#june summer prompt challenge

[juneofdoom]

What up, whump fam?!

June of Doom 2024 Prompts!

We've brought back some old favorites/ popular prompts from last year with a healthy dash of new!

Please feel free to participate with original or fan works of any kind (writing, photos, gifs, mood boards, videos, songs, whatever creative medium your heart desires!). You can do one or all of the prompts on any given day, and if none are to your liking, check out the alternate prompts!

Two rules this year!

As with last year, tag your stuff with appropriate warnings, plzkthnx.

AI-created content is highly discouraged and frowned upon. I have no way of "checking", but I respect the time and effort people put into their crafts and encourage everyone to do the same. This isn't a contest for best written or prettiest art — it's a challenge, so challenge yourself.

[AO3 Collection] - "JUNEOFDOOM2024"

Text list below the cut for easier crossings-off. And don't forget to tag @juneofdoom so I can reblog your awesome here! Have fun!

“Help me.”                                        | Failed Escape | On the Run | Fetal Position |

“It didn’t have to be this way.”             | Scream | Double Cross | Made to Watch |

“Well, well, well…”                            | Hiding | Ambushed | Stalking |

“Does that hurt?”                               | Impalement | Fracture | Punishment |

“It’s not as bad as it looks.”                 | Bite | Swelling | Disfiguration |

“They don’t care about you.”               | Flinch | Broken Promise | Abandoned |

“What happened?”                            | Nightmare | Isolation | Stumbling |

“This is your last chance.”                    | Drowning | Chair | Prisoner Trade |

“I made a mistake.”                            | Accident | Acceptance | Blame |

“Can you hear me?”                           | Fear | Smoke | Phone Call |

“We’re out of time.”                           | Bleeding Out | Collapse | Flatline |

“I can’t stand seeing you like this.”        | Dehydration | Grief | Coma |

“Wait!”                                             | Sacrifice | Adrenaline | Cornered |

“What were you thinking?”                  | Surrender | Human Shield | Outmatched |

“Get me out of here!”                         | Rescue | Chainsaw | Presumed Dead |

“At least it can’t get any worse.”           | Secret | Stranded | Setback |

“You don’t want to do that.”                | Struggle | Blackmail | Desperate Measures |

“I’m fine.”                                         | Self-defense | Allergies | Headache |

“This can’t be happening!”                  | Sobbing | Straitjacket | Dissociation |

“I can handle it.”                                | Scrape | Panic Attack | Neglect |

“Let’s play a game. “                           | Stairs | Pressure Points | Trap Door |

“What’s the bad news?”                      | Poison | Bedridden | Cauterization |

“You’re doing great.”                         | Trembling | Gaslighting | Rules |

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”                  | Blankets | Stitches | Bandages |

“I should have listened to you.”           | Guilt | Backseat | Failure |

“Don’t lie to me.”                               | Rage | Choke | Paranoia |

“Or what?”                                       | Defiance | Display | Last Resort |

“Say something.”                               | Numb | Cold Shoulder | Gag |

“I’m so cold.”                                    | Delirium | Fever | Exposure |

“Breathe, damn you!”                         | Shock | Asphyxiation | Emergency Room |

ALTERNATE PROMPTS

“Who did this to you?”

“Please don’t leave me.”

“I’m not okay.”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“You poor thing.”

Attending Your Own Funeral

Broken Glass

Mask

Whip

Obedience

[witchywithwhiskey]

first and last

pairing: childhood best friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: after more than a decade away from your home town—and your childhood best friend—you return. everything is exactly the same, but also, entirely different.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), fluff, angst, smut, drunken antics, some arguing, drunk masturbation (f) with an audience, semi-public, choking, dirty talk, praise kink, begging, boundaries, very light bdsm vibes, references to past sexual intimacy (piv sex, oral sex [f receiving]), nicknames (buttercup, baby), aftercare

word count: 8.8k

a/n: this is my entry in @the-slumberparty's Sundae Bar Challenge, and i've been working on it since june so i'm very excited to post it!!! i wanted to make a sundae i'd actually eat so i used the prompts Butterscotch (childhood friends) and Caramel (drunk/delirious/not in their right mind). it also might be a bit literal to have Steve working at an ice cream shop but whatever!!

i mentioned when i teased this fic that i'd thought about turning it into a much longer story/potentially saving it for a novel, but honestly i just don't know when or if i'll ever have time to do that. but these scenes don't necessarily follow right after each other, so if they feel disconnected, that's why. they're just the ones i wanted to write 😅

The sidewalk of Brambleberry Cove was warm from a full day under the August sun, the concrete gritty with sand beneath your bare feet as you walked the rest of the short distance to Seaside Scoops from your rental house a few blocks away. 

The sun dipped low on the western horizon, casting long shadows over the coastal town like stretching fingers reaching for the Atlantic Ocean. You could hear the steady sound of the crashing waves over the near distant sand dunes, their rhythm a background to your walk. 

It could’ve been a peaceful moment—you were back in your home town, surrounded by familiar sights and sounds and smells. But you were in a wretched mood, and all you could focus on was everything wrong with the world and your current place in it.

There was, of course, the throbbing pain in your big toe from when you’d stubbed it moments ago on the cursed, charming sidewalk, as well as the slight sting on the sides of your foot where your flip flop straps had torn. Your ruined shoes dangled from your fingers because Brambleberry Cove didn’t have a trash can on every street corner like the city you were accustomed to living in. 

In addition to those grievances, the straps of your bathing suit—which you hadn’t worn in far too long and hadn’t realized had become too small—were digging into your shoulders and hips uncomfortably. And, though you’d only been walking for five minutes from the little bungalow you were renting, your thighs were already beginning to chafe beneath the simple dress you’d thrown on. 

All told, you were not in the mood to appreciate the simple beauty of Brambleberry Cove. Instead of admiring the sun-bleached cottages that gave way to the small coastal shops lining main street, and letting yourself sink into the comfort of being back in your tiny beachside home town, you were fixated on everything wrong in your life—both in that moment and the larger scheme of things.

In your defense, though, there was a lot wrong in your life. There’d had to be to get you back to your home town after so long away. 

There was the dream job you’d lost, the ex who’d left you for someone else, and the friends who’d all promised to be there for you, but then vanished when you actually needed help. The only people who’d come through for you were your parents, who’d had a friend willing to rent a little Brambleberry Cove bungalow to you for a fraction of its normal summer price since it was already August and they weren’t going to make much more money anyway. 

You’d had to pack up and leave the city where you’d built your life for 15 years, and move back to your home town, which you hadn’t seen in nearly that long since your parents had moved out west shortly after you’d graduated high school. Being back home made you feel like you weren’t only taking a single step backward, but moving leaps and bounds in the wrong direction. It made you feel like a failure. 

But you tried not to think about all that on your short walk to Seaside Scoops, instead focusing on the pain in your toe and the digging ache of your bathing suit. 

By the time you saw the familiar neon sign for the ice cream shop, it felt like finding an oasis in the desert. You picked up your pace, ignoring the way your body protested, the soles of your feet no longer used to walking on the sandy sidewalk like you’d done countless times growing up in Brambleberry Cove. 

You could see through the window that there was a short line in Seaside Scoops, and you hurriedly pushed through the door of the shop. Once inside, you breathed in the familiar scent of sugar and hot fudge and reveled in the feel of the air conditioner ghosting over your sun-warmed shoulders. 

Surreptitiously, you shoved your ruined flip flops into the garbage just inside the door and got in line behind the couple with their two small children. You glanced around the shop, not really taking it in, and hoped whoever was working behind the counter was still lax on the ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ rule that had theoretically been in place since before you were born—but had never been enforced in practice. 

Finally looking to the counter, wondering idly if you’d recognize who was working or if it’d be some local teen that had been a baby the last time you’d been to Brambleberry Cove, you were shocked to see who was working at Seaside Scoops. Your belly swooped like you were standing on a boat on the choppy sea, your heart racing when you recognized the man behind the counter. At one time, he’d been the boy you’d shared so much of your childhood with, so many of your summers with. 

When you got a good look at him, you were almost surprised you recognized him so fast. He was no longer the scrawny teenager you’d left behind when you’d gone off to college and never looked back. He looked so different from the boy you’d known well enough you could recall his face in perfect detail, but, in so many ways, exactly the same.

On the whole, it was a shock to see the man Steve Rogers had become. 

Sandy brown hair fell on either side of his handsome, suntanned face, swept back like he had a habit of running his hands through it countless times a day. A short, well-kept beard decorated his strong jaw, bracketing a set of soft pink lips that were curved in a devastating grin. His bright blue eyes sparkled beneath the fluorescent lights of the shop, and when he spoke to the family in front of you in line, his voice rumbled like the distant roar of the ocean.

Seeing Steve Rogers for the first time in over 15 years made something loosen in your chest, anxiety uncoiling from around your heart and shaking free for the first time in a long time. A sense of safety and comfort washed over you, and you had the sudden thought that this was how you were supposed to feel about coming home. 

But you shoved that thought aside and continued your perusal of your childhood best friend, making note of all the ways he’d changed from the boy you’d known.

Thick, golden biceps were bare and bulging beneath the edge of his white t-shirt, and dense, brown hair covered corded forearms as Steve folded his arms on top of the ice cream case. He was tall—tall enough to lean over the case to talk to the kids with the couple in front of you, asking them about their favorite ice cream flavors and if they’d like to try anything new.

The kids, a boy and a girl, both stared up at him with wide eyes, shyness and wonder clear in their twin expressions. They looked to their parents for permission before shyly revealing what flavors they’d like to try. Steve gave a deep, hearty chuckle at their timidness, and complimented them on their choices, which seemed to make them both loosen up a bit.

Inexplicable heat flushed through your body at the sound of Steve’s deep laughter, and the easiness with which he interacted with the kids. You’d never been particularly good with children, mainly because you’d never had much of a chance to interact with any, and you’d never felt any particular desire to be around them. But seeing Steve looking like he did talking to those kids made your belly swoop again and something inside you pulse with a need you didn’t want to fully unpack.

