#prompt fics

[tarisilmarwen]

Help me they're sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooft.

I say, as if I didn't write this passage.

#star wars #star wars rebels #sabezra #fanfiction #adventures in writing #preview for sabezra day thing #ezra bridger #prompt fics

[wingdingery]

ohhhh i always have requests! quite fond of lil drabble ideas: bruce teaching dick to dance and (years later when they’re together) they recreating some of their first dances, slade being the one to gift dick his first leather jacket that he still regularly wears, An Event Occurs and in the aftermath dick realizes how irreplaceable he is to bruce and just how much bruce both loves him and needs him, bruce and dick’s undercover aliases that keep getting more and more romantic over the years

In Dick’s experience, returning to his apartment after a week away and finding a mysterious box on the coffee table that was definitely not there when he left is, usually, not actually a big deal.

He’s still careful—the little Batman that lives in the back of his head would never give him a moment of peace if he wasn’t—but he’s just very aware of the fact that, nine times out of ten, the not-so-little Batman is the one breaking in and leaving little treats for him to find later, because Bruce is deathly allergic to seeing people’s reactions to his gifts in real-time.

Dick runs through the standard checks, but nothing sounds or smells off, and nothing pings as suspicious on infrared or the particulate detector. He steps closer to inspect the box. It’s rectangular, all white, and generally unremarkable except for the fact that he didn’t put it there.

Carefully, he lifts the lid. He’s expecting some kind of gear—it wouldn’t be the first time a new suit or toys showed up unannounced.

What he finds is a leather moto jacket.

He gently lifts it out of the box and stares at it, bemused. It’s very nice—genuine Italian leather by the feel of it, black with silver hardware and diagonal pockets in the shape of a V, and just his size. There’s no note of any kind, but when he sniffs the leather, he also gets a whiff of maple and gun oil—and that feels like a signature in and of itself.

Dick pulls out his phone, dials in the number from memory, and sinks into the couch as it rings. 

“Happy birthday,” Slade says when he picks up, voice low and rumbling.

Dick suppresses a smile. “You’re late.”

“I was busy.”

“Doing what?”

“You really wanna know the answer to that?”

Dick bites the inside of his cheek and fiddles with the zipper of the jacket. They’ve been getting along all right ever since they’d been forced to team up on the cruise ship from hell, but still, a little plausible deniability goes a long way, between them. “How long ‘til I find out on my own?”

“Now that depends,” Slade says, drawing out the words. “You still talking to Rose?”

Dick blinks. “You were visiting Rose?”

“Something like that.”

“She shut the door in your face,” Dick guesses.

Slade grunts. “We can meet not at her apartment.”

“And she’s moving?”

“And she’s moving.” Slade doesn’t sound particularly annoyed about it, but then again, finding people who don’t want to be found is basically his job. Dick makes a mental note to see if Rose wants a hand making her dad’s life harder.

“So why the jacket?” Dick says, running his hand over the leather. It really is nice. He wonders where Slade got it, and whether it was paid for in money or blood. He probably doesn’t want to know.

“You complained I made you ruin yours,” Slade says. “Reckon we’re square now.”

Dick raises his eyebrows, even though Slade can’t see it. “I don’t remember doing that, but if I did, it had to have been, what… seven years ago? At least?”

“I’ve got a long memory.” It sounds vaguely like a threat, in Slade’s voice, but the jacket itself seems far from one, so Dick lets it pass.

“If you’re trying to make up for that,” Dick says, “then you’re really late.”

“You’d’ve thrown it straight in the trash if I ever tried before.”

“I could still do that.”

“You won’t.”

“Well, now I have to.”

Slade scoffs. “Go ahead. Would be a waste of perfectly good leather, though.”

The desire for knowledge wins out. “Where’d you get it?”

“Made it.”

Dick pauses, uncertain he’d heard correctly. When Slade doesn’t elaborate, though, Dick echoes, uncertainly, “Made it?”

“Wintergreen helped some.”

Dick opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Made it?

“Who exactly did you think made my first few costumes?” Slade says, sounding amused. “Not all of us have your daddy’s resources.”

It’s one thing for Slade to have bought him something; Dick can explain that away as just a whim—an act of opportunity, as it were. But Slade spending the time and energy to make it himself?

That’s premeditation.

“This isn’t a birthday gift.”

“I said happy birthday, didn’t I?”

“This isn’t just a birthday gift,” Dick presses.

Slade doesn’t respond, and Dick lets the silence stretch far past the point of discomfort. Still, neither of them hangs up. Slade may be a stubborn asshole, but Dick has been trained in the art of silence-offs by the most frustratingly stoic of them all.

Dick smooths out the collar of the jacket and straightens out the arms while he waits. Now that he’s looking closer, he can tell the seams aren’t the tidy stitches of a lifelong craftsman, but it’s impressive work, all the same. Work that must have taken a hell of a lot of effort. 

Finally, Slade breaks the rhythm of quiet breathing. “Whatever it is,” he says, “it’s yours now. Throw it in the trash if you want. Or don’t. It’s got nothing to do with me.”

It has everything to do with Slade, but the fact that Slade is insisting so hard that it doesn’t is both a little funny and extremely sad. Dick can recognize a fear of rejection when he hears it. 

Dick puts a hand on top of the jacket. “It doesn’t really make sense to give me this,” he says, “if you’re never going to see me wear it.”

Slade is silent for a moment, but not as long as before. “I’ve got time,” he says, slowly, like he’s leaving space for Dick to cut him off between one word and the next. “Two weeks from now.”

“Two weeks,” Dick agrees. “I assume you don’t need the address.”

“Think I’ve got it.” Slade’s voice is dry, but lacking its usual knife-sharp edge. “See you soon, kid.”

He hangs up before Dick can respond. 

Dick smiles anyway. “See you soon.”

----

Footnote: RIP Dick's expensive jacket (this is $300 in 80s money)

#sladick #prompt fics #had to stop fiddling with this and set it free since it was just meant to be the equivalent of a warmup sketch #my perfectionist instincts will be the end of me

[luthien-under-bough]

*banner by @anamazingangie! 🤍

milk teeth - Daemon Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen >> in progress - chapters 3/6

Prompt: When Aemma gives birth to a healthy heir, Rhaenyra is very curious about breastfeeding and often lets her brother suck on her breasts without milk. It makes him quiet and her mother is relieved that Rhaenyra likes her brother. Daemon discovers what is she doing and shows her how her tits should be sucked. Rhaenyra can't wait to get pregnant and have her own milk for Daemon to suckle.

Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings*

*Please read the prompt and mind the tags. I used the "Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings" tag and added more specific warnings in the Additional Tags. Sexual content will occur between Daemon and Rhaenyra when she's 15; they will not marry/consummate their marriage until she's 16 (disclaimer - my timelines are always subject to change, but this is the current plan). There will, however, be no Major Character Death or Non-Con. There will be varying degrees of consent (hence the Dubious Consent tag), and — depending on how I end up writing particular scenes — the Consensual Non-Consent tag may be added.

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Baelon Targaryen (Son of Viserys I) Lives, Aemma Arryn Lives, No Dance of the Dragons | War For Succession Between Aegon II and Rhaenyra Targaryen Never Happens, Underage Sex, Dubious Consent, Underage Masturbation, Motherhood, Pregnancy, Menstruation, Breastfeeding, Lactation Kink, Early marriage, Breeding, Blood, Uncle/Niece Incest, Mentions of Child Loss

Summary:

She knew this wasn’t proper, but it didn’t feel wrong. There was nothing perverse about it; it was merely a way to bond with her new brother. And if she did have children of her own, she would feed them herself, the customs of men and maesters be damned. What was this, if not practice? Men played at swords in the yard to practice for their wars, why should she not practice for her duties just the same?

Chapter Links:

🤍 chapter 1 🤍 chapter 2 🤍chapter 3🤍

#daemyra #daemon x rhaenyra #daemon targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fanfic #my fics #prompt fics #summer of dove #dont like dont read

[fics-not-tragedies]

January 2024 Music Prompts: Day 1

Own My Mind ♫ Måneskin

Own My Mind ♫ Måneskin x John Constantine

I'm prayin' at your altar if you know what I mean.

One moonlit evening, Constantine found himself in the centre of a web of dark magic. A malevolent force, whose origins were hidden in the whispers of the underworld, had unleashed a demonic presence on the unsuspecting city. The streets echoed with the eerie laughter of the creatures that lurked in the shadows.

Amidst the chaos, Constantine discovered an ancient altar, its malevolence penetrating the very foundations of the city. The air crackled with malevolent energy as he confronted the demonic force that sought to devour the soul of the metropolis.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica…" Constantine murmured, a defiant challenge to the malevolent entity that lurked in the supernatural realms.

As he recited ancient incantations and wielded a weapon forged from celestial steel, Constantine sensed a mysterious presence — an ethereal force drawn to the fervour of his quest. Unseen eyes watched him from the shadows, mesmerised by the determination and courage emanating from the demon hunter.

With each incantation, Constantine's surroundings seemed to quake with an otherworldly energy. The demonic laughter died away and was replaced by an eerie silence, as if the air held its breath in anticipation of the impending clash between light and shadow.

At the heart of the spiritual battlefield, Constantine's gaze caught sight of a figure cloaked in shadow — a ghostly presence lingering at the edge of the supernatural fray. The being, drawn by the resonance of the demon hunter's fervent prayers, watched him with an intensity that reflected a strange fascination.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica…" Constantine repeated, the words a rhythmic chant that reverberated through the metaphysical realms.

As the incantations intensified, the shadows parted, revealing the ghostly entity that had been drawn to Constantine's request. A subtle change occurred — a dance of cosmic energies that blurred the line between hunter and hunted.

Constantine, his senses attuned to the supernatural currents, met the enigmatic gaze of the spectral being. The air quivered with unspoken understanding — a connection that transcended the dichotomy of good and evil. In that suspended moment, the demon hunter and the spectral being found themselves connected by a cosmic thread woven from the essence of the mystical battlefield.

The demon, sensing the shift in the balance of power, backed away from the combined force opposing it. The city, once caught in the clutches of evil, heaved a sigh of relief as the supernatural storm subsided. Constantine took one last look at the ghostly creature with a weary but victorious expression on his face.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica…" he uttered once more, this time directed at the enigmatic presence that hovered in the aftermath of the battle. “And tell boss Constantine said ‘hi’, you fuck” Constantine added, showing a middle finger to the dark forces who lurked around him.

The city, freed from the clutches of demonic influence, attained a new serenity. Constantine, the demon hunter, and the spectral being, an enigma woven into the fabric of the supernatural, shared a moment of unity — a testament to the complexity of the spiritual battlefield and the unspoken connections that transcend the realms of light and shadow.

After the supernatural storm, as the city heaved a sigh of relief, Constantine and the spectral being stood face to face. The air crackled with lingering energy and their eyes met in a silent exchange of gratitude and appreciation. Without words, a magnetic pull drew them closer together until their lips met in a passionate kiss.

“You saved the altar” the being murmured against his lips, placing her hands on his chest.

“It was bombed once… and I don’t have any heavy arms on me.”

“That’s good, Constantine” she touched his lips gently, tracing them with her fingers before kissing him again.

“I’m prayin’ at your altar…” he breathed, moving his lips to the being’s neck, gently squeezing her hips and pushing her closer to the altar, “if you know what I mean.”

“Oh, I sure know what you mean, John Constantine.”

The boundaries between the hunter and the mystical being blurred, and in this unspoken union the city witnessed a union that overcame the dichotomy of good and evil. The night, once shrouded in malice, gave way to the dawn of a city reborn, where prayers and mysteries lingered in the air like the echo of an ancient hymn, and the kiss between Constantine and the spectral being came to symbolise a love that transcended the boundaries of the constant fight between good and evil and the balance he kept willing to restore.

#january 2024 music prompts #music prompts #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #imagine #drabble #constantine fanfiction #constantine fanfic #constantine fic #john constantine x reader #constantine x reader #keanu reeves fanfiction #keanu revees fanfic #keanu reeves fic #keanu reeves imagine #prompt fics

[mamoonde]

Prompt: modern wwx got transmigrated to the cultivation world

"It is, as you say," Lan Zhan frowns thoughtfully. "Lit AF."

Wei Ying chokes on his mantou.

Through his tears and laughter, Wei Ying thinks, 'all the cool ways to die in a xianxia novel, and I die from ill-timed slangs-- that I taught!'

#lan zhan being effortlessly funny #he said it with full gravitas #mamoonde short fics #prompt fics #mo dao zu shi #mdzs au #transmigrator wwx #cultivator lwj #wangxian

[alexanderlightweight]

Alec, as the heir to a throne, must be married. Let’s say there’s no homophobia in this world. Cue a tournament for his hand. He’s absolutely beside himself with rage.

