HELP WANTED!

Hello, one and all. I need your help!

I’m look for writing prompts for something I’m planning in the future. This can be anything whether it’s a line of dialog, an action or a scenario. Hell, even a random object or word. It can be for any genera, any time period, any country. It can be angst or fluff, romance or fighting, smutty goodness or nightmare enduring. I want anything and everything.

I’m primarily a fanfic writer and that’s mostly my hero academia with my main pair being Bakugou x fem!reader x Todoroki but I also write stuff for the Witcher tv series (Geralt x Jaskier) and most recently shadowhunters (Jace x Simon). So please hit me up with specific prompts for these or even throw me some curveballs.

Send it as an ask or message me or even leave it as a comment thread on the post. I’m looking for a challenge so don’t hesitate to throw me something outside of my comfort zone.

Thank you! in advance.

dinahdarling:

“you’re running away?” yennefer asks flatly.

“yes,” her six year-old daughter, ciri, replies primly, “because you, you reallyembarrassed me yesterdaymummy. you and daddy and jaskier, and he neverembarrasses me!”

“well, i’m sorry, but marilka really couldn’t stay over,” yennefer tries to explain, but her daughter stamps her little foot down in adorable frustration, “don’t stomp your foot at me–”

“it’s not fair,” ciri proclaims, clutching tighter onto her pony plushie, “you, you never ask me for permission when you want someone to stay over, like auntie triss or uncle eskel! so, so why do ihave to ask permission for my friend to stay over, because, because it’s just onenight and, and this isn’t diplomacy!”

“dipolomacy?” yennefer echoes, furrowing her brows before she nods to herself as she connects the dots, “oh, you mean democracy?”

“that’s what i said,” ciri insists heatedly, “and you aren’t, you aren’t being fairmummy and when i’m dictator, you really are going to be sorry!” and then she sighs, all woebegone and angry, as she rubs her face into her pony’s mane.

“right, okay,” yennefer says, pinching the bridge of her nose and wondering why ciri’s teacher thought her class old enough to be taught the wonderful complexities of politics, “you understand that dictators are the bad guys, right? and that you’re a minor who must understand the laws of adults as it will teach you how to obey the laws of the land by the time you’re an adult yourself? which is why you need to ask permission when you want a friend over.”

“well, well,” ciri says, hunching her shoulders up defensively, “well, that all sounds really silly and complicated - so, i’m leaving and i really mean it this time.”

and yennefer nods, indulging ciri for the moment - this wouldn’t be the first time ciri ‘ran away’, nor would it be the last. so yennefer peers down at her daughter and assesses her current state.

it’s reaching the end of september, where it’s warm in the sun but bitterly frigid in the shade and her daughter is wearing a dress, with sandals and significant lack of tights or socks. ciri refuses to accept that winter is on the horizon and firmly believes that summer never truly ends.

“so, you think you’re ready to leave home forever then?” yennefer asks, gesturing to her daughter’s outfit, “you have a change of knickers? a toothbrush? money?”

“roach jr has the money and the stuff,” ciri says, lifting her pony plushie up pointedly, “she has very, very deep pockets.” yennefer gazes at the toy which is bereft of any clothing or pockets, and nods to herself.

“okay,” she says, holding out her daughter’s backpack - to which, it holds exactly one cardigan, two cereal bars and a carton of apple juice. clearly enough sustenance for her trip, “well, here’s your bag. do i get to know where you’re going this time?”

“um, um,” ciri hems, rocking on her heels, “well, i might go to italy because i liked their ice cream and you said we can’t go again this year, or, or, or i could go to australia and pet the koalas, because, because daddy said we can’t go. or,” ciri chews her hair and narrows her eyes, “or darlington. because the name is pretty.”

“really?” yennefer says flatly, “darlington?”

“or auntie tiss’ house, because you don’t like her, so you won’t come and visit,” ciri finishes, her sweet words stabbing her mother in a way that poison couldn’t hope to compete with.

“you have really fallen out with me, haven’t you?” yennefer asks, continuing with the indulgent act, though she is starting to feel oddly hurt - after all, ciri isn’t mad with geralt or jaskier.

andgeralt had been the one who wanted marilka out of the house!

though… yennefer had been the one to break the news, but still.

“yes mummy,” ciri confirms with a pitched stern tone, “i really have.”

and yennefer simply sighs, because she’s tried arguing with ciri, she’s tried negotiating - at this point, it’s simply a matter of if you can’t beat them, let them pretend they’re running away until they come back begging for forgiveness, love and candy. honestly, she’s this close to burning that godawful parenting book…

“alright then - have a wonderful time on your trip, remember to be careful with your money as inflation has been predicted to be simply awful in the upcoming months and don’t forget rule number one: if someone tries to grab you–” yennefer instructs,

“bite them and scream i have rabies,” ciri interrupts with an impatient sigh, “i know, mummy.”

yennefer blinks.

“no, that’s jaskier’srule number one,” she corrects, with a mental note to have a word with her lover - honestly, he’s such a bad influence, “my rule is to kick them in the shin and then–”

“oh!” ciri gasps, nodding, “and then claw them in the eyes! i remember!”

ah, well.

maybe she wasn’t the bestinfluence either - no matter, jaskier doesn’t need to know this. instead, yennefer nods as she is genuinely impressed with her little girl’s ferocity - truly, no man will ever get the better of her child.