Shoving those thoughts into a box in the back corner of your mind, you forced yourself to look away from your childhood friend and up at the menu that listed all the ice cream flavors. You’d been to Seaside Scoops hundreds of times in your life, if not thousands, and, at one time, you’d had the list memorized. 

Hopefully you still had that knowledge tucked away somewhere in your brain, because you weren’t taking in anything you were reading as you not-so-patiently waited for Steve to finish up with the customers in front of you.

It felt like forever, and by the time the family took their cups and cones of ice cream toward the side door that opened up into an outdoor seating area, you’d already cycled through three rounds of the same argument with yourself about why you should leave Seaside Scoops without talking to Steve. You couldn’t imagine your first conversation in 15 years going well.

But you couldn’t leave without talking to him. Not when he was right there and it had been so long and you were dying to know everything that he’d done in the last 15 years since you saw him last. 

Still, it took you a few extra seconds to gather the courage to lower your eyes from the menu board and finally look at your childhood friend. When you did, your gaze caught immediately on Steve’s, and your heart gave a little flip at the devastatingly charming smile on his impossibly handsome face.

“Hey there, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, his tone as friendly and familiar as it had always been. All of a sudden, it felt like no time had passed at all. 

“Hi, Steve,” you said, trying for the same casualness he’d achieved, but your voice sounded faint and faraway in your ears. The corners of your mouth flickered in a tremulous smile.

You couldn’t understand the surge of emotion filling your chest and rising in your throat, pricking at the backs of your eyes like you wanted to throw yourself into your oldest friend’s arms and sob about everything wrong in your life. 

The same deluge of emotion had hit you when you’d stubbed your toe on your walk to Seaside Scoops and you’d had to stand there by yourself, sucking in deep breaths of salty Brambleberry Cove air, nails biting into the flesh of your palms to keep yourself from breaking down. 

Just as you’d done then, you beat back the emotion, blinking your eyes rapidly to rid them of tears. Still, a thought needled you as you stood across the counter from Steve—the knowledge that if you did let yourself break down and cry, he wouldn’t hesitate to fold you into that broad chest of his, wrapping you up in his thick arms and holding you so securely, the world might not seem so grim anymore. 

You chalked it up to nostalgia and the rough time you were having, forcing yourself to take a deep breath and paste on a bright smile. Casting your eyes around Seaside Scoops, you pretended to give the place a real look, though you didn’t really notice much as you continued to blink back tears. 

“You work here now?” you asked lightly, looking at the new standee in the corner.

It was a cartoon shark holding up a sign advertising Seaside Scoops and their many ice cream flavors. But what caught your eye was that it looked a bit like the shark Steve had drawn for you when you’d gotten a bad grade sophomore year and wanted to cheer you up. It even had the same little sailor hat sitting perched on top of his head—which only made sense because sharks didn’t have blowholes, he’d told you at the time.

You’d smiled then, and you smiled again remembering it.

“Uhh,” Steve started, and you turned tear-free eyes back on your old friend, your gaze drawn to the way his bicep bulged against the sleeve of his t-shirt as he scuffed the back of his neck. There was a little bit of a sheepish tinge to his smile. “I actually own Scoops now,” he said in a rush, like he was confessing to something, though you couldn’t imagine what. “I bought it when Mr. Wallace retired down to Florida.”

“Oh,” was all you could think to say, glancing around the ice cream shop with a keener eye.

The shark standee wasn’t the only new thing in the place. Everything, from the tables and chairs to the menu board and counter, looked slightly newer than you remembered. Nothing was wildly different, which was why you hadn’t noticed it when you first looked around. Everything just looked better than it should if it had aged a decade since you’d last stepped into the shop.

Something about it made you think Seaside Scoops looked exactly like your memory of it—but the polished, perfect version in your head, instead of the place as it had been. Yellowed with age and a lack of upkeep. It was genuinely astounding what Steve had done with the place and it took you a few moments to find the right words, though they still felt pale in comparison to the bittersweet nostalgia in your heart.

“The place looks great,” you said with a half smile as you turned back to Steve. A small thread of pride wormed through your heart at seeing what your oldest friend had accomplished and your smile widened when he brightened under your praise. “I like the shark,” you said, hooking a thumb over your shoulder at the standee. 

A bit of pink tinted Steve’s cheeks above his beard, and he cleared his throat. 

“Is a dipped twist still your favorite?” he asked, clearly trying to change the subject and your smile dimmed just a little. The Steve you’d known had been shy about showing his art to anyone but you, and it seemed that you’d been gone long enough to be lumped in with everyone else. 

You swallowed back a lump in your throat and nodded. “Yeah, that’s still my favorite,” you answered, more than a little surprised Steve remembered your order.

Sure, you’d gone to Seaside Scoops together countless times as kids. It had been your hangout spot for most of your childhood, and even into your teen years. You’d study together over a cup of cookie dough with sprinkles for Steve and a cone of vanilla and chocolate softserve dipped in chocolate sauce for you. But that was more than a decade ago.

Your heart gave a heavy squeeze when you remembered the night before you’d left Brambleberry Cove, the way Steve reminded you of the promise you’d made as children—that you’d always be friends. Your stomach twisted into knots as you were confronted with the reality that you hadn’t kept up your end of the deal. You’d left, and you’d allowed your oldest friend to become a stranger. 

You wondered if Steve remembered the promise you’d made, the reminder he’d given you as a parting gift, or if he’d forgotten. You wondered if he’d ever want to be friends again.

Steve’s back was to you, his wrist flicking expertly beneath the softserve machine as he filled up a sugar cone with the twist of chocolate and vanilla. You forced yourself to push aside the memories of the past, blinking back more tears before Steve could catch them in your eyes. 

You and Steve weren’t friends anymore, and you needed to accept that. It was unreasonable to hold him to a promise he’d made more than two decades ago, especially when you were the one who’d left and had barely tried to stay in touch between college classes and exploring your new city.

With a great amount of effort, you kept your mind blissfully blank as you let your gaze trail idly over Steve’s broad back, unable to stop yourself from noticing just how wide his shoulders were, or the way they moved beneath the soft, worn cotton of his t-shirt. He really did fill out the shirt well, his sides tapering down to a thin waist. And his ass looked particularly good in the curve-hugging denim of his jeans. 

As Steve turned around, you raised your eyes quickly and arranged your expression into one of innocence. Steve paused, giving you a shrewd look like he would’ve done when you were teenagers and you were hiding something from him, but then he just shook his head and laughed under his breath, turning to the chocolate sauce where he’d dip your ice cream cone. 

“So, what brings you back to Brambleberry Cove, buttercup?” Steve asked, his gaze focusing on dipping your ice cream just right, a look of determination on his face that was endlessly endearing. 

You grimaced at the exact moment he glanced up at you, and he chuckled at the face you made. The sound was smooth as warm caramel and sent a new wave of heat rolling down your spine. 

“That bad, huh?” he asked, genuine interest in his tone.

Although there was a point in your life when you could’ve told Steve anything, and the urge to do so still lingered deep in your bones, you knew your relationship was different. You couldn’t dump all your problems on your childhood friend after not talking to him for 15 years. You didn’t even know if you were still friends anymore. 

Plus, there was a small crowd gathering behind you as the late dinner rush started to filter into Seaside Scoops. Even if you’d wanted to tell Steve everything that had happened to you in the 15 years since you’d last seen him, it wasn’t the time. 

So you just gave him a sad smile and accepted the ice cream cone from Steve’s hand, ignoring the butterflies and ticklish warmth that fluttered through your body at his touch. You gripped the sugar cone tight—but not too tight—so you didn’t fumble it. 

“Yeah,” you whispered in answer to his question, leaving it at that. There was an awkward beat, and your eyes dropped to the ice cream that was already beginning to melt despite the air conditioning in the shop. Thankfully, you had an easy way to move past Steve’s questions. 

You pulled some cash from the wristlet where you’d also stashed your phone and I.D., asking, “What do I owe you?” because you figured it must’ve been more expensive than what you remembered. And you didn’t want to risk looking up at the menu and catching Steve’s eye, not wanting any of the emotions or heat that seemed to flood you whenever you looked at him.

But a large, warm, golden hand closed over your fumbling fingers, startling you enough to look up into the sky blue eyes of your childhood friend. Your lips fell open in surprise as tingling warmth worked its way up your arm from your hand, wrapping around your heart and making it beat harder. 

For a long moment, you simply stared at each other. Steve really had grown up and changed so much, the evidence in the weathered grooves of his forehead and the lines between his brows, but his eyes still looked the same—soft as clouds, warm as the summer sun. 

“It’s on the house,” he murmured, his voice low and earnest, the thrum of some emotion you couldn’t identify laced through his words. “It was nice to see an old friend,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze before he pulled his away.

It wasn’t until Steve straightened up to his full height that you realized he’d been leaning over the counter, and your faces had been very close together. Heat crept into your cheeks at the realization that Steve had been in your personal space, and all you’d thought about was his eyes. 

Shoving all the money in your hand into the tip jar, you muttered, “Thanks, Steve.” As you zipped up your wristlet, you noticed that some of your ice cream was in danger of dripping onto your hand.

Without thinking, you licked quickly around the edge of the sugar cone, a soft moan slipping free when the cool sweetness of the ice cream hit your brain.

Steve made a strangled sound that dragged your attention away from your treat, finding your childhood best friend looking away and coughing into his fist, a deeper pink flushing his cheeks. You quirked your eyebrow in confusion when he looked back at you, but his expression gave nothing away and you had to wonder if you’d imagined the noise. It had almost sounded…aroused.

Shaking that thought clear from your mind, you gave Steve a smile and began to step away from the counter so he could help the next customer.

Steve’s eyes lingered on you, and he offered you one last charming, friendly smile, raising his hand in a wave. “Don’t be a stranger, buttercup,” he rumbled, his low words managing to reach your ears over the chatter in the shop. He gave you a long look, emotion swirling in those familiar eyes of his, and your breath caught in your throat.