Tournament happens, Jace is trying to win, not for Alec’s hand per se, but kinda as a “I got your back bro” thing. So last 3 are Magnus, Jace, and a stranger. Magnus takes out Jace. And after a long battle and stilted convo of Magnus having to prove he’s been in love with Alec the whole time, Alec removes the mask he’d been wearing/drops his glamour.

I really just want that win the hand/dramatic reveal trope where Alec wins his own fate and the love at the same time.

I am finally finished and Anon, I asssure you it was circumstances that led this to be answered so late. I absolutely loved the concept but I got mad that I didn’t have my laptop and refused to work on it because of that. which is ironic because I ran out of spoons after I finally slept and I finished writing this on my phone after all.

—

Alec watches with detached interest as Magnus defeats Jace.

His brother in arms is furious and seething and spitting blood; but Alec never once asked him to.

Alec finds he has no pity for Jace, not when he’s drawing his visor down and stepping out of the cool halls where each contestant stays.

And then Magnus is finally matching blades against him, brown eyes flaring gold as he tries to keep his magic constrained.

After all, this is a moderated duel.

And Alec snarls as he digs in his heels and takes blows he could redirect because he never wants to risk hurting Magnus.

This isn’t about hurting Magnus, even if Alec refuses to surrender.

They trade blows until Alec lets a hit get him, just so he can trip Magnus without hurting him, and the blow strikes true.

“Alexander?” Magnus asks, softly and almost unsure in the sudden and eerie silence. And Alec coughs out what feels like a lung full of blood as he recenters.

“So what if I am?” He asks Magnus, exhausted and furious with the position he finds himself in. “No one’s bothered asking me what I want. So what does it matter if I’m deciding who I want as well?”

And Magnus, his eyes flare brighter but he stands down. His sword point digs into the sand and he kneels, hand on the pommel as he stares at Alec.

“I never sought to coerce or claim what wasn’t mine. If you decide to pick me, if I am worthy in your eyes, then I am here. And I will fight for you; for whatever choice you make. Even if it isn’t me.”

And Alec can feel the sincerity and he knows that Magnus means what he says. It’s a heady thrill and Alec nearly stumbles as he discards his own sword. It’s a heavy and distracting weight that he doesn’t need as he falls to his own knees and reaches out, cupping Magnus’ face.

“You’re the only one I would choose. The only being that I could pick and be true to myself, but I never wanted to be fought for.” Alec tells him softly, “I will always be willing to surrender myself, for you. As long as it is a choice I’m allowed to make.”

And Magnus pulls him even closer and Alec inhales the sweat and dust and blood and relaxes further.

“I will endeavor to always be your safe haven.” Magnus promises him, and his arms are strong bands that protect Alec, rather than entrap him.

#shadowhunters #magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec #immortal husbands #writing wednesdays #writing wednesday #lumine writes #anon ask #anon reply #prompt fill #prompt fics #my fanfics #my fics #my ficlets #shadowhunters au

[darkpurpledawn]

for the writing prompt thing if you’re still doing that maybe something where the joker kidnaps a marriage counselor or something and forces Batman to go with him (by probably threatening to kill a bunch of people or something)

“He’s insane!” the terrified woman tied to the chair whispers to Batman, who’s sawing through her restraints with a bat-shaped file.

“I know, ma’m,” Batman sighs. “It’s the Joker.”

“No, you don’t understand,” she hisses. “I’m a marriage counselor.”

“An admirable vocation. Can you move your elbow a little to the left?”

“See he thinks you’re–”

She’s cut off by the bang of a door and a burst of confetti.

“Bats! You’re unfashionably early.” Joker, as usual, greets Batman with the cheerful nonchalance of someone who has asked his companion to pass the strawberry jam at a picnic. “I see you’ve met Carolyn.”

“Put the gun down, Joker,” Batman snarls. “You won’t be hurting her anymore.”

“What? No, no, of course I’m not hurting her, I kidnapped her and let her sit in this basement full of rats so that we can have a little chat about where our relationship’s going.”

“You’re not usually this delusional before lunch,” Batman says flatly, and hoists the newly-freed Carolyn from her chair.

“Ah ah ah, I don’t think you want to be doing that,” Joker says. He prances over to a pile of garbage propping up an old cathode-ray television and turns it on with one gloved finger. “See, I’m not hurting her, but if you make another move I will tell my associates you see on the screen there to throw everyone who was unlucky enough to be waiting at the intersection of 3rd and Daggett Memorial into the knife hole.”

There are a dozen people on the screen, eight of whom are not clad in clown masks or oversized shoes. And there’s an aperture on the floor, presumably–

“The knife hole?” Batman says doubtfully.

Joker sighs. “I started letting my henchmen name the death traps. Does a lot for morale, you know, but they haven’t exactly got the souls of poets.”

“At least let the counselor go,” Batman says, looking at the unguarded exit as if calculating how long it would take to sprint there.

“No you don’t, I need her! Well, maybe not her exactly, I just picked her out because we have the same nail color”--he draws off a glove and shows Batman a bright yellow lacquer–”but you get the point.”

Carolyn inhales sharply with the air of someone for whom no amount of acetone could be enough.

“Anyway, bats, I assure you the knife hole is fatal indeed. Threw an underperforming goon in it the other day and he’s quite dead.”

“Can’t imagine why you’re having morale problems,” Batman deadpans. “Let’s talk about this, OK? Nobody needs to get hurt.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, bats,” Joker says, exasperated. “We need to talk. Are you getting enough oxygen in your little cave? Why do you think I kidnapped a marriage counselor?” 

“Because you’re insane?”

Joker rounds on Carolyn. “You see what I put up with!

Carolyn stutters. “It, um, it seems like there’s a fundamental disagreement about the presence or absence of a partnership here, which is really, uh, out of the scope of what marriage counseling can help with–”

“Oswald told me you let him sit in the front of the Batmobile,” Joker interrupts, pointing the gun at Batman accusingly. “Last time you took me to Arkham you made me sit in the back.”

“Does that m-match your recollection of events, Batman?” Carolyn asks in a near-whisper. “Also, um, Joker, your body language is fairly threatening right now, this doesn’t feel like a very voluntary discussion.”

“The Penguin does not push buttons on the dashboard trying to find the eject button or the most annoying radio station,” Batman says. 

“But I called shotgun!” Joker protests.

“You shot me in the leg with an actual shotgun,” Batman yells.

“See, it’s communication issues like these that are holding us back, Batsy. Not to mention our intimacy problems.”