“okay then,” yennefer says, deeming ciri ready to brave the big wide world, “off you go - there’s nothing left for me to teach you. you have clearly demonstrated a degree of maturity which has outgrown the loving family who care and support you. should i expect a postcard at some point?”

ciri chews on her hair again and shakes her head.

“no, because we’re not friends,” and with that, she turns. yennefer swallows down the lump in her throat as ciri takes the time to look both ways, before scurrying across the road.

she makes a beeline straight to the bus-stop directly opposite their house and waits underneath the shelter without a second look at her abandoned mother.

-

“fuck,” geralt mutters, as he paces nervously, back and forth, “fuck.”

“she’s fine, darling,” jaskier croons as he watches geralt prowl around the kitchen, “she’s done this four times now–”

“maybe that’s a sign she isn’t happy,” geralt frets, his strong brow knitted together with threads of concern, “maybe calanthe made a mistake naming me as ciri’s next of kin, maybe–”

“maybe she’s a dramatic young child who, when every time she’s ran away before, returns to a home full of love, hugs and sweets. a sweet young child who feels hard one by and believes that running away is a perfect punishment for her parents but is always foiled by her own guilt and fear?” jaskier finishes for him, arching a brow, “geralt, look at me.” he waits until he’s captured that glowing amber gaze, “listen: i ran away nine times a week when i was younger, so trust me - out of the three adults in this household, i can quite honestly say that this is normal behaviour.”

“so, ciri isn’t unhappy,” geralt murmurs gruffly, averting his eyes, “she still… she wants to live with us.”

“it’s been three years,” jaskier stresses, ducking his head to capture geralt’s shy eyes, “i think she’s okay.”

geralt nods, slowly digesting his artistic lover’s words until he feels more confident about them. he sighs and throws a wistful look outside the window and perks up considerably, “yennefer’s coming back,” he announces, “ciri’s by the bus-stop again.”

and jaskier sits up, his head snapping to the front door as it opens and closes - there’s the telltale sound of clacking heels, then yennefer appears in the doorway. she looks oddly dishevelled - almost like she’s just gone to war with ciri and lost in the most tragically embarrassing way.

which is par the course when it comes to their daughter, really.

“ciri wants to be a dictator when she grows up,” she informs them, folding her arms as she leans against the wall. there’s a slight furl between her brows and jaskier honestly cannot tell if she sounds proud or worried.

“she knows they’re the bad guys, right?” geralt asks - now he does sound worried and truly, it’s incredibly endearing. he frets as he flicks a glance outside where ciri waits at the bustop, rocking back on her heels with a carefree expression.

“i don’t think she cares,” yennefer replies, checking the clock for the time. it typically takes around three minutes before ciri returns home - their daughter tends to slope in, quiet and sheepish, refusing to make eye contact with any of them until the next day when all is forgotten.

“what is her school teaching her?” geralt asks, shaking his head. he looks exhausted and yennefer looks bemused, but jaskier finds the whole thing rather entertaining. 

“well, i for one cannot wait for our sweet overload ciri to reign over us,” he says, resting his chin upon a propped hand, “imagine just how fabulous everyone will look under her regime!”

“yeah, and just imagine the prison sentences for the people who told her she couldn’t have a dog,” geralt says, arching a brow at his lover.

in response, jaskier shivers with a slight frown, “okay, point made.”

“not even you would pull off thosejumpsuits,” yennefer remarks, before she sighs as she glances up at the clock again, “she was really mad this time and i don’t really blame her. we told her marilka could stay over and then we went back on our word.”

geralt hums and leans against the fridge with a conflicted expression, “she has a point though - we really do need to grow up and just… talk to marilka’s father.”

“i mean, we could probably begin with sayinghis name,” yennefer points out.

the ensuing beat is incrediblytelling.

“okay, so who’s brave enough to tell our daughter that we were wrong and she was right?” jaskier breaks the silence, slapping his hands on the counter with faux-cheer.

there’s another telling silence.

“well, we don’t have to start today,” jaskier says, to which geralt sighs with relief and yennefer nods in firm agreement. he drums his fingers along the counter and watches as geralt returns to his pacing and yennefer focuses on the clock - it’s adorably endearing how, out of the three of them, he’s the one who is most relaxed about parenting ciri.

which well,

probably explains why most people mistake him for ciri’s brother. which doesn’t really bother him, but it does often lead to the most awkward conversations with strangers, and–

oh, fuck.

–and jaskier sits up, sudden and rigid, as his eyes drift out of the window to the scene taking place across the street - his heart freezes as he watches their darling ciri wave down a bus with a wide smile on her face… the panic sets in, quick and icy and heavy, when he cranes his neck and spies the bus actually slowing down to crawling stop.

“um, yennefer?” he calls out, his eyes wide as he stares out of the window, “does ciri normally get on the bus?”

“oh, no,” yennefer answers, “she hates public transport - she doesn’t trust them and thinks the driver is going to steal her memories.“

“we really shouldn’t have read her stardust,” geralt sighs in an aside.

“you mean you shouldn’t have read her stardust,” yennefer shoots back with an arched look.

“right, well,” jaskier hems, twitching his fingers nervously, “i think she’s going to get on the bus.”

“she never gets on the bus,” yennefer disputes confidently.

“she’s getting on the bus,” jaskier argues.

“she doesn’t get on the bus.”

“she’s on the bus.”

yennefer blinks,

“fuck,” she spits, before she flies out of the house and chases after her wayward child.