#microfic ask

WIP Wednesday: Game Edition

Happy new year! Happy 2026.

I have something less than a resolution. Or more, maybe, because resolutions can be things that we've already accepted we're probably not going to follow through on. A goal? A wish? A dream my heart makes? Maybe let's just say I'm starting this year pining for something, and the something is more fun. It’s messy and scary and busy and overwhelming out here, and we're surrounded by forces telling us that we’re robots made to work and kill time and that we don't deserve nice things like democracy and rest. I'd like to tell those forces to fuck off, and have some fun and rest and joy where I can in spite of them.

In that spirit, I have a game. Drop a prompt and a ao3-style tag in my asks and I’ll write you a micro fic for it. I get to pick who it’s about (and fair warning, it will likely be Snowbaz). I’ll try to tackle them quickly but no promises.

You can send as many as you like as long as you have patience, but send me at least one! I’d like to see if this jostles my mental writing block a bit. Give me something to write for you. Let’s have fun together in the new year.

ETA completed microfics:

10 Things I Hate About Snow (ft Prof Minos writing smut)

Simon & the Grimms (only one bed, meet the parents)

Nowhere I’d Rather Be (sickfic, second chances)

Love & Basketball (Simon has No game)

Groundhog’s Day (time loop, ugly Christmas sweaters, honeymoon)

To kick it off, I have a WIP snippet for @rimeswithpurple whose prompt is our entire CORB project, and also tags under the cut! This is rough--just dialogue--but I still like it :)

Hi anon!

Yes, all aspects of Drarry are welcome for microfics, including all types of aromantic, asexual, and queerplatonic relationships, and indeed unrequited love, pre-slash, infidelity, breakups, or unhappy endings (even MCD 😢)

Hit us with all of the varying ways Drarry can exist!

But of course we dearly love Happy Ever After endgame Drarry too!! 💖

Phil watches Techno collapse. He watches with his knees digging into the mud, a hand in his hair forcing him to look out at his friend.

He screams, but it's lost to the cries of the crows circling overhead. As Techno's blood saturates the earth, the sky crackles with lightning, and the universe calls for retribution

Wilbur stares at the candles, but does not light them.

He knows his altar well. Even if the backdrop of this arctic cabin isn't familiar, his father has a particular way he's always set up this altar, as long as Wilbur has been old enough to know what the altar means.

A diamond has become a permanent piece of the center, nestled next to the rose Wilbur doesn't dare touch. A decorated flint and steel lies waiting, but Wilbur doesn't touch that, either.

He doesn't do anything at all. He stares at the unlit candles, and he does not pray, not to a goddess who has never bothered to hear him before

When Phil feels two fingers pluck a feather from his wing, he freezes. Stops walking in his tracks in the middle of the hall, and turns, slowly, to face the guest who thought they had just gotten away with something clever.

Beside him, Techno stops too, ears twitching and lip curling in a snarl as he notices the feather that the guest is trying to hide, crumpling it in their hand. Around them, the ballroom has come to a slow stop, the circles around the Emperors noticing the commotion.

And now the foolish guest shrinks underneath the burning gazes of the two Emperors of the Antarctic Empire, frozen in place as they're hit with furious words preceding harsh action:

"How dare you."

Deep in the lake, Niki watches the surface of the sea change. The surface is disturbed as another hook gets tossed in the water, the fifth in a row that she's watched snag a fish. She tracks the sinking metal in the water, trailing her eyes up to watch the gossamer thread of the fishing line trail in the water.

She knows who's on the other end, and she knows just what she's going to do about it.

Grasping the line - avoiding the hook - Niki tugs on the line lightly, muffling a giggle in her other hand when she hears a startled exclamation from above. Still tugging on the line, she shimmies her way up to the surface, finally popping out to reveal Wilbur's newest catch.

"Wilbur!" she cheers, propping herself up on the wooden dock.

"Niki!" Wilbur yelps, form flickering incorporeal briefly before staring aghast at his empty line. "Damn it!"

"Whatcha up to?"

A smile blooms across Aimsey's face as they spot Ranboo poking his head into the room, his long dress trailing across the floor as he approaches them. "I'm sweeping!" they crow happily, shimmying their broom as a quick example. Unfortunately, doing so kicks of clouds of the very dust motes they were trying to sweep up, which sends them into a coughing fit for a few minutes. "Prime, Ran, it's really dusty in here. Didn't you say you lived here?"

"Eh... more like just kind of roamed the halls. I definitely didn't do any cleaning," Ranboo admits.

Aimsey laughs, easily returning to gathering the dust and debris into a pile. "Well, that much is clear." When Ranboo doesn't make another move, they pause again, tilting their head. "Well? Are you going to help me clean or what?"

Happy Birthday Tommy :)

"Another gift? What's that about?" Phil asks behind him, but Tommy can barely hear anything at all over the sudden ringing in his ears.

Thought you might be missing some of your comfort food today. Don't worry, I'll--

Tommy drops the book like it's burned him, ignoring Phil's further questions as he reaches for the clasp of the chest.

"Fuck," Tommy breathes, fingers digging into the lid of the chest so hard it starts to hurt. The chest is stuffed full of bowls of mushroom stew, the old, rancid scent of it perfectly concealed by the seal of the chest. "Phil, can I- can I stay over at your place again?"

"Sure, Tommy," Phil says, though he still sounds perplexed. "Are...you going to tell me what's going on?"

"Sure," Tommy lies, ignoring Phil's imploring gaze, eyes checking every corner for another trace of a certain masked bastard's smile