The intensity of his gaze and the warmth in his parting words hit you straight in the gut, and you stood stunned in front of the register while Steve turned and walked to the other end of the ice cream case to help the next people in line. 

For a long moment, you couldn’t get over the way Steve had been able to read your mind, to pluck the thought that you were strangers to each other out of your brain and then tell you he didn’t want that to be the case. Your mind raced with questions. Did he still think of you as friends? Did he remember the promise you’d made all those years ago to always be friends? How did he know the exact right thing to say? 

But then the rational side of your brain resurfaced from wherever your heart had momentarily buried it, and you remembered his farewell was a normal thing for people to say to each other. Especially people who hadn’t seen each other in a while and likely would again because they both lived in a very small town. That’s all it was, just a normal goodbye. 

Not Steve Rogers somehow reading your mind because he knew you so well. 

With those rationalities ringing in your head, you dashed out of Seaside Scoops and it wasn’t until your feet had carried you to the next block that you remembered your broken shoes and stubbed toe and chafed thighs. 

But those problems didn’t seem quite so bad anymore. Not with the delicious ice cream cone in your hand, and the sunset casting Brambleberry Cove in gorgeous, golden light—and especially not with Steve’s warm, honeyed voice ringing in your head, calling you buttercup. 

It had felt so normal to hear the nickname roll off Steve’s tongue that you hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t realized how long it had been since you’d last heard it. But, just as it had when you were younger, it filled your chest with a bright, golden warmth. You grinned to yourself as you strolled back to your little bungalow, licking up the melting ice cream as fast as you could.

Your mood was decidedly better, and you enjoyed the walk home, refusing to think too much about why exactly you felt lighter and happier and less miserable about being home in Brambleberry Cove than you had before going to Seaside Scoops. It was just the ice cream, obviously. There was no other reason.

“You’re staring.” Steve’s voice was low, the undercurrent of laughter in it almost mixing with the sounds of the distant waves. You could hear them through the open windows of his truck as he eased the vehicle down the winding road leading away from the docks on the north side of Brambleberry Cove. 

His comment dragged you out of your drunken haze, and you took a deep breath to get your bearings. Your lungs filled with the salty nighttime air of the sea and the earthy leather interior of your childhood best friend’s truck, a small smile curling the corners of your lips and your eyes sliding closed. When you forced them back open, you realized he was right.

Huh, you really were staring at Steve. 

Your head was swiveled to the side, your cheek pressed to the brown leather of the seat back, your eyes fixed on the profile of his face that was highlighted in the glossy silver of the moon and warmed by the golden light of the town’s street lamps. 

You couldn’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed or ashamed for staring at Steve, though. And it was at that moment you realized you were drunk. 

It didn’t surprise you. After all, you were the one who’d thrown on some jean shorts and a cute top and then took yourself to Shanty’s, the only place in Brambleberry Cove to go if you were a local looking to avoid tourists. 

You’d been happy to see Bucky Barnes, your other oldest friend after Steve, manning the bar. But you’d been much less happy with him when he’d insisted on calling Steve to take you home after you’d downed more than your fair share of liquor. 

It was probably for the best, though. You were drunk and horny and if you weren’t careful, you would’ve gone home with Brock Rumlow. Just thinking about it made you grimace at yourself and your poor almost-decisions. 

Focusing back on Steve, you couldn’t fault Bucky too much for calling your old friend to pick you up—not when it had ended with you able to watch his side profile while he kept his eyes on the road. It felt practically shameful to indulge yourself so much. That is, if you’d had any shame left, but you’d drowned it all in alcohol.

“You’re still staring, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, the humor clearer in his tone. The edges of his mouth were flickering beneath the silvery golden light of Brambleberry Cove at night and you knew he was trying to suppress a smile. It was fascinating to watch, but then Steve rubbed his hand across his mouth, scrubbing through his beard, and it broke you free of your drunken trance.

“I just can’t get over how different you look,” you huffed, raising your arms and flopping them back against the seat in your best approximation of a shrug. “And how exactly the same.” 

Steve barked a laugh, the sharp sound bringing a smile instantly to your face. You’d never heard him laugh like that, and you couldn’t help but love that you were still discovering new things about him, even after knowing him all your life. 

He glanced over at you, his expression bemused like he was sure you were drunker than he’d thought. You probably were, but that didn’t stop you from being right, and you tried to convey that in the brief moment he looked at you. 

Steve’s gaze slid quickly down your body, not like he was checking you out—more like he was checking to make sure your seatbelt was still buckled and you weren’t in danger of doing anything ridiculous. You were only in danger of saying ridiculous things, at least, according to him apparently. He shook his head after he’d turned back to watching the road.

“You’re gonna have to explain that one to me, buttercup,” Steve said, a little bit of gruffness in his tone. He cleared his throat before he went on. “Usually when someone we went to high school with comes back, they tell me they never woulda recognized me.” 

You gave an unladylike snort, drawing another surprised laugh out of Steve before he bit off the sound to let you speak.

“Well those people should have their eyes checked,” you muttered scornfully, pushing yourself up from where you’d been slumped against the warm leather seat. You twisted your body in your seat so you were facing Steve, your eyes tracing the lines of his face from across the cab. “You still have the same eyes,” you pointed out vehemently, as if Steve was arguing with you, even though he wasn’t. “And your nose still has that little bump in it, and your lips are still so soft and full…”

You trailed off, realizing far too late that you were saying your inside thoughts out loud. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you watched Steve as he processed what you’d said—the way his fingers scratched a little nervously at his beard, those twin lines forming between his brows. Your gazed traced every curve and line and divot in his face, examining his expression, wanting to memorize it and save it for the rest of your life. 

“I don’t think any of those people noticed those things,” Steve murmured, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it over the slight breeze drifting through the windows while he drove through town. 

Your heart lurched at the implication of Steve’s words, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take them back, even if they were dangerously close to revealing something you hadn’t even had the courage to admit to yourself yet. 

Instead, you focused on your anger at the hypothetical people who weren’t recognizing Steve just because he’d grown up, gotten tall, gotten buff, grown out his hair and his beard and looked altogether very different to the skinny teenager he’d been.

“If they didn’t see those things, they didn’t really see you,” you muttered to yourself, indignant on Steve’s behalf, but trying to keep it to yourself. Apparently, you weren’t good at moderating the volume of your voice, because Steve snorted at your remark. 

“No, no one ever saw me as well as you did, buttercup,” Steve said, his voice low and warm, and your heart promptly rioted in your chest. 

There was something so dizzyingly wonderful about hearing Steve say such intimate words to you in that deep, caramel voice of his, genuine affection shining through his tone. It took your breath away for a moment, and your brain short-circuited. 

It was on the tip of your tongue to tell him…something. The thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself yet. But you were still you, and your brain tripped at the last moment, and instead you blurted, “Do you ever think about our first time?”

Steve choked on a snort, his eyes darting to you with honest surprise. You couldn’t blame him. You’d had no idea those words were gonna spill from your mouth until they were out, but you supposed they weren’t as bad as what you’d almost confessed, so you didn’t try to take them back or change the topic of conversation. You waited with bated breath for Steve’s response, and whether he remembered your night together when you were both 18.

When he saw you were anticipating his answer, he spluttered, “You mean when I came three seconds after getting inside you?” 

You began to smile, because he remembered, but then Steve continued talking.

“Y’know, I told Bucky about that once,” he said, his eyes fixed so fully on the road that you got the impression he didn’t want to meet your gaze and your stomach plummeted. “I was drunk, and didn’t know if it really counted as sex. Bucky was no help, of course—he said he didn’t know either since it was so quick.” 

Something new was swirling in your gut, and for long moments you could only sit there on the warm leather of the truck and stew in that hot, feral feeling. It must’ve showed on your face because, when Steve finally looked over at you after you’d been quiet for so long, the truck lurched forward, his foot pressing too hard to the gas.

“Don’t worry,” he rushed to say, guessing at what was upsetting you and guessing wrong. “I didn’t tell him it was with you.”

“Don’t you dare,” you snarled, the words bursting out of you with a ferocity you’d never used in your life, let alone when talking to Steve. But you were furious all of a sudden, and it wasn’t until the words were spilling from your mouth that you understood why you were so angry. “Don’t you dare try to take this away from me, Steven Grant Rogers.” Your voice was seething and barely recognizable, but you couldn’t stop. “You were my first, and it was perfect—because it was you.” 

Steve glanced over at you, something like shock written across his face, but when he looked back at the road, his brows settled low over his eyes. The muscle in his jaw popped and you knew he was grinding his teeth together, taking his time to gather his thoughts before he spoke. It took him a long moment to respond.

“You deserved better.”

The noise of your scoff was loud, even to your ears, and you strained against the seatbelt still buckling you into the passenger seat as you leaned toward your childhood friend.

“You ate me out until I came three times, Steve!” you cried, holding up three fingers as if the adult man your friend had grown into somehow didn’t know how many three was. “No man has ever made me come so many times in one night as you did then.” 

When Steve still didn’t look at you, just kept driving with his hands gripping the wheel and the muscle in his jaw popping, you huffed an exasperated sound and flopped back into your seat. Your back was to the leather as you crossed your arms over your chest and stared out at Brambleberry Cove through the open passenger side window. 

The silence grew until it was suffocating, and you needed to break it. So you said the first thing that came to mind. Again.

“You’re who I think about when I touch myself, Steve.” Your words drifted from your side of the truck to the other, carried on the light breeze floating through the cab. “I think about you and that night, and it gets me off every single time.”

Steve made a strangled kind of sound, like a growl that was torn free from his throat against his will. Then he was quiet, and he was quiet for so long, you thought that was the only reaction you’d get to admitting the truth. Until…

“I think about you, too, buttercup.”

The confession hung in the air between you, settling heavily onto the leather bench seat in Steve’s truck, the air rushing in through the open windows buffetting around it. 