“Wait, are you really–?” Carolyn asks.

“No,” Batman growls and Joker moans at the same moment. “Not even once,” they say in tandem, Batman with a shudder and Joker with a rhapsodic sigh.

“Oooookay,” Carolyn says, backing away from both of them.

Batman clears his throat awkwardly and activates the com link on his gauntlet. “Robin, begin rescue procedure. Careful of the knife hole.”

“No, no, not again!” Joker yelps as the television shows one of the captured civilians pull out an extendable stick and start doing backflips. “Really have to work on a screening process for kidnapping victims.”

“C’mon Joker, the back seat of the Batmobile is waiting.”

#batjokes #batjokes fic #my fics #prompt fics #batblogging #thanks for your patience anon! and these are aways open!

[forgottenvice]

University roommates

Prompt: Bana - Roomates in Uni/ consoling after a date gone bad [either sabotaged by the other party or no 😂]

AO3

Mobei Jun sat on his bed, knee bouncing impatiently as he scrolled through instagram.

There were plenty of photos at the party. His teammates doing shots, classmates smiling at the camera, alongside a hundred other people he didn't recognize. None of them mattered because he hadn't managed to spot the tell-tale bun of his roommate in any of the photos.

Nor was he able to pick out Luo Binghe's iconic curls, the fact that neither of them appeared on anyone's feed made something dark and caustic churn in his gut.

He wondered once again if he should have kept an eye on Shang Qinghua's date. He was small and vulnerable. What if Luo Binghe tried to force him to do something he didn't want? The star quarterback had a reputation for getting his way and Shang Qinghua wouldn't stand a chance.

Then he saw it, a snapchat just posted by Sha Hualing with some girl he recognized as the field hockey captain, there in the background.

It was Luo Binghe crowding someone against a wall, his body was blocking the other person but Mobei Jun was sure he knew exactly who the man was towering over.

He was tensed ready to leap to his feet when the sound of someone fiddling with the door reached him. When it opened he knew it could only be one person so he tamped down on the panic and leaned back trying to affect an air of disinterest while glaring down at the insulting image on his phone.

He did his very best not to look up, it wasn't Shang Qinghua's fault Mobei Jun was upset. Mobei Jun knew it was his own fault for not making a move, but his traitorous heart lifted just a little, because if Shang Qinghua was back already perhaps Luo Binghe's moves hadn't worked.

He refused to look up as Shang Qinghua threw his keys and wallet on his own bed, and it took all of his will power not to make a sound as the man sat on Mobei's bed and tiredly placed his head in Mobei Jun's lap.

It wasn't unusual for Qinghua to seek Mobei out for human contact when he was sad or upset and that thought made the anger boil up once more.

"How did your date go?" he winced at his own clipped tone. It was always difficult to control his jealousy around the object of his affection, but he wished for Shang Qinghua's sake he could have been just a bit softer.

"Great!" the cheerful tone sounded forced, "A stunning success! Binghe got exactly what he wanted." There was a bitterness in that statement and Mobei Jun felt his phone creak in his grip.

"If he did something I'll--"

"No! no, he didn't do anything to me." He moved but Shang Qinghua pat his thigh, it was embarrassing how quickly the action placated him

Qinghua let out a world weary sigh.

"It was a fake date, Luo Binghe and I had arranged it to make the people we actually want to date jealous. It actually worked pretty well for him, Shen Yuan was very deep in the closet. Only took him shouting that I'm not good enough for Binghe and a minor mental breakdown for him to figure it out."

Qinghua sighed again, and Mobei Jun felt the sneer grace his lips.

"If anything you're too good for Binghe."

"Thank you!" Qinghua turned towards keeping his head firmly in Mobei's lap, Mobei's heart leapt to his throat. "I was the one who came up with the damn plan in the first place! And it only worked for him." He huffed childishly curling into himself dangerously close to Mobei's crotch.

He took a steadying breath before asking.

"Why didn't it work for you?" He swallowed thickly, watching Qinghua closely even as the man tried to hide under his bangs.

"Because the guy I was trying to make jealous wasn't even there. My master plan was foiled by statistics homework." Mobei Jun furrowed his brow. Why would anyone disappoint Shang Qinghua?

Whoever this guy was, he was a fool, except Qinghua was peeking up at him like he was expecting something.

And then it clicked. Mobei remembered his excuse for not going to the party, 'last minute statistics assignment' one invented on the spot so he wouldn't have to watch Shang Qinghua enjoy himself on a date with someone else.

"I dunno I think it worked." He pulled up the snapchat he'd been looking at, "Is this you?"

"huh?" Shang Qinghua leaned up to inspect the picture, "Of course not, she took that five minutes ago. Pretty sure Shen Yuan's about to get laid."

"Good," Not for Shen Yuan but for Mobei, the possessive jealousy warmed into something else, something he was eager to explore. He tossed his phone across the room to Qinghua's bed and leaned down.

Before the smaller man could move Mobei Jun pressed their lips together, a hand snaking around Qinghua's waist. The position felt right, like puzzle pieces locking into place.

By the time the kiss was done Qinghua's arms had wrapped around his own neck and a hand had buried itself in Mobei's hair.

He felt lighter than he had all night, and looking into deep brown eyes it seemed as if Shang Qinghua was very much on the same wavelength.

A small victorious smirk quirked at the side of his mouth and Mobei Jun wanted to kiss it away.

"All according to plan."

#Moshang #prompt fics #My writing #and they were roommates #modern AU

[keepyourpantsongohan]

Work Equally Revered

The heaviness in my heart is gone. (Part II, Ep. 225). | Discord 30 Minute Gift Exchange (Ghosts of Narutos Past) for @ohayohimawari | Prompt: The Cursed Ghost Ship, Tranquility. 

                            ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“You know, Zabuza-kun, I didn’t take you for much of a dog person,” Kakashi says lightly. He reaches out to scratch Pakkun, who looks surprisingly content in the rogue ninja’s arms.

“They’re easier to get along with when they’re not biting me,” Zabuza replies wryly. His tone is equally conversational. “Besides that, we’ve had time to get to know one another.” 

Helpfully, Pakkun tells Kakashi, “He’s alright.” 

Nodding, Kakashi replies, “About that...” He leans against the wall of what had been his previously single-occupant room aboard this ship. He supposes he should give his guards a lecture later, given that no one else has come bursting in yet. “I don’t mean to be rude, but aren’t you dead?” 

Zabuza takes the liberty of setting Pakkun down on Kakashi’s bed, and sitting there himself. “As far as I know.” 

