!

I do this for fandoms I actually like too, because I usually want to write every day, but don’t always have a current idea. So I keep lists of interesting prompts and ideas, that way I never run out of material. Some of them get so stale that I never end up using them, but it’s still nice to have them there!

#4 — this happened with Once Upon a Time. I thought it was a bad show straight from Episode 1, but I loved Robert Carlyle’s character, so I watched it for him. All the way up until Season 3! At that point, Mr. Gold’s character arc was taking too many exhausting dips and turns, and the show wasn’t up to the task of explaining why. I stopped watching, but I kept up to date with the show’s shenanigans, read tons of fics, and wrote somewhere around 40 or 50 myself.

(It’s funny — I did write a few tiny fics BEFORE the show went bad; but it’s only the fics I wrote AFTER that I saved)

There are some great fix-its for that fandom btw 😆 I was also a huge fan of SwanQueen (main character Emma Swan x main villain Regina Mills) but in S3 they introduced a straight romance for Emma that I couldn’t STAND, so I read lots of fix-its for them too. My own fics weren’t really fix-its; they were AUs, almost always hurt/comfort. The show offered us plenty of material for that!

* * *

Maybe also worth mentioning:

1) when you’re reading a nonfiction book, but you’re thinking so hard about your favorite show that you end up with 7 plot bunnies all stemming from that single nonfiction piece that has nothing to do with Star Trek or Gargoyles or—

2) the private fanfics that you never bother to write down but replay in your head with minor tweaks each night before you go to bed. All of them are write-able! Many people would probably like to read them! But they seem somehow off-limits to me 😆 like, no, I’m only allowed to write fics based off stuff I think of in the shower, or at my desk — in bed??? That’s blasphemy

[booksteaandtoomuchtv]

💝what is a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

🤍what's one fic of yours you think people didn't "get"?

💥find your least kudos'd fic - say something wonderful about it.

💋when you leave comments on a fic, do you want to hear back from the writer?

Hey Kazzy!! I hope you've enjoyed your travels and thank you for all the lovely comments, reblogs, tags, and such over the last evening. I woke up feeling all kinds of internet hugs! To the questions!! (Can I send you some asks back??)

Since I write novels in these things, the responses are below the cut

💝what is a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

Burned Super

Two things kind of factor in my surprise at the response for that one. First, I started writing fanfiction in the early 2000s and fandoms we're not as pleasant as they are now. Even the SwanFire / SwanQueen / CaptainSwan debate is tame compared to how awful people were to fic writers and such back then. So, I am still adjusting to the acceptance that we have as writers these days.

But, the second reason is that it was the most self-indulgent thing that I have ever penned outside of my own journal. I had a day - one of those that everything I touched was a disaster. At the very end of the day, I was holding on to my emotions by the thinnest thread and then the stupid carrots would not cook. I've roasted carrots 1000000000x and for whatever reason these carrots just would not roast and I felt that little thread give. And, I kind of wanted to crumble into a pile on the kitchen floor and cry about the carrots, but really about the, well, the everything that day. So, I wrote instead. I wrote what I needed to have happened between Killiand and Emma and it made me happier. I only posted it because kmomof4 and jrob64 told me to do so.

For a week, it had a hit/kudo rate of 100%. I was stunned.

🤍what's one fic of yours you think people didn't "get"?

Perhaps, the rewrite of a scene in Always Practice Safe Hex

I really wanted to show that the best support for someone in a situation where someone is taking their power is to empower them, not to defend or speak for them. That fandom is tiny, so it can just be that no one has any base for it.

💥find your least kudos'd fic - say something wonderful about it.

CS Sleepy Prompts One-Shots

She's just a young collection. I really want people to feel comforted and cosy when they read these. Fluff is often a struggle for me, I really like writing angst and yearning, but these have just flowed out of me and have been so much fun to write. I get to write a wide range of CS stories without the anxiety that I started strong and let readers down at the end (which is my fear with any multi-chapter).

💋when you leave comments on a fic, do you want to hear back from the writer?