You didn’t feel Steve’s admission sink into you. There was simply a before and an after. And in the after, you were moving. You were unbuckling your seatbelt and scooting across the seat toward Steve until your bare knee brushed against the denim of his jeans. 

He shot a startled look in your direction—which, in a distant part of your brain, you registered as completely adorable—before quickly pulling over to the side of the road. He was just throwing the truck into park when you slid into his lap, straddling his thighs and pressing your chest to his. 

“We should do it again,” you purred, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and leaning close. When Steve didn’t respond right away, just kept giving you that surprised look, you thought he might not have understood you, so you explained, “Have sex.”

Steve closed his eyes and a light tremor shuddered through his body as his hands settled respectfully on your waist, a few of his fingers brushing the skin where the edge of your tank top didn’t quite meet the waist of your shorts. Then, it was your turn to shudder, the feeling of his warm, calloused hands against your bare skin making heat flood between your thighs, your core warming and your body melting into your old friend’s hands.

“Please, Steve,” you whispered, tipping your head forward until your lips were a hairsbreadth from his, so close you could taste mint chocolate chip ice cream on his tongue and it took everything in you not to lick into his mouth desperately. Your voice was practically a whine as you went on, “Let’s see if we can do better this time.” 

Steve’s hands shifted to your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh hard enough to almost hurt, and you thought he was going to give in. But then he swallowed audibly, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and he pushed you gently away, his head tilting back against the leather seat so your lips no longer teased him with an almost-kiss.

“You’re drunk, buttercup.”

Steve’s voice was a delicious rasp, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the sound of it even as the meaning of his words settled into your drunken mind. You pouted at your childhood friend, hoping the fact that he hadn’t pushed you off his lap entirely meant he wasn’t saying no.

“And horny,” you said, the words slipping from your lips on another whine. Of their own volition, your hips squirmed on your oldest friend’s lap, trying to get closer, trying to find some kind of friction to work against the aching heat pulsing between your thighs. But Steve’s firm grip held you in place. “Stevie.” His name was nothing but a pathetic whimper. 

A low growl rumbled in Steve’s chest, and then one of his hands was abandoning your hip to cup your face, tilting it up so he could loom over you. The lines of his face were hard, stubborn, and the look in his eyes left no room for argument. 

“You know I won’t touch you when you’re drunk,” he bit out, his voice soft, but as firm as his hold on your body.

A memory slammed into you—you and Steve planning your first time together. You’d made a deal at the start of high school that if neither of you lost your virginity through all four years, then before going off to college, you’d lose it together. 

When the time came, you’d been a little nervous, even though it was Steve, and you’d joked that you could take some wine coolers to the beach and get it over with, just like all the other kids in your school. Even then, Steve had looked at you stubbornly, and said, without a shred of willingness to waver, that he wouldn’t touch you if you were drunk.

Back then, it had sent a shiver down your spine, and it had much the same effect more than a decade later in his truck. Your body trembled with arousal, and you pushed feebly against Steve’s hold—not really trying to break it, just enjoying the feeling that came from realizing how strong he was. Those biceps and corded forearms of his weren’t just for show.

“What about just the tip?” you murmured, the words tumbling past your lips before you could think better of them, knowing there was no use trying to argue with Steve when he’d made a decision. But you were clearly thinking with something other than your brain, because the words kept coming. “That’s not sex, just the tip—please, Steve.” You were begging shamelessly, but your shame and embarrassment were still nowhere to be found since you were still definitely drunk.

Steve’s jaw ticked so hard, you could’ve sworn you heard the muscle pop in the quiet of his truck as he ground his teeth together. 

“Buttercup,” he growled, a warning in his tone. “That’s not happening.”

Your fists gathered in the front of Steve’s t-shirt and you yanked on it restlessly, not trying to do anything more than annoy him. “Whyyy,” you whined, drawing out the word until it was nearly a wail. Unslaked heat burned in your blood and, while you knew why he was refusing to have sex with you, in the moment, you couldn’t understand why your oldest friend was torturing you.

Steve’s hand slid down from your cheek to wrap around the front of your throat, and you stilled immediately, something about the possessive, dominant gesture making you calm. That was new, Steve hadn’t done anything like that when you’d first been together, but you liked it more than you would’ve expected. Your lips were still parted, your panting breaths gusting out of them, your heart racing, and you were finally calm and quiet.

Your oldest friend’s eyes roamed over you, taking in your reaction. At first he seemed surprised, but then a glint of something you’d never seen before sparked to life in the depths of his blue eyes. You watched his gaze drop to your mouth, and nearly whimpered at the way the corner of his lips flickered in the ghost of a smirk. But then he fixed his gaze back on yours, pinning you in place with that stubborn look in his eye, though it was slightly dimmed in favor of that new, hungry glimmer. 

“I won’t fuck you only to wake up tomorrow and find out you regret it,” Steve said, enunciating all his words clearly despite the fact that his teeth were grinding together “That you only wanted it because you needed to scratch an itch.” 

Your lungs dragged in a soundless gasp and you finally understood his reticence, even if you couldn’t imagine ever regretting doing anything with Steve. But when you opened your mouth to protest, Steve’s fingers squeezed the sides of your throat. 

Your words died on your tongue, and your mouth went slack, your eyes going hazy with pleasure. You couldn’t have been more obvious that you liked the way Steve choked you if you tried. And he read your enjoyment easily from the expression on your face, that look of hunger sparking brighter in Steve’s eyes before he went on.

“When I fuck you again,” he growled, his words a promise. “I don’t want you drunk on anything but my cock.”

“Stevie,” you whined his nickname again, the name only you were allowed to call him, your lips forming into a pout. It hadn’t escaped your notice that he’d said ‘when’, and not ‘if’, about having sex with you again, but you didn’t want to push your luck. And besides, unslaked need was still burning brightly through your body, consuming most of your focus. “I need…something, please.” You let out a little whimper and squirmed in his lap again, unable to stop yourself.

Steve huffed a laugh, his thumb stroking down the side of your neck, over your thrumming pulsepoint, while the fingers of his other hand slipped half an inch into the waist of your shorts, only far enough to dig harder into your soft curves.  

“I’m not going to touch you more than this, buttercup,” Steve began, his voice a low, delicious rumble that you swore you could feel in the clenching of your core. “But I didn’t say anything about stopping you from touching yourself.”

Your eyes widened in excitement, and you wasted no time in acting on the implication in Steve’s words. Holding his gaze, one of your hands slipped free from his shirt and trailed down your body. When you reached between your thighs, the backs of your fingers brushed against a thick bulge in the front of Steve’s jeans. 

It twitched against your soft touch, and you gasped in delight, loving the proof that Steve’s body recognized you just as much as his mind.

But when you twisted your hand, intent on giving Steve’s bulge a friendly squeeze, his hand darted down from your hips to your wrist, his fingers circling around you and stilling your hand. “Buttercup,” he rumbled, another warning. 

A shiver raced down your spine and you reveled in the way it made you feel to hear Steve say your nickname like that. It occurred to you that it was new—you’d never heard him say it quite like that before, with frustration and arousal flooding his tone. 

You wanted to hear every flavor of your nickname on Steve’s tongue. You wanted to hear him whisper it like a prayer, and groan it into your lips while he kissed you. You wanted to hear Steve shout your nickname while he came with you. 

But the look in Steve’s eyes was stubborn again, and you knew you’d have to wait to hear all the ways he could say your nickname. 

“OK, Steve, ‘m sorry,” you mumbled, twisting your hand in his hold and pressing the tips of your fingers to the seam of your shorts, your hips jerking forward to seek more of the friction you offered yourself. 

Steve’s hold loosened, but he didn’t let go of you entirely, like he didn’t trust you just yet. But you didn’t care, your fingers were pressing into your clit through the thin denim of your shorts, and you were rocking your hips to grind against them, your wetness soaking through your panties almost immediately.

The moment when your fingers found just the right spot, you sucked in a sharp breath, your spine arching and your hips pressing down hard against your hand. Your head tipped back, your eyes narrowing into slits as you held Steve’s gaze. You moaned while you rubbed tight circles against your clit through your shorts.

“I’m going to come embarrassingly fast,” you huffed in warning, your chest heaving already with labored breaths. 

But Steve only smirked, a touch of smugness in the curve of his lips.

“Don’t worry, buttercup, I remember exactly how sensitive your sweet little clit is,” he rumbled, and you moaned loudly. His fingers flexed against your throat, digging in enough to quiet your sounds and making your eyes widen as your hips lurched in their rhythm. He chuckled at your reaction before continuing on.

“I remember sucking on your puffy little pearl, your thighs squeezing my head, my fingers buried deep in your tight, warm hole,” Steve purred, seemingly knowing exactly what to say to drive your pleasure higher. “I remember the exact way your pussy gripped my fingers when you came, like you wanted me deeper—deep enough that you could feel me in your belly.” 

“God, Steve,” you groaned, your head falling back listlessly on your shoulders, too heavy to keep it up. But Steve’s fingers dug into the back of your neck, and you understood the wordless command immediately. You lifted your head and caught your oldest friend’s eye while you kept rubbing your clit, pushing yourself closer to coming apart in his lap. 

“I remember how big your cock felt inside me,” you confessed, spurred on by Steve’s own filthy words. “I remember how long it took for you to sink your thick, fat cock into my tight pussy.” You paused only to take a quick, hitching breath. “I was already so close when you came, and I remember, I thought, maybe if you hadn’t been wearing a condom, maybe I would’ve come, too.” 

The lines of Steve’s face shifted, hardening, his jaw ticking wildly and his eyes going molten fierce, like the blue at the center a campfire that burns too hot to sit near. 

“Don’t fucking say that, buttercup,” Steve growled, his voice gravelly like he was chewing on seashells. “If I hadn’t been wearing a condom, I would’ve come so much faster—I never woulda made it all the way inside you. Woulda been coming with just my tip inside your warm, wet pussy, baby—woulda been too risky, buttercup.” 