“So, what? You heard in the Pure Lands we were visiting Kirigakure, and thought you’d come say hi to Mei-san?” 

His companion laughs. At which part, Kakashi isn’t sure. In either case, it is a much less harsh sound than Kakashi remembers, and it makes Kakashi’s own lips quirk upward. “You’re the one who summoned me,” Zabuza says, as if this is enough of an explanation. With a once-over of Kakashi, he adds, “Nice outfit.”

Kakashi looks down at his Hokage robes, and then at Zabuza, who, on this occasion, is once again favouring a bare chest and cow print. “I’m not sure you’re qualified to give fashion advice. And what do you mean, I summoned you?”

Zabuza inclines his head towards Kubikiribōchō, resting in the corner of the room. The main purpose of this voyage. Then, he looks at Pakkun. “You know how summoning works, don’t you? Seals bound by blood. You’re not very careful about who your dogs bite, are you?” 

“You’re telling me that you came here because I called Pakkun?” Kakashi shakes his head. “The ninken bit you years ago. Besides, your body was sealed during the war.”

“The sword and the dog have absorbed my chakra and blood. I don’t need a physical carcass any more than a summons does.”

Kakashi needs to sit down, and so he finds himself on the bed alongside his former-enemy-turned-acquaintance-turned-ghost-roommate. “You’ve always had such a way with words,” he deadpans. “So, how exactly do we help you find peace now that you’re here?”

“You’re going to Kiri?” Zabuza confirms. When Kakashi nods, the man offers a sharp, lively grin. “Well, Haku always said I ought to do more community service.” 

#kakashi hatake #zabuza momochi #kakazabu #ayesha talks anime #fanfiction #long post #mine #ohayohimawari #prompt fics #discord #there's nothing inherently romantic bc it's short but they will [REDACTED] #i did watch the first few eps of tgcf but i think i didn't get far enough haha #so imagine zabuza trying to balance his books through a heaven merit system a la xie lian xoxo

[tarisilmarwen]

Sabezra Day 2024 - "Speak My Language"

Title: Speak My Language

Fandom: Star Wars Rebels, Ahsoka

Rating: K+

Pairing/Relationships: Ezra/Sabine

Character(s): Ezra Bridger, Sabine Wren, Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios

Genre: Romance/Drama/Comfort/Fluff

Summary: All the little ways Ezra and Sabine tell each other "I love you."

AO3, FFNet

@sabezraweek

---

Physical Touch

For all his skittish avoidance of them, Sabine observed, there was a part of Ezra that seemed to crave touch.

She saw it in the way he gradually stopped flinching at Zeb's shoulder thumps, once he realized the gesture was affectionate, once he realized he wasn't being hit. She saw it more readily in the way he lit up whenever Kanan or Hera put a hand on his arm or shoulder, how light would practically beam out of him.

She even saw it in how he would pat Chopper's dome at odd moments—ostensibly to annoy the droid, who would slap him off and screech in binary and chase him around with his shock prod as Ezra ran away laughing, but aside from her and Hera no one else had dared to touch the cranky C1 unit with any kind of affection, and Sabine could only conclude that Ezra must, on some level, enjoy it. No matter how badly Chopper bullied him on the regular.

Sabine herself? Was not a particularly "huggy" person. She kept people at arm's length, both literally and figuratively, but understood the paradox of not wanting to let her walls and guard down and yet longing for intimacy and affection. She related to Ezra in that fashion. Sympathized with him.

She was looking for him now, actually. He was doing that thing where he would pretend he wanted to be alone to mope but he really wanted someone to keep him company and seek him out to comfort him—another painful similarity between them she understood. Today's Jedi lesson had not apparently gone well. There'd been some yelling. Kanan had walked into the living room where she'd been painting, radiating frustration.

Sabine had quietly put down her paints and gone out to check on Ezra.

She found him sitting curled up on a little hillock, staring out towards the waving grasses. His shoulders were hitched, and his bangs were falling into his face.

Sabine plastered on a smile and came to sit next to him.

"Rough day, I'm guessing?" she quipped lightly, as she plopped down.

He gave a noncommittal sound and a shrug, curling up tighter.

Heart panging, Sabine lifted a hand, then hesitated. She remembered a bit of holovideo from the disk she'd cleaned up for Ezra—just a fragment really, too corrupted to be any good-of Mira gently stroking Ezra's hair.

The blue-black strands shifted with the breeze now, fluttering around Ezra's head. It looked soft and fluffy and she found her hand drawing towards it.

Carefully, she let her fingers slide into his hair, tenderly combing up through the strands.

Ezra gasped softly, eyes widening, stiffening with a bit of shock.

Smiling more genuinely this time, Sabine used the hand in his hair to tug his head gently into her shoulder, again, like she'd seen Mira do in the brief holo clip.

Ezra melted, leaning into the touch with a kind of shuddering sigh.

Sabine let her fingers keep brushing through Ezra's hair, almost hugging him to her side as she played with the ends.

"Thanks," she heard him whisper, so quietly she almost missed it.

***

Gift Giving

After seeing how Sabine's eyes had popped with delight when he showed her the TIE fighter, Ezra had tried very hard to recreate that reaction.

And it turned out Sabine liked getting things.

It took a bit of experimentation to figure out what things, specifically, Sabine liked getting the most. Despite all that he'd managed to learn about girls from trashy holofilms and the drunken advice of his fellow homeless vagrants, Sabine wasn't particularly into flowers or jewelry. Sweets were slightly better, but Sabine had an allergic reaction once to a bit of kopa nut Ezra hadn't realized was in the chocolates he'd bought her and he'd avoided repeating that mistake since.

Art supplies were an obvious choice, but being in the Rebellion meant he was only slightly less broke than he'd been on the streets, so getting Sabine anything of actual quality, that suited her standards, took a bit of saving and scrimping.

It was so worth it, though, when he presented her with the fancy pastels kit she'd been eying in that Garel shop window for forever.

She gasped, almost snatching the box from him in her eagerness. Ezra watched her read and re-read the brand name across the front several times.

"Ezra..." she breathed, and Force how he loved when she said his name like that. Her eyes lifted, joy tugging at every corner and wrinkle of her face. "Is this—?" She couldn't even finish.

Ezra ducked his head, bashful, hiding a grin. He tried to play it cool, rubbing a hand behind his head. "I know you've been wanting them for a while and I had a little extra so..." he trailed.