I do not expect to. Sometimes, my comments just don't inspire a response. I am just saying "hey, I enjoyed this and these are the parts that I enjoyed."

But, I do appreciate it any time I hear back. I really like hearing about the author's process or thoughts or just general discourse their writing inspired.

[italymystery-swanqueen]

I just learned the rule that people outside roleplay can't reblog roleplay post and

I learned it thanks to a real rude message.

The problem is

I saw that post on #swanqueen tag and I just thought it was a sort of short-fic prompt

there is not #roleplay

but next time when I will see a similar post I will control the op account.

Ciao Ciao

[growitout]

Hi I loved your last fic. For which fandoms do you take prompts for?

for wlw ships, i've written azutara, swanqueen, azuki, talder, I am open to others but only if i am familiar with the og characters, recent fics i've read are also fleurmione, bubbline, tanthamore

which fandom are you looking for, anon?

[anothershadeofpurple]

The year is 2051. You are in the best shape of your life, medical science has cured that one incurable issue you thought would plague you forever, you’re surrounded with the people you love and you’re in the dream home by the ocean, with still $100 million in the bank from that time you won the lottery. 

You’ve already ticked off half of your bucket list and you’re nowhere near the end and also world peace is a thing now. You’ve been putting it off, but that deep desire born in the 2010s is still somewhere inside… you want Swan Queen to be canon.  You have those $100 million sitting in the bank and deep fake technology has evolved from its current infancy to something every child can do from their smart glasses. It also includes exact voice copies on top of the image. 

Your lawyers secure the rights fairly easily and you get Lana Parrilla and Jennifer Morrison on board. You cast a couple thirty-something look-a-likes to play the flashbacks you will paste their faces on and you’re all set… Now all you need is a script that takes the story from where we left off to 2051.  What happens in the pilot?

[tiny-pun]

You have heard of “drunk calling” now get ready for

“Sick calling”

Person B is sick and can’t think straight anymore since their mind is a haze of eating, sleeping …. And missing A.

So ofc what better thing to do than just … call A up? And confess that they need them and only them ? And also their soup! Their sick soup is THE best they’ve ever had (pssst don’t tell C tho)

Bonus point, if others don’t know they know each other; let alone that they’re in a fight or broken up ! … which will all now be resolved ofc, now that A knows B does care and want them!

[juicecupswanqueen]

I am looking to write a short SQ one shot so if you have a prompt, message me.

Is there a particular scene between Regina and Emma that you would like to read about?

A moment in time that should have happened?

A discussion that they should have had?

Let me know!

[cinnonym]

Swan Queen Red String of fate, but with a twist. The basics are there, but that person might not be your soulmate. The idea is that you are supposed to learn something from this person. How do you know? Because one day the string is no longer there, but the next day is back, now leading you to someone else. How do you know when you've found the one? Don't wanna spoil the feels, so I'll DM the rest of my idea. POVs from both might be nice. OUaT canon ships will finally be actually useful.

Thanks a lot for the prompt! I’ll be uploading this particular fic in snippets, some of them shorter, some of them longer, scheduled to be added every day. I hope that is okay and that I paid @yaminoendo‘s prompt justice. Also, I’ll add read more’s for every snippet but the first one, so that the story doesn’t flood your dash all the time. That would be all - enjoy!

Regina had always been taught that the strings were weakness.

Cora was quite adamant about this. “Strings are bad luck,” she’d say, her voice even sharper than usual. “They are people’s excuse to go slacking off, which is why most of them will never reach greatness. We Millses aim to achieve something in this world. You, Regina, will achieve something. One day, you will be Queen, and you will reign unhindered by esoteric frills binding your fingers, is that understood?”

“Yes mother,” Regina would nod, and on rare occasions, Cora would smile at her. It was thin-lipped and hardly kind, but Regina’s childish heart lifted nonetheless. She would make mother proud. She would stop dreaming of soulmates, would stop playing with wool in a clumsy imitation of the magical strings.

She did well for almost sixteen years.