Your eyes wanted to fall closed as you moaned, but you didn’t let them. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from Steve, not with that furious and ferocious hunger in his eyes, his desire for you etched into every single line and curve of his face. 

You were so close. You just needed a little more to push you over the edge.

“Fuck, Steve, I know I shouldn’t, but I love the thought of you coming inside me, filling me up, making me yours,” you confessed, the words bubbling up from the very depths of your soul. It was on the tip of your tongue again, that thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself. Instead of letting it free, you moaned, long and loud, your fingers rubbing faster against your clit and your hips grinding against your hand. 

“Christ, baby,” Steve gritted through tightly clenched teeth. His fingers were digging into your hip again, diving further beneath the waist of your shorts, nearly skimming the edge of your panties. His other hand tightened around your throat and dragged you into him, until your face was right in front of his and he could watch every twitch and change in your expression as you pleasured yourself. 

“Come on, baby,” he said, his voice urgent with need. “Come before I do something we’ll both regret.” 

The hand that wasn’t wedged between your thighs pressed to the center of Steve’s chest, just above his heart, and a moment later, you felt his warm palm cover it. He was still holding your throat, his fingers digging into the sides hard enough that you knew he could feel your fluttering pulse beneath his touch. And you could feel his heart pounding beneath your palm, the rapid pace nearly matching the frantic one in your chest.

“Come, buttercup, come for me,” Steve commanded, his eyes holding yours. For a moment, it felt like he could see straight into your soul. It was a scorching intimacy you hadn’t felt since that night you’d first been with Steve, and you were helpless to it.

“Stevie,” you cried his name as your pleasure rose up and consumed you, sending you over the edge into a earth-quaking orgasm. Your body writhed in Steve’s lap, your hips grinding gracelessly against your hand as you collapsed forward, leaning into the grip of his hand around your throat. You sobbed your pleasure, the waves of your release wracking your body for long moments.

Eventually, the final swell ebbed and the last of your energy receded with it. Your damp forehead fell against Steve’s cool, dry one and you struggled to catch your breath. His hand slipped from the front of your throat around to the back of your neck and he smoothed it down your spine. 

He held you close, whispering in your ear, “Such a good girl, buttercup, you did so good.”

Once you finally settled, Steve shifted, his beard grazing your lips as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

“Can I take you home now?” he asked.

You huffed a laugh and slumped against his chest, laying your head sleepily on his shoulder. “I don’t think I can move yet,” you said, slurring your words with tiredness. And drunkenness.

Steve chuckled, but made no attempt to move you. You only felt him lifting his arms around you, though his hands didn’t settle on your body. 

“If you see Sam while you’re back in town, don’t tell him I did this,” Steve murmured in your ear. Then you felt the truck rumbling to life and getting back onto the road and you realized where your oldest friend’s hands were. He was driving you home, with you still sitting boneless in his lap.

When Steve arrived at your rental house, not too long after, he helped you down from his truck and looped an arm around your waist, getting you into the bungalow. Thankfully, you were sated from your release in his truck so you didn’t try to proposition him again, just dutifully did as he said, changing into your pajamas in your bedroom while he waited outside the closed door. 

Then he let you lean against his broad chest while you brushed your teeth and washed your face, before guiding you back to your room and tucking you into bed. Last, he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead that was so comforting, and made you feel so safe, your eyes fluttered closed and a soft smile curled your lips.

Before he could leave, your hand darted out and grabbed Steve’s wrist with surprising precision given your state and the fact that your eyes were closed. You dragged them open again, blinking away the bleariness until your childhood friend’s face came into focus. 

“I don’t regret anything we’ve done together, Stevie,” you mumbled, the side of your mouth hitching up in a lopsided smile. “I’m glad you were my first.” You lost the battle with your eyes and they fell closed. You also, apparently, lost the fight against biting back your feelings, murmuring sleepily, “I want you to be my last.”  

For a long moment, Steve was quiet. He seemed to wait until you were just on the edge of sleep before responding to your drunken confession. 

“Tell me that again when you’re not drunk, and I’ll believe you, buttercup,” Steve murmured, ducking down to press a kiss to your hand, still wrapped loosely around his wrist, before carefully extricating himself. 

You were snoring before Steve closed and locked the front door of your bungalow behind him. He walked down the short path to his truck, which sat at the curb, a subtle smile on his lips and a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Heat on your skin

Written for the June pop-up challenge of the @steddieholidaydrabbles

Prompt: summer

Rated: E

Tags: Established relationship; Sunburn; Dom!Steve; Sub!Eddie; Dry humping; Thigh fucking; Lotion as lube; Anal sex; Orgasm denial

Notes: Mickala said "anything you might do in summer" and my brain went "lather your badly sunburnt beau in lotion, then fuck him until he goes cross-eyed". You're all welcome.

“Impressive. I didn't know skin could turn that color.” 

Eddie unburies his sweaty face from the pillow to glower at his boyfriend. Steve is standing beside the bed, topless and perfect. His hair, still damp and disheveled, is alight with golden highlights. His skin is bronzed, a delicate flush blooming on his chest and cheekbones. He's flipping a bottle of lotion in one hand, eyeing Eddie’s shoulders and back. His expression is teetering between horror and fascination. 

“Go ahead,” Eddie grumbles. “Ogle me like I'm some circus freak. Sun-kissed bastard.” 

If the sun kissed Steve, it punched Eddie square in the teeth. Swept out his feet from under him as he went down, then kicked him in the ribs before stepping over his limp body and walking away, laughing at his misery. 

Steve chuckles. The bed dips as he straddles Eddie’s thighs. 

“To be fair, I told you to put on sunscreen. Which you not only refused to do-” 

“Because it's sticky, gross and smells horrible.” 

“But also,” Steve continues. The bottle plops as he uncaps it. “You fell asleep.” 

“And you didn't wake me,” Eddie gripes. “I think we're both to blame, at least a- fuck, what's that?” 

“Aloe,” Steve says. He sets the bottle down on the mattress, then starts spreading the cold gel between Eddie’s shoulders. “It might sting a little, but it'll help. Quit squirming.” 

It doesn't just sting a little, it burns like a bitch. Eddie fists his hands into the pillow and tries taking slow, measured breaths, but can't keep his shoulders from twitching. 

“I said,” Steve rumbles. “Hold still.” 

The touch of his hands stays featherlight, but his stance shifts, trapping Eddie a little more firmly against the mattress. Through the thin fabric of their swim shorts, Eddie can feel Steve’s cock pressing against his thigh. He exhales a long breath, forcing himself to go limp and pliant under those hands. 

“There you go,” Steve hums. “Good boy.” 

Eddie’s own cock twitches against the sheets. 

Steve takes his sweet time with him, working his way down his back. After a while, the burnt skin begins to feel cooler in the wake of his touch. Eddie sighs, letting himself drift on the sweet relief of it - and on the different, more urgent heat that’s building at the base of his spine. Steve notices, because of course he does, the sly little fucker. 

“Shhh, baby,” he soothes. His fingers are painting little circles over Eddie’s hip bones now, brushing the seams of his shorts almost as if by accident. Eddie lets out a shaky moan, and Steve rolls his hips, slow and languid, cock slotting between Eddie’s thighs. “Let me make you feel good, yeah?” 

“Shit,” Eddie breathes. And if it comes out more whimper than word? And if he sounds all desperate and pathetic, positively wrecked even though they’re both not even fully naked? So what? He’s red as a lobster, his skin will probably start coming off in flakes by tomorrow, and his perfect greek god of a boyfriend is slowly fucking his thighs through their shorts. He thinks he deserves to be cut some slack here. “Stevie, I’m not sure I can do that with my back. I can hardly even move, man.” 

“Told you, Eds,” Steve murmurs, and shifts his weight again. Eddie gasps as his shorts are yanked down, all the way to the hollows of his knees. “Don't want you to move.” 

Sun-warmed lips trace the base of his spine, only to be replaced by Steve’s fingers again, slick and wet with lotion. 

“And I'm not gonna touch your back,” Steve promises, voice tender and soothing as a caress. One of those large hands settles on Eddie’s hip. “I'm just gonna hold you in place like this and fuck you into this mattress, nice and slow. Would you like that?” 

“Yes,” Eddie sighs, as Steve starts to carefully open him up with one hand. “Oh God, Stevie, yes, please.” 

“Thought you'd say that,” Steve chuckles. “Always so greedy for me, aren't you?” 

How could he not be? How could he ever be anything but greedy for the care and attention that Steve showers him with? How could he ever be anything but desperate for the slow, delicious burn of being fucked open on those deft fingers. How could he ever do anything else but moan and shiver and beg for Steve’s cock as he finally lines himself up, grabbing Eddie’s hips on either side.

“Y’know,” he mutters as, after what feels like a beautiful eternity, Steve begins to move inside of him. He's starting to feel light-headed and tingly all over, and the words come out a bit slurred. “If this is what I get for forgetting my sunscreen, I might do it more often.” 

“Oh?” Steve laughs, all indulgent amusement. He snaps his hips sharply, once, before resuming his languid rhythm. Eddie moans as the motion squeezes at his hard, leaking dick, trapped between his own body weight and the mattress. “You sure about that?” 

“Huh?” Eddie wheezes. He's dizzy from the heat and drunk on Steve's touch, and he can’t fucking think straight. “What d’you mean?” 

“I mean,” Steve says, and picks up his pace. Eddie sucks in a sharp breath as the grip of those hands tightens, pulling him down a little deeper on Steve's cock with each thrust. “I said that I was gonna fuck you. I didn't say anything about letting you cum, did I?” 

“What the fuck?” Eddie squawks. “Oh no, Stevie, please, you're killing me here.” 

Steve tuts at him. 

“Don't be so dramatic, honey,” he scolds. The bed springs creak in time with his thrusts. “If you can take a little sunburn, blue balls won't kill you either, right?” 