Sabine flung arms around him, almost bowling him over. Her teal and blue hair was tickling in his face and Ezra forgot how to breathe for a moment as he tried not to freak out about the fact that Sabine was hugging him—hugging him—and ruin things by making it all weird.

She had finally gotten used to him, she let him in her room without turning him away at the door with a mumbled comment about wanting to be alone, she joked with him on missions now and even sometimes laughed at his bad jokes, he didn't want to spoil things by making this about his lingering crush on her.

He was just being nice to a friend. That was all.

He still liked how good she smelled as she pulled back out of the hug, though.

Sabine was grinning from ear to ear, mischievous twinkle in her amber eyes. "You realize I'm going to have to test these out right away?" she quipped, tone implying something conspiratorial.

"Guess I should make a point to steal another TIE fighter for you," he joked back.

She was shaking her head. "Pastels wouldn't stick to the titanium alloy, would be a wasted effort."

"Then it's a good thing I also swiped this," he said, producing a clean white Bike Trooper helmet and presenting it with a 'ta da!' gesture.

"Oh ho, you do know how to treat a girl," she laughed, reaching for the helmet and balancing it atop her box of pastels. "Well c'mon, who knows how long we've got before Zeb and Kanan get back." She tilted her head towards the hanger doors, through which the mostly-empty Ghost could be seen parked, and Ezra followed her eagerly, heart warming at the praise.

The two of them tramped up the ramp like quick shadows.

***

Words of Affirmation

"Sabine said I should wear the Scout Trooper armor more often, makes me look mature and grown-up," she heard Ezra bragging to Zeb from the hallway.

Her door was cracked open just a bit—for both ventilation and privacy—and Sabine heard his preening, and chuckled a bit at how annoyed Zeb sounded when he countered back, "Don't let it go to yer head, kid."

Ezra just laughed in response. Sabine knew he'd be riding the high from her compliment for days.

In fact, she should probably go fluff his ego a bit more, keep his spirits up. He was still bummed out about not getting Hera's kalikori back. Hera had dismissed the loss with relative ease but Ezra was taking it like some kind of personal failure.

He took everything so personally, now...

Shaking off that somber thought, Sabine picked up her cloth and wiped her paintbrush off, setting it down on her easel.

Pretending she hadn't just been eavesdropping she stood up from her stool and walked to the door, cracking it open a bit more and leaning on both edges of the frame.

"What are you giving him grief about this time, Zeb?" she said, teasing, grinning wide.

Zeb rolled his eyes, but Ezra turned towards her.

"I was just telling Zeb about how much you loved the Scout Trooper uniform," he said.

She shrugged. "Well, they say clothing makes the man, but I think it was the other way around this time. That armor definitely wouldn't have looked as good without you in it."

She might have struck him speechless with that one. Was he blushing? He looked dumbfounded and Sabine swore she saw his cheeks reddening.

He was adorable.

With a small cough she cleared her throat. "Hey, glad you made it out okay," she said, changing the subject. "I was really worried when I heard that you and Hera were captured."

He glanced away, eyes lowering. "Wasn't anything to worry about," he dismissed. "Just the usual kind of danger we get into."

"Still would have kicked myself if anything had happened to you," she argued, reaching across to grab a pinch of his sleeve, draw his eyes and attention back. "You mean a lot to me, all right? I care about you." Her eyes squeezed earnestly as she tried to make him understand. "I just don't want you to get hurt."

Their gaze held a long moment, blue looking wonderingly into amber, as Ezra took her words in, something in the depths of his irises seeming to glow brighter.

"Err... should I give you two a moment?"

Both teens broke eye contact immediately at Zeb's awkward comment. Sabine brushed her bangs back, hiding her face, her own cheeks flushing now.

Ezra coughed heavily into his fist, very deliberately looking forward and not at her. "I'll uh, see you tomorrow then?" he said.

"Right," Sabine blurted, fleeing at once back into her room and sliding the door all the way closed.

She could still hear Zeb's voice, muffled behind the door, making teasing comments that Ezra replied to with inaudible muttering.

***

Acts of Service

Mandalorian history was full of heroes who performed great deeds. Feats of strength, of valor, of honor. Fulfilled oaths. Last stands.

They weren't all that different from Jedi, honestly. A life of service to others was a Jedi's calling and goal, requiring much of them, demanding the fullness of their dedication even to the point of ultimate sacrifice.

So this, his last great act, his wild ploy to upend the chessboard and sweep away the Seventh Fleet, leaving her his lightsaber as a token, might as well have been a blaring love letter to Sabine's Mandalorian sensibilities.

I love you, I love you, repeated sadly in his head, as her last words—begging him to get off the ship—echoed in his ears. I'm sorry. I have to do this.

She was going to be so angry at him. When she found him she would probably kick and scream and cry.

But he knew she'd understand. After all, she was a warrior herself. She would know the kind of personal sacrifice he was making, giving up everything he'd ever known and loved for the chance that she and everyone else could live free.

It was the kind of noble, larger-than-life task that defined so many Mandalorian epics.

Ezra steeled his jaw and held his head high, diving deeper into the Force as purrgil song filled his ears and hyperspace began stretching out white through the atmosphere. Thrawn cursed and spat but nothing could stop the young Jedi now.

He would do the task that only he could. Ezra Bridger, son of Lothal, Jedi apprentice...

...The boy who loved Sabine Wren.

***

Quality Time

She needed to be next to him like she needed to breathe.

Sabine still couldn't believe it, that she finally had her lost Jedi back, that he was alive and real and whole and he wouldn't leave her side.

They had barely spent a moment apart since she and Ahsoka had rescued him from Peridea.

The journey home had been full of drinks and laughter, so many drinks and laughing so hard her sides hurt. The ship lights spun and twinkled in their eyes and when they finally retired for the night she just latched onto his wrist and pulled him onto the blankets on the floor.

They were out almost immediately, tangled up in each other, but woke up sometime in the wee early hours and just whispered more stories to each other, getting caught up, telling each other everything that had happened in the gap between then and now.

Sabine curled a hand around his, marveling at the strength in the rough brown fingers. Stars how she'd missed this! Just sitting and talking, being in each other's company. It made her think of movie nights and sleepovers in the living room on the Ghost, talking long walks around the perimeter of Chopper Base, sparring in the cargo bay, that one night they'd stayed up watching a meteor shower on a blanket just like this.

"What is it?" he asked her, noticing she'd gone quiet.

She sighed happily, bringing his hand up to kiss the back softly.

"Just happy we're together again," she told him. The empty space left unoccupied, where he should have been all these years, was full again. "I missed this," she said aloud.

