#prompt deadline

[winterbaron-valentines-event]

Prompt ❤️‍🔥HERE❤️‍🔥

More info 👇👇👇

[amarcia]

@jedijune 05 Eyes Closed / Trust in the Force

✨🌙 ART LOG -> @404ama

[paintedhen]

deltarune mettaton with the k.round crown in the dark world: gif edition!

( @mettatonmay day 16: legs )

[crookedtines]

Working out a new pattern that uses the speckles of a mismatched weft to mimic snow. It's still a major work in progress, but it's come a long way within the 3 rounds of edits I could make before I ran out of warp. (See below for my starting point)

I'll warp up a new band at some point to keep working on it, and have decided the stars will definitely be silver next time. It would also be fun to use a puffier yarn for the snow on the ground so that the footprints can look like they've sunk into the band.

[ultravioletbrit]

“share” - Jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 376 words

James is just about to leave Regulus’ flat, but Regulus stops him just as he reaches the front door. “Wait. What’s in that bag?” Regulus asks when James picks up a duffle bag that Regulus hadn’t noticed sitting by the door.   

“Nothing.” James answers awkwardly as he tries, and fails, to hide the large duffel bag behind his back.

“James...?” Regulus says slowly as he walks over to him. Regulus takes the bag from James and gasps when he opens it. “My sweatshirts!” He yelps. “Why are you stealing all my sweatshirts?”

“Your sweatshirts?”

“Fine, our sweatshirts.” Regulus corrects himself and James raises an eyebrow. “They’re not our sweatshirts?” Regulus asks with a little pout. “We share them so doesn’t that make them ours?”  

James takes the bag from Regulus and puts it on the floor so he can wrap his arms around Regulus’ waist. “Sharing implies that we both get to wear them, love. You steal them, and I don’t see them again until I run out and I have to sneak in here and take them all back. Then we start the whole process over again.”

Regulus blinks at James a few times. “You…? But I…?” Regulus fumble the huffs. “How long have you been doing that?”  

“How long have we been dating?” James smiles sweetly.

Regulus gives James another small huff with a little pout but after a moment something flashes across Regulus’ eyes and he narrows them at James.

“Do you wear them when you take them back?” Regulus asks.

“Yeah…?”

“So, we both wear them. Doesn’t that imply that we share them?” Regulus asks with a little smirk.

“I… But you…” James fumbles his words then huffs. “I guess we share the sweatshirts.” He says with a resigned sigh.

“Our sweatshirts.” Regulus corrects him.

“Our sweatshirts.” James agrees with a fond eye roll. He leans in to give Regulus a quick kiss before he picks up the bag.     

“Wait.” Regulus puts his hand on James’ to stop him. “Can I just keep one of them?” He asks in a shy voice as his cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink. “I like to umm… sometimes I…”

James smiles and leans in for another kiss. “I always leave you the one you keep under your pillow.” James whispers.

[pavuk-starsymbol]

ISATober day 12: Spiralling

(the second variant of the drawing is under the cut! because i couldn't choose)

[atlaserine]

Just your average supervillain being a mother hen

It's been two weeks, two long weeks of Hero being locked in that cell. Isolated from the outside world, with only the sound of her own thoughts to keep her company. The room is cold and cramped, and there's not much to do except lie on the old bed and wait for the sound of the door opening to signal someone's arrival.

The door swings open, and Villain walks in. He's flanked by two guards, their expressions cold and aloof as usual. He steps inside, his eyes fixed on Hero's sleeping form on the bed.

Villain walks over to the bed, looking down at her silent form. He hated how Hero still looked pretty damn beautiful when she was asleep. The way her chest rises and falls with each breath, the way her hair is strewn messily over her face, and the way her lips are slightly parted, just begging to be kissed-

...

No, stop Villain thought, shaking his head slightly. He should hate her, should just...end her right here.

...

He didn't realize his own hand reaching out and running his fingers through her hair until he felt the soft strands in between his fingers, pushing the messy locks away from her face. He glances down at her, his expression a mixture of anger, curiosity and..a twisted kind of affection.

Villain glances back at the guards, who were watching from the doorway. He motions for them to leave and they comply, closing the door and leaving him alone with her.

Slowly, Villain sat down on the edge of the bed, watching her sleep. He knew he should be angry with her, she was a pain in the ass. And an annoying one at that..but he can't help but feel a pang of longing whenever he looks at her.

He reaches out and touches her cheek gently. "I should hate you, love. I should hate every inch of you. But no matter how hard I try, I just can't bring myself to do it". Though, his eyes widen in surprise as he registers the heat of her skin, pulling his hand back. Villain then presses the back of his hand against her forehead, feeling the fever that's coursing through her body like wildfire.

Villain mentally cursed at himself, "Damn it Hero, you're burning up" , his voice filled with a mix of worry and anger. Villain couldnt ignore the concern that's starting to build up within him. Hero might have ruined half of his plan, been nothing but a torn to his side but he'd be dammed if he was going to let her die of a fever.

He stood up, hurrying out of the cell and barking orders at the guards. "Get a medic in here, now"

The guards nod, rushing off to do as they're ordered. While Villain waits for the medic to arrive, he paces back and forth, his mind racing with worry and anger. Silently praying that she'll be alright.. No, she will be alright. He won't have the city's best hero die in his cell from a fucking cold.

After what felt like eternity (which was only five minutes) , the medic arrives. Villain scoffs "Took you long enough", his tone cold and firm. The medic just rolled his eyes and immediately begins to assess the sleeping Hero's condition. He takes her temperature, checks her pulse, and inspects her for any visible signs of injury or illness.

"She's got a high fever, sir. It seems like she's come down with a serious infection of some kind. Do you know if she's eaten anything unusual lately? Or if she's come in contact with any toxic substances?" The medic asks.

"I...I'm not sure" Villain spoke, a bit quieter from before.

"..She's been locked up in that cell for weeks now, and I haven't exactly been the one taking care of her." Villain admits with a sigh, his tone tinged with guilt.

The medic raised his brows, "Well, that would explain it. Being locked up in a small, cramped cell like this without proper sanitation or medical care, it's no wonder she's come down with an infection."

Villain clenches his fists, his expression turning dark at the medic's words. He was mad..at..himself. He should have known better, he should have taken better care of Hero, even if she was his prisoner.

"She needs proper treatment, sir. Antibiotics, fluids, and a comfortable place to rest. She won't get better if she remains here." The medic spoke again which made Villain sighs the second time, more frustrated from the last knowing Medic was right.

"Very well." Villain finally says grudgingly, he turned towards some of his henchmen. "Get her out of this cell and to the infirmary. Treat her properly." He looks down at Heros unconscious form again, furrowing his brows. He didn't want to care, he didn't want to show any kind of weakness. But seeing her like this, weak and vulnerable, it was tough for him to keep up the cold and uncaring facade he usually wore.

The medic nods and starts to arrange for Hero to be moved to the infirmary with the other henchmen. Once Hero is moved to the infirmary, the medic quickly gets to work. He administers antibiotics via IV, sets up a saline drip to rehydrate her, and even hooks her up to a monitor to keep a close eye on her vital signs.

Finally, Hero is settled in a soft bed with a comfortable pillow and warm blankets. The