And maybe the sun fried his head, and maybe Steve is slowly turning his brain into goo with each new thrust of his cock. The point is, Eddie can't really find the will to argue. 

[june-of-dialtown]

CALLING ALL ARTISTS AND PHONE LOVERS! BOY, DO I HAVE A BEAUTIFUL CHALLENGE FOR YOU!

A June of Dialtown 2024

A prompt for every day of June for artists to draw or even write!

When posting art for the challenge, use the tag #AJuneOfDialtown2024 ! All art will be reblogged to here!

This challenge is run by me, Rose, @nebu-lime , and I’ll also be participating!

The full prompt list (in text) and any rules can be found under the cut!

A June of Dialtown!

1. Pride

2. Fav Ship

3. Lové

4. WLW

5. MLM

6. Bigfoot

7. Karen

8. Oliver

9. Randy

10. Phonegingi

11. Typegingi

12. Fav HCs

13. Summer

14. Swap

15. Free Space

16. AU

17. Mingus

18. The Mingling

19. Fav Scene

20. The Mob

21. Swimwear

22. Fav BG Character

23. God

24. Dietown

25. Norm

26. Postcard

27. Marla

28. Milton

29. OC

30. Change

Feel free to join anytime! Feel free to join halfway through! Feel free to stop halfway if you want, too! There’s no pressure to finish or keep up with the days. The point of this challenge is to have fun and be excited to share your art! If you miss a day, don’t sweat it!

Prompts can be taken as literally or abstractly as you’d like!

Again, and most importantly, HAVE FUN!

[summer-of-bad-batch]

SUMMER OF BAD BATCH 2024 HAS COME TO AN END…TUNE IN NEXT YEAR FOR SUMMER OF BAD BATCH 2025!!

2024 Participants, Completionists & Overachievers!

SUMMER OF BAD BATCH 2024: POST CREDITS (Ao3 Collection)

EVENT BADGES

PARTICIPANT FORM

☀️GENERAL INFORMATION BELOW THE CUT☀️

Bad Batch Would You Rather Game Suggestions

FREE EVENT BANNERS AND DIVIDERS

Summer of Bad Batch 2024 Prompt List

***Fill prompts all summer! No deadlines! See below cut for more details 😎***

200 Followers Celebration Bonus Prompt:

Bonus Alternate Prompt: "Can you braid my hair?"

300 Followers Celebration Bonus Prompt:

Bonus Alternate Prompt: Light in the Darkness

Week 1

Main Prompt: Water Gun Fight

Alt. Prompt: “It’s not what you think.”

Week 2

Main Prompt: Injured

Alt. Prompt: Comfort Zone

Week 3

Main Prompt: “It’s just a scratch.”

Alt. Prompt: “Forget I asked.”

Week 4

Main Prompt: Cadets

Alt. Prompt: "You really think you're going without me? Not going to happen."

Week 5

Main Prompt: “You’re a bad liar.”

Alt. Prompt: “Need a hand?”

Week 6

Main Prompt: Battle Scars

Alt. Prompt: “Get out of my room!”

Week 7

Main Prompt: “Don’t avoid the question.”

Alt. Prompt: Getting a Haircut

Week 8

Main Prompt: Swimming Lessons

Alt. Prompt: Lula

Week of 9

Main Prompt: “Hold still.”

Alt. Prompt: Stargazing

Week 10

Main Prompt: Hugs

Alt. Prompt: “Just when were you planning on telling us that?”

Week 11

Main Prompt: “I didn’t think I would get this far.”

Alt. Prompt: “Yeah, kid, we’re fine.”

Week 12

Main Prompt: Nightmares

Alt. Prompt: Radio Silence

Week 13

Main Prompt: “Stop touching me!” // “I’m not touching you!”

Alt. Prompt: Crashing Hard

🥳🥳That’s the end of the Summer of Bad Batch 2024 prompt list…feel free to use all prompts and tags forever and ever🥳🥳

You can find the Ao3 collection HERE!

And I know that sometimes, it can be a pain to figure out how to add to collections (please tell me I'm not the ONLY one who has struggled with this 😭), so here's a step by step!

STEP ONE: Post a New Work OR Edit an existing work.

STEP TWO: Under the Associations category, you’ll see “Post to Collections / Challenges”

STEP THREE: Type summerofbadbatch2024 (no spaces)

STEP FOUR: This is where it gets tricky...the collection may or may not auto populate. If it doesn't, that's okay. Just leave summerofbadbatch2024 in there as is, and save the post (you can even save it as a draft and see if it worked!) It should add it to the collection even if it didn't auto populate 🤓

Q: What is Summer of Bad Batch??

A: Summer of Bad Batch is a laidback, summer prompt challenge from June 1st-August 31st. Every Sunday (12am CST), a prompt and alternative prompt will be released to inspire creativity in the Star Wars: The Bad Batch fandom! By filling prompts by August 31st, you can qualify as a:

Participant (completed 1-12 prompts)

Completionist (completed 13+ prompts)

Overachiever (completed 13 main prompts + the 13 alternative prompts)

At the end of the challenge, there will be a form for participants to fill out to let me know what category of completion they fall into. A post will be made for each category giving a shoutout and (if you’d like) a link to your Master List of completed prompt fills.

Q: What can I do to fill a prompt?

A: Anything you want! Fanfic, fan art, drabbles, doodles, cartoons, poetry...the possibilities are endless! The only real criteria is that it has to be based on Star Wars: The Bad Batch.

Q: Will you reblog prompt fills?

A: Yes! However, since I am keeping this blog PG, I will only reblog prompt fills that fit within that criteria. Basically, if it could be in the literal show itself, it could be reblogged here ☺️

(That said, I won’t reblog any clone x clone content simply because it is one of my main squicks 😅)

Also, make sure you tag your prompt fills! That's the only way I'll be able to find them in the wide world of Tumblr! So, tag your prompt fills with #summerofbadbatch2024 so I (and anyone else who is looking for Summer of Bad Batch goodness!) can find your posts!

(And everything is welcome on the Ao3 Summer of Bad Batch 2024 Collection — so make sure to add to it if you’re on Ao3!)

Q: When will prompts be released?

A: Every Sunday (with the exception of Week 1, which will have a special release date of Saturday, June 1st) at 12am CST.

Q: What if I don’t understand a prompt?

A: Send me a message or an ask! I’d be happy to help!

Q: What if I don’t like the weekly prompt?

A: Every week will have an alternate prompt available! And alternate prompts can be swapped out for any main prompt, regardless of which week!

Q: Where can I post my prompt fills?

A: Anywhere you'd like! Personally, I'm only on Ao3 and Tumblr...but I know that this fandom is literally all over the internet, so wherever you feel comfortable posting, do it!!

Q: What if I don't finish filling the prompt within the week?

A: One of my favorite parts of this prompt challenge is that there are no deadlines! If you want to be a Completionist or an Overachiever, you just have to have the prompts complete by August 31st!

Finished week 2 during week 5? Great!

Finished weeks 1-13 during week 13?? 😅 That works!

Q: Do I have to post/publish my prompt fills to be considered a participant/completionist/overachiever?

A: Nope! I know not to everyone feels comfortable sharing their work, and that’s totally fine!

You don’t have to post/publish a single thing to qualify. At the end of the challenge, I’ll link a form for anyone who participated to fill out. This is all based on the honor system…so if you say you completed “such and such”…I’ll take your word for it 😊 If you want, you can still be given a shout out for whatever level of participation you said you completed. Just let me know!

Q: Can I combine prompts?

A: Yes! Mash up those prompts and make a custom, super prompt if your heart so desires!

Q: But can I combine prompts with other challenges?

A: Absolutely! If the other challenge allows it, feel free to combine Summer of Bad Batch as you see fit ✨

Q: Can I apply prompts to works I've already completed/posted?

A: Prompts should not be applied to already completed works.

But if you have a WIP that's been gathering dust that would fit the occasion, that would be fine!

Have a story that you're adding chapters to? You can apply prompts to new chapters! That's fine too!

Q: Will there be a complete prompt list available?

A: Not until after the event, since prompts will be posted weekly 😘

Q: Can I use the prompts even after the event has ended?

A: Absolutely!

You didn’t find your question here?? Send me an ask, I’d be happy to help!

[agirlwithglam]

The Vanilla Library 🐩

Introduction

˗ˏˋ꒰⚡️꒱ Self improvement:

48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene — part 1 & part 2

dont let your past affect your future

create a new identity

how to be smart (from pinterest)

Hard work?? At least do work!

Recommends: BLOSSLY

May ins & outs

Chapter 5: May

Chapter 6: June

prioritising: how to prioritise + use it effectively to take over your life.

How to achieve your goals using: S.M.A.R.T goals.

Create a life worth living

weltschmerz: the depression that arises from comparing the world as it is to a hypothetical idealised world.

how to do things when you dont feel like doing them (ask)

Cry about it, then come back stronger

how to stop sulking over your life and stop struggling with embodying your dream self (ask)

4:30-5:40 morning routine (ask)

how to make life a little better

gratitude baby!

BECOME YOUR DREAM GIRL BY 2025

always having that confidence and trust in yourself

how to get over negative experiences in your life

˗ˏˋ꒰📚꒱ Studying & academia:

How to be more educated

(ask) how to work hard + actually study

Motivation: things to like about these subjects

How to be the it girl in school

recommended study video for upcoming exams

100/100 grades on exams (affirmations)

How to ACE your exams!!

Question bank study method

racism

˗ˏˋ꒰🎀꒱ girly things

Teenage guide to a HOT GIRL SUMMER

Elegance & grace (how to be elegant)

FORGIVENESS to others

SHADOW WORK journalling prompts

unique COMPLIMENTS to give people

how to have the ULTIMATE SELF CARE NIGHT!

GIRL TALK #1: friends & feeling left out

GIRL TALK #2: dealing with hate + not caring about what others think of you.