"Missed you," he whispered, leaning in for a stolen kiss against her cheek, beard tickling her skin.

She giggled, happy tears threatening at her eyes. "Stay with me a little longer?" she begged.

"Of course," he assured her.

It was a long trip home, but she got to spend it with the man she loved.

Nothing else could have made her more content.

#star wars #star wars rebels #ahsoka show #ezra bridger #sabezra #fanfiction #sabezraday2024 #prompt fics

[sir-yeehaw-paws]

VKaz + 24 for the fic prompt meme 🥺

Splintered Glass Kaz doesn't speak Russian. The interrogator doesn't speak English. All of this is posturing is pointless. He's bothersome entertainment. Part stress relief, part necessary practice. Prompt 24: 'Really Needed a Hug' Sort of Hug.

#fanfic #prompt fics #vkaz #mgs #asks #answered asks #blind and parasite kaz #parasite au

[luthien-under-bough]

🕊 Summer of Dove Prompt Fics 🕊

Prompt fics written for Fire, Blood, & Kink's Summer of Dove event.

tender

Prompt: Daemon convinces his teenage niece that sucking on her tits will help them grow, and rhaenyra is all too naive to question the veracity of her dear uncle's words.

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: Underage

Category: F/M

Fandoms: House of the Dragon (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms

Relationship: Daemon Targaryen/Rhaenyra Targaryen

Characters: Rhaenyra Targaryen, Daemon Targaryen

Additional Tags: Uncle/Niece Incest, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Grooming, Manipulative Daemon Targaryen, Dry Humping

push

Prompt: unlike almost everything in the world, uncle daemon was off limits to her. rhaenyra was a greedy girl with an appetite for both materialistic things and men. when her father remarries, she has the perfect opportunity to spike her uncle's drink, lead him upstairs to her bedroom, and make him hers. and she was almost sure uncle daemon wouldn't mind being her puppet for a night.

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings (mind the tags below!)

Category: F/M

Fandoms: House of the Dragon (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms

Relationship: Daemon Targaryen/Rhaenyra Targaryen

Characters: Rhaenyra Targaryen, Daemon Targaryen

Additional Tags: Rape/Non-con Elements, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Non-Consensual Bondage, but daemon is skeletor.jpg joke's on you i'm into that shit, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Uncle/Niece Incest, Older Man/Younger Woman, Uncle kink, Manipulative Rhaenyra Targaryen, Obsessive Rhaenyra Targaryen, minor past harwin/rhaenyra, daemon uses the word 'fucking' as punctuation, shameless overuse of italics but the author will accept no criticism on the matter

i'll find a way to slip into your skin somehow

Prompt: Daemon’s late night sex session is interrupted by a call from his very drunk (and maybe very high too) niece who sneaked out to a party and need someone to pick her up. When she drops dead at the second she touches his bed it seems impossible for Daemon not to use her to finish what she interrupted earlier.

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: Rape/Non-Con

Category: F/M

Fandoms: House of the Dragon (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms

Relationship: Daemon Targaryen/Rhaenyra Targaryen

Characters: Rhaenyra Targaryen, Daemon Targaryen

Additional Tags: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Don't Like Don't Read, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Uncle/Niece Incest, Rape/Non-con Elements, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Consensual Groping, Sleepy/Unconscious Sex, Drunk Sex, Dark Daemon Targaryen, daemon is not a good guy, POV Daemon Targaryen, and it's fucked up, Prompt Fic

let me wrap my teeth around the world

Amidst the salt and smoke of Dragonstone, they cut their palms, sliced their lips, and spoke their vows in the only tongue that could feel like an oath to creatures of Valyrian blood. When they shared a kiss, Daemon sucked drops of blood from Rhaenyra’s lip, and his whole body shivered with pleasure.

He needed more.

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: F/M

Fandoms: House of the Dragon (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms

Relationship: Daemon Targaryen/Rhaenyra Targaryen

Characters: Daemon Targaryen, Rhaenyra Targaryen, Minor Characters

Additional Tags: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, No Dance of the Dragons | War For Succession Between Aegon II and Rhaenyra Targaryen Never Happens, Uncle/Niece Incest, Targcest | Targaryen Incest (A Song of Ice and Fire), Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, Blood Kink, Menstrual Sex, Knifeplay, Blood As Lube, Cannibalism, but only like a little bit, in a romantic way, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Valyrian Culture & Customs (A Song of Ice and Fire), Prompt Fic

kiss me hard before you go

Daemon leans in and presses his lips to her ear. “Mm, now that’s my sweet little wife.” She twists free of his hand to snarl: "I'm not your fucking wife." In which Daemyra are divorced—but obviously that isn't going to stop them.

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: F/M

Fandoms: House of the Dragon (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms

Relationship: Daemon Targaryen/Rhaenyra Targaryen

Characters: Daemon Targaryen, Rhaenyra Targaryen, Visenya Targaryen (Daughter of Rhaenyra)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Divorce, divorced daemyra, Uncle/Niece Incest, Older Man/Younger Woman, Rough Sex, Hair-pulling, Size Kink, Angry Sex, Hate Sex, Mildly Dubious Consent, Dirty Talk, Minor Harwin Strong/Rhaenyra Targaryen, implied daemon targaryen/others, blink and you miss it daddy kink, implied infidelity (on daemon's part), Unhealthy Relationships, Angst, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prompt Fic

#SummerofDove2023 #daemyra #fire and blood #house of the dragon #daemon targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #dead dove #my fics #prompt fics #divider by saradika

[dreamingbrownie]

Hi. Don’t know if you do mini fics/prompts or not but here’s a suggestion anyways. A HP one=

Alive!Jily(with Harmione/Harmony) drabble: “enjoying yourself, son?” “James! Don’t embarrass them for doing we used to as teens!”

Awww that's a charming prompt; I don't usually get them, so I seldomly do prompt fics, but I'll see what I can do with this one! Thank you, Nonny!

#prompt fics #asks #ask and you shall receive

[fics-not-tragedies]

January 2024 Music Prompts: Day 3

Kiwi ♫ Harry Styles

Kiwi ♫ Harry Styles x Tommy Shelby

She worked her way through a cheap pack of cigarettes/Hard liquor mixed with a bit of intellect.

Tommy was a man with a way with words, but his charisma came with a large dose of anger. He strolled into the smoky bar, where the smell of cheap whiskey and the muffled chatter of patrons seeking refuge from the realities of life lingered in the air. In the dim light, he spotted you - a woman with a sense of mystery to match his own.