˗ˏˋ꒰🍒꒱ confidence & self love:

A guide to self love and confidence

"ohmygod shes perfect" they're obsessed with you. affirmations!

I am worthy.. affirmations

how to stop giving people your time, attention and energy.

How to be a girlboss 101 (social edition)

How to not compare yourself and feel fulfilled without needing anyone’s validation. (Ask)

attractive confidence affirmations.

but honey, what about you? : loving yourself

How to stop being so obsessed with them!

U miss me? No duh

stop caring about what others think about you!

fill up your own cup first

you are LUCKY to be disliked!

Hot girl things

hot girl things- socialising edition.

Thewizardliz: what to do if someone is making you feel insecure

Thewizardliz: becoming selfish is the best thing i did.

the ULTIMATE IT GIRL guide!

The It Girl Lifestyle Guide

The It Girl Confidence Guide

˗ˏˋ꒰🍒꒱ socialising

EASTER HOLIDAY CHALLENGE- socialising edition!

Conversation tips + how to be funny

How to be a good conversationalist

the secret to actually becoming fun and interesting

how to be magnetic and alluring (ask)

˗ˏˋ꒰ 💌 ꒱ minis + moodboards:

Gina linetti quotes

elle woods quotes

Yoda quote

Lavender haze, Taylor Swift quote

I forgot that you existed, Taylor Swift quote

true love (with myself)

always improve.

how to become the best version of you

life is so big and unserious

Moodboard:

Moodboard #1 - academic weapon

Moodboard #2 - orange/ vanilla girl academia

Moodboard #3 - spring/ morning inspired

Moodboard #4 - spring inspired

Moodboard #5 - pink academia

Moodboard #6 - barbie inspired!!

Moodboard #7 - Elle woods inspired

Moodboard #8 - academia & Elle woods inspired + QUOTE

Moodboard #9 - Blair Waldorf inspired + QUOTE abt how ur just better

Moodboard #10 - healthy lifestyle pink inspired + QUOTE for if you’re going thru a hard time

Moodboard #11 - queen energy inspired + QUOTE on being a queen

Moodboard #12 - pink outfit inspired

moodboard #13 - pink productivity inspired

moodboard #14 - motivation + quote

[pan-flute-skeleton]

Metalocalypse OC Week 2024!

Are you folks ready for another 🎸🎸🎸 prompt challenge? I know I am! What better way to start the summer months than interacting and celebrating all the diverse fan characters of Metalocalypse. From old friends to new friends to characters you've had your eye on for quite some time, this is Original Character (OC) Week.

This is your chance to make that art, write that fic or any other creative expression involving your OCs. We all share the sandbox so this is also your chance to mingle with other creators to make something epic. Don't be shy! From personal experience, messaging someone with a character I'd like to utilize helps the process.

Use any character you like whether they are well established or new on the scene. But most importantly, have fun. Can't wait to see what everyone comes up with and keep an eye out.

Many thanks to @mnikhowozu for the visuals.

Plain text:

June 3 - June 9

Day 1 Duncan Hills run

Day 2 Fankids, Fanparents and Fan-mily

Day 3 Style Swap

Day 4 Flirty OR Friendly Banter

Day 5 Long Distance

Day 6 Social Media Trend

[alpaca-clouds]

Summer Spice 2024

Some might remember, that last year I had decided to do a summer smut challenge called Summer Spice. And because I had fun with it, I decided to do it again this year.

As I have been asked for my prompt list, I decided to also share it here now. You will find the list underneath the cut.

I will not properly moderate the challenge, but anyone who wants to join me writing some spice for the summer, you are more than welcome. I will start uploading my own stories starting June 15th and then upload three stories a week. My own stuff is gonna be all Castlevania and BG3, but again... Feel free to join with whatever.

The List

Day 01: Nipple Play

Day 02: Walked in On

Day 03: Cowgirl

Day 04: Against the Wall

Day 05: Dirty Talk

Day 06: Wax Play

Day 07: Roleplay

Day 08: Mirror Sex

Day 09: On the Tabletop

Day 10: Anal Fingering

Day 11: Blow Job

Day 12: Bondage

Day 13: Threesome

Day 14: Collar

Day 15: Orgasm Denial

Day 16: Aftercare

Day 17: Begging

Day 18: Consensual Non-Consent

Day 19: Aphrodisiac

Day 20: Laughing during Sex

Day 21: Outdoor Sex

Day 22: Rough Sex

Day 23: Pussy Worship

Day 24: Edging

Day 25: Face Fucking

Day 26: Tied to the Bed

Day 27: Blindfold

Day 28: Sleepy Sex

Day 29: Tease and Denial

Day 30: Domination

Day 31: Spanking

Day 32: Breath Play

Day 33: Anal Sex

Day 34: Striptease

Day 35: Bath Sex

Day 36: Post-Coital Cuddling

Day 37: Gagged

Day 38: Finger Sucking

Day 39: Cunnilingus

Day 40: Multiple Orgasms

Day 41: Humiliation

Day 42: Drunken Sex

Day 43: Scar Kink

Day 44: Fuck or Die

Day 45: Seduction

Day 46: Bukkake

Day 47: Large Insertion

Day 48: Furry/Scaly

Day 49: Overstimulation

Day 50: Orgy

[lautski-week]

Lautski Nation, we are so back!

(Q&A + general info under cut!)

Welcome to the third semiannual Lautski week. This event occurs twice a year, once in the summer and once in the winter, to commemorate the shared love so many of us have for Hatchetfield High's most unlikely it couple! Mod is @peterstankoffski and uses they/them pronouns, and you've probably seen me lurking around the lautski tag since it was created. It's been a lovely little 2.5 years getting to enjoy this ship with everyone.

This year the summer event will be in July instead of May so everyone who is interested has plenty of time to prepare. I understand now through June is fairly bust for many people due to finals, so moving it later into the summer was definitely for the best (thank you to everyone who voted in the dates tiebreaker poll the other day!)

And with that, some FAQ!

Q: What are alternates?

A: Alternates are two extra prompts in case one of them leaves you stumped! They can be used any day, or they can not be used at all! It’s up to each individual participant!

Q: Do I have to do all seven days?

A: You’re free to do as many as you want! You can do all seven, you can do just a few, hell, you could do all nine in you wanted! This isn’t a challenge, it’s an event. The main goal is to make some posts about this ship we’re all brainrotting for and having fun.

Q: What can I make?

A: Anything you want! Art, fics, edits, memes, etc. Nothing’s off the table.

Q: How do I post?

A: I’ll reblog anything made for the event to this blog and my main. If you’d like to be featured, please @ THIS blog. Additionally, I’d recommend tagging works with #lautski week so everyone’s works can all be found in the same place.

Q: I was late! Can I still post?

A: Of course! I’ll keep reblogging new posts tagged #lautski week and/or mention this blog through July 17!

Q: Can I post to AO3, then link it back here?

A: Feel free! This year I will also be setting up a Lautski Week collection, which I will link on the blog closer to time. Feel free to use it!

Q: Can I post to (insert any other fanfic site here) then link it back here?

A: Same as AO3. Go ahead!

Q: One of my wips fits *insert prompt here!* Can I post it for that day?

A: You can, but please don’t post before the event begins!

Q: Am I allowed to write smut?

A: Yes, but please have it properly tagged on both tumblr and AO3. On this blog, I will use the additional tag "smut warning"

That's it for now! I'll reblog this occasionally between now and July, plus advertising and answering any additional questions, but other than that, enjoy the rest of your spring (if you're in the Northern Hemisphere anyway)! See you all again soon 💜

[rainbowcaleb]

FICLET FRIDAY : Hot boi by the sea

Prompt: summer vacation | Rating: T | Pairing: shadowgast | WIP, currently 2400 words

A/N : I rediscovered this fic from June last year and have been finishing it for posting! Enjoy this longer snippet from the middle of the fic…

“But you! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear so little clothes!” She gestures at his outfit, the black linen sleeveless top and loose plum silk trousers.

“Oh, Light.” Essek mutters and uses his free hand to shift the wrap of his shirt a little more closed. His clothes suddenly feel so scandalous, despite being practically required for this coastal heat.

“Oh no, nonono, I’m sorry Essie, I didn’t mean to make you feel all self conscious, but is it really such a bad thing to be a little ogled at?” Jester looks so earnest that Essek feels compelled to answer.

“It is because you are right; it has easily been decades since I’ve worn such garments in public. I may have been a child last. You all have certainly…relaxed me, but I think my comfort level still has legs to stretch.”

Caleb’s hand is back, now brushing against his shoulder, still so careful to touch what is still covered in fabric. “If you’d like, I have a spare shirt packed, if you wish for another layer.”

“No.” Essek says firmly. “Thank you. I think perhaps the challenge is good for me. I would like to see the ocean, and partake in –what was it Jester?– the local iced poles.”

“Pops, but yes Essek!” She snaps the fingers of her free hand. “It’s hot boi summer, let yourself look hot!” She leans forward enough to catch Caleb’s eye on Essek’s other side. “Even Caleb agrees.”

“Ja, I—” He starts, mouth making a couple silent word attempts before continuing. Then he stands straighter. “Yes. Yes, Jester is right. Your chosen outfit is quite…” He trails off, eyes caught in the sheen of Essek’s pants and looking completely lost for correct words.

“You. Two. Are. Dating.” Jester sighs with the gusto of an elephant trumpet. “At some point you’ll see each others’ dicks so you should really stop blushing over clothes. Unless you have doodley-dooed already and you’re trying to throw me off?”

“Jester!” Essek’s sounds are the squeaking mouse to Jester’s elephant. “We, no, what we do is between us–”

Caleb, despite being tomato red, replies in a fairly reasonable tone. “You are one of our closest friends, but there are some things that will stay between us. For explanation, I was simply…flipping through my mental dictionary and coming up short.”

“Hot boi.” Jester rolls her eyes. “It’s his nickname for a reason.”

“You do look—” Caleb gives him a radiant grin, the bastard. “Very hot.”

Essek wants to bury his face in the inside of his robes, but alas his robes are absent and his shirt is far too low cut. “Thank you Caleb, I think you do too.”

“What, this?” He gestures at his open white shirt, offering a lovely view of bare chest and chest hair, and thigh length linen shorts. “You should see my swimsuit.”

Jester breaks out into a giggle and then quickly tries to stifle herself. Essek and Caleb share a look; it certainly sounds like there is mischief afoot.

“Blueberry.” Essek lets the word roll around his tongue, trying out the nickname. Jester looks at him delighted. “Speaking of swimming, we have been walking for quite a while and have yet to reach any sight of shore. I kindly ask again, this is a tourist town by the sea, correct?”

[juneofdoom]

June of Doom 2025 💣

By popular vote, here be the 2025 June of Doom prompt list for your doomsday planning!

Please feel free to participate with original or fan works of any kind (writing, photos, gifs, mood boards, videos, songs, whatever creative medium your heart desires!). You can do one or all of the prompts on any given day, and if none are to your liking, check out the alternate prompts!

Rules/ FAQ!

Tag your stuff with appropriate warnings, plzkthnx.

AI-created content is highly discouraged and frowned upon. I have no way of "checking", but I respect the time and effort people put into their crafts and encourage everyone to do the same. This isn't a contest for best written or prettiest art — it's a challenge, so challenge yourself.

You can combine this challenge with other challenges!

You can start/ finish this challenge whenever the heck you want!

You can mix and match prompts from different days!

I'll post reminders and such the closer we get!

[Text List]

[AO3 Collection will be up late May 2025]

And don't forget to tag @juneofdoom so I can reblog your awesome here! Have fun!

[witchywithwhiskey]

witchywithwhiskey's slasher summer writing challenge

i know what you did... THIS summer! you joined me in celebrating summerween with a slasher summer themed writing challenge!! i was inspired by some classic summer horror movies to create this challenge and have some fun, and i'm so excited to share it with you all!! let's have a summer we'll never forget!!

how it works:

select at least 1 prompt from the lists below and incorporate it into your fic

the challenge will start june 20 and end august 31 (at 11:59pm ET)

all works will be put into a masterlist to be published no later than september 1

you don't need to follow me to participate

tag me and #slashersummerwc in your entry so i can read/reblog your work!

the rules:

you must be 18+ to participate in this challenge!

chris evans, sebastian stan, henry cavill characters and marvel characters are welcome - but NO RPF (if you wanna write another fandom, just check with me first!)

works can be dark, fluff, smut and/or angst but make sure to use appropriate warnings. works don't need to be horror

no grooming, underage, watersports/scat, incest, necrophilia or bestiality

dubcon, noncon and monsterfucking are ok!

reader-inserts only, and all works should be inclusive. works with poc, gender neutral, plus size/curvy readers are encouraged!

there are no word limits but please use a read more after 300 words

works can be part of an existing series but must be able to stand on their own

have fun!!

if you have any questions, please send me an ask or DM. otherwise, prompts are below the cut!

locations

carnival/county fair

roller rink

shopping mall

drive-in movie theater

motel

summer camp

trailer park

cabin in the woods

lake house

small town

road trip

campsite

local video store

kinks & tropes

knife kink/gun kink

dacryphilia

enemies to lovers

forced proximity

chase kink

sex in the woods

fuck or die

mask kink

blindfolds/gags

sex pollen

gangbang

stalker

kidnapping

quotes

You're not gonna leave me here, are you?

It's not bad enough to have Friday the 13th, we've gotta have a full moon too.

Meet me at the waterfront after the social.

It's summer! We're supposed to be having fun!

You know how girls love to scream.

You think that's blood?

Things get messy when you make a deal with the devil.

I never liked camp.

Honestly, if you ever become an actor, don't ever do a slasher flick.

You did a lot of things last summer.

It's just not what I was expecting. Where are the cabins and canoes?

I know how much you guys like games.

I used to hate the water…

[promptseverlark]

“This Would Have Happened Anyway” Challenge for Summer.

https://archiveofourown.org/collections/This_Would_Have_Happened_Anyway_Summer23

Katniss says it at the end of Mockingjay:

“But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips. On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway. That what I need to survive is not Gale's fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that. So after, when he whispers, "You love me. Real or not real?" I tell him, "Real.”

So let’s explore “What ifs” and send your fics on how Katniss and Peeta would have ended together … in D13: if the games revolution have happened before the games or if Peeta would have been rescued in Catching Fire, of if he wouldn’t had been hijacked… or any other IF in D13.

Pairing: Everlark

Type: Fan Fiction or Fan Art.

Words: Over 1000 words (drabbles, one shots or short multi chapter are welcome, we would like to have submission completed although it isn’t mandatory)

Theme/Prompt: Canon Divergence, set in D13 in Panem

Deadline:

1. You can confirm your to participation until May 20th (in Tumblr or by email alwayseverlark@gmail.com) and you will be granted access to the collection to submit your work.

2. You can submit your fics up to June 24th (CET time!)

3. Collection will be live June 25th as anonymous

4. Writers will be revealed July 1st.

[violettduchess]

And teach me how To name the bigger light, and how the less, That burn by day and night --William Shakespeare, The Tempest

Summer is almost here and with it, the endless possibilities of summer-themed creations. This Creation Challenge, hosted by myself and @lorei-writes focuses on the Sunshine of summer days and the Starlight of summer nights.

Fandoms: The Ikemen fandom (Sen, Rev, Vamp, Pri, Vil)

Duration: June 9th through July 21st, with the Masterlist dropping on the 22nd.

Submissions: Fanfic, fanart, mood boards, wallpapers, collages, edits, OC x canon works, and all other creative inputs are welcome. Please, tag any NSFW entries appropriately. We reserve the right not to include unlabeled works on the Masterlist.

Other specifics: There may be other creation events within the fandom and it is fine for entries to not be event-exclusive (meaning they can be entries for other events at the same time!)

Prompt List below!

Sunshine Prompts 🌞

Watching Clouds Crickets Hazy Mountains Golden Hour Colors of Sunrise Stained Glass

☀🌙 Midnight Sun ☀🌙

Starlight Prompts ⭐

Constellations Lullaby Bonfire Late Night Trysts Festival After Dark Full Moon

Please tag your work with #sunshineandstarlightcc and don’t forget to tag us (@violettduchess and @lorei-writes) as well so that we can easily see your creations.

Light and Love,

Violett ⭐ and Lorei 🌞

[cheapsweets]

The Xerocolous Hraetnug

My response to this week’s BestiaryPosting challenge, from @maniculum

Pencil sketch, then lines in Pentel brush pen. Originally meant to be a single image, but didn't work with the cropping...

Reasoning below the cut…

"It has wings but does not fly, and its feet are like those of the camel. When the time comes for it to lay eggs, it raises its eyes to the sky and looks to see if the star called Vergiliae, the Pleiades, has appeared, for it will not lay its eggs until that star has risen. When the Hraetnug sees the star, around the month of June, it digs in the ground, deposits its eggs in the hole it has made and covers them with sand. When it gets up from the hole, it immediately forgets the eggs and never returns to them. The effect of the calm, mild air seems to be that the sand in the summer heat hatches the eggs, bringing forth the young."

Honestly, it's been a week, so just a quick one this time. I genuinely had no idea what creature this this prompt related to, until last night I was lying in bed trying to sleep, and suddenly it seemed So Obvious… Curious if I've guessed this one right!

I ended up taking this one pretty literally. I was originally planning on drawing some manner of Beast, but the wings AND the egg-laying made me lean away from this. Rather than a bird, I ended up going for a fairly generic dragon (with That Head which keeps on coming up for some reason on the most unlikely creatures); many dragon illustrations don't look like they could fly anyway, so maybe the wings are more for balance (or cooling, perhaps?). The feet are taken pretty much directly from camels (including the pad underneath that is just visible on the raised foot); this along with the sand makes me think this is a desert dwelling creature.

I genuinely can't work out what Vergiliae relates to, but we also have the Pleiades in the sky.

I'm never going to miss the opportunity to draw cute baby animals, so have a trio of baby Hraetnugs clawing their way out of the sand once they have hatched :)

I think it ended up looking a bit like something from the Moomins...

[summer-of-bad-batch]

Welcome to Summer of Bad Batch! 

This is a light-hearted, weekly prompt challenge for the months June, July, and August! 

13 weeks with 13 prompts! 

I’m excited! 

Here’s how it’s going to work: 

Fill out THIS form to submit prompt ideas! Even if you don’t plan on completing the prompts yourself, please submit ideas for other artists and writers to work with! What would you like to see gallivanting across your dash this summer? Tell us! (The form will be open until May 18th)

Once prompts are submitted and compiled, there will be an opportunity to vote on your favorite prompts! The top 13 prompts will be the prompts used over the summer. Again, even if you aren’t a “participant”, please vote and share! You are a VERY important part of the fun! 

The weekly prompt will be posted at the beginning of each week (Sunday at 12a.m. CST)! If you are a participant, start working on the prompt whenever you want. Post whenever you want. It can be within the week of or later…the point of this prompt challenge is to be laid back and fun! There’s no real deadline! (Although the event ends August 31, 2024) 

At the end of the summer, participation awards will be given! Something cute, something fun, something sunny…bragging rights! There will be a participation award for the casual participant, and a completionist award for those who got all 13 prompts done. (This is based on the honor code…if you say you did 13 prompts, who am I to doubt??) 

Find “Rules” and my Q&A post HERE!

For those of you who have followed my main blog, @kybercrystals94, you’ll know that I’ve participated in a few prompt challenges over the past year. I love them! They motivate me to write, and inspire ideas I would never have thought of on my own. 

My hope for Summer of Bad Batch is that it will inspire fun stories about some of our favorite clone boys. There isn’t a specific genre to be followed, just prompts that can probably be taken any number of ways. 

I plan to dabble in some more lighthearted genres myself this summer, but go where the prompt takes you!