You were struggling through a cheap packet of cigarettes, the smoke clinging to you like a rebellious halo. In your eyes, shaded by a cascade of dark curls, was a world of stories yet to be told. Tommy couldn't resist the pull, like a moth drawn to the flicker of a distant flame.

With a confidence that bordered on audacity, Tommy took the seat next to you at the bar. The barman gave him a warning look, but Tommy was used to living on the edge.

"Hard liquor mixed with a bit of intellect," he said with a grin, his eyes fixed on yours. "Sounds like the perfect combination for a night of trouble."

You chuckled, a sound that echoed through the haze of the bar like a whispered secret. "You think you can handle trouble?"

Tommy leaned back, the dim light casting shadows on his rugged features. "Darlin', trouble and I have been dancing partners for as long as I can remember."

You studied him for a moment, your gaze probing the layers beneath his charming facade. With a flick of your fingers, you signaled the bartender. Two glasses appeared, filled with amber liquid that glowed like liquid fire.

As you clinked glasses, you spoke, your words laden with a hint of challenge. "Let's see if you can keep up with this mix of hard liquor and intellect."

The night unfolded like a noir film, with Tommy and the you engaged in a verbal joust, each sentence a subtle move in a carefully orchestrated dance. Your words were a blend of sharp wit and unspoken desires, creating a symphony that resonated through the smoky air.

Between sips of whiskey and the rhythmic tapping of ash from your cigarette, you shared fragments of your life story. A tale of resilience, of battles fought and scars earned. Tommy listened, his own narrative woven into the tapestry of the night. You were kindred spirits, two souls navigating the murky waters of existence.

As the hour grew late, the bar's patrons began to thin out, leaving only the lingering remnants of smoke and the pulsating energy between Tommy and yourself.

You stubbed out the last of your cigarette and stood, your eyes holding a mix of challenge and invitation. "Hard liquor and intellect, Tommy. Are you ready for the next chapter?"

With a half-smile, he followed you into the shadows of the night. The city streets were quiet, the echoes of your footsteps reverberating in the silence. Together, you both walked the fine line between chaos and connection, two lost souls finding solace in the ephemeral dance of a single night.

And so, in the dimly lit streets, under the watchful gaze of a flickering streetlamp, Tommy and you disappeared into the tapestry of the city, leaving behind a night that would linger in their memories - a blend of hard liquor, intellect, and the shared understanding that some connections are forged in the crucible of the unexpected.

#january 2024 music prompts #music prompts #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #imagine #drabble #tommy shelby fanfiction #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby fic #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby drabble #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy fic #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy drabble #prompt fics

[mamoonde]

prompt: wangxian in modern setting, maybe keeping contact online ? 👀

"—Lan Zhaaan, are you still there?" Wei Ying whines, seeing only Lan Zhan's desk and mirror.

"Mn, I'm here," Lan Zhan's voice calls from somewhere offscreen.

And then Wei Ying's mouth dries as he sees Lan Zhan strip his shirt in the mirror, toned body clear even through pixels.

#wei wuxian could not speak #the pixels do not lie #was it intentional on lwj's part? who knows #mo dao zu shi #wangxian #mamoonde short fics #prompt fics #mdzs au

[alondradina]

This kind of has spoilers for the end game? I think if you know the ending you'll get it, and if you don't know it then you won't. Which makes sense in my head, but I'm not sure if it'll make sense to anyone else. Sorry.

This was done for the 30+ December Holiday Event! It had to be less than 500 words (I had to cut from 813 and it was painful, let me tell you) and the prompt I chose was best Christmas morning ever.

Title: Save This Moment

Fandom: Pokemon Violet

Characters: Professor Turo and Arven

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43644670

-

Finger held to smiling lips, Arven's father led him past the lab to the waiting sky taxi. The five year old giggled, covering his mouth with both hands. He had been promised an adventure.

The boy squealed when the taxi took flight and a beam from the lighthouse blinded them. His father pulled him into his lap, wrapping him in a blanket.

"Sleep, little one. I will wake you upon arrival."

"Where?" Arven questioned, leaning against his father's chest. Tilting his head, he sent a radiant, gap-toothed smile above him. "Will there be food?"

His father chuckled, arms tightening. "I packed sandwiches. You may have one now, if you wish?"

"When we get there," the boy insisted, yawning. With nothing to do but sit in the dark, he drifted off.

A jarring impact woke him. He flailed — certain he was falling out of bed — before realizing he was still being held.

"Good morning," his father whispered. "What do you see?"

The boy peered out the window; breath frosting the glass. Hesitantly, he rubbed the fog away with a pudgy hand. Outside it was white.

"Snow?"

His father nodded. "You wanted a white Christmas."

"Oh," Arven whispered. He let the window fog again before facing his father. "Can I touch it?"

"Of course."

Huffing and puffing on bare hands, the taximan offered a coat. "My kid's about his size."

A gust swirled through Arven's pajamas, and he gratefully pulled the coat on. Buttoning it, his father handed him a pair of gloves. "They will be too big, and are not meant for snow, but will provide some protection."

Snow wasn't what Arven had imagined. It wasn't soft or fluffy, and tasted like water. Everything was cold and wet. He refused to complain, though.

Glancing over his shoulder, he discovered his father watching him — a strange look on his face. His father was always in motion; hands full and mind focused on his work. He barely noticed his son. But now, open lab coat whipping in the wind — unbothered by the cold and snow — his father had eyes only for him.

The warmth stolen from his extremities curled around his heart; encasing it in an unfamiliar feeling. It was indescribable.

His father's expression seemed to reflect it, though. Something uncertain; affectionate. A special feeling only for them.

Arven took a deep breath and forcefully expelled it. The giant puff it created warmed his cheeks before vanishing into the wind.

His father sighed, but no cloud came from his lips. "Come here, Arven. It's too cold."

He shuffled over without protest. The taximan opened the door as Arven settled into his father's arms; searching for a warmth he couldn't find.

His concern vanished when he spotted a maschiff quivering on the floor. Setting him down, his father nudged him towards the Pokemon. "You wanted a companion."

"Yes," Arven whispered, fingers reaching for soft fur. The Pokemon sniffled outstretched fingers before licking them. Giggling, he stroked its head. "We'll be best friends. You'll see."

#pokemon #pokemon violet #professor turo #ai turo #dadbot #arven #spoilers #ish #30+ fanfic #30+ discord #30+ writers #prompt fics #domestic fluff #christmas fluff #white christmas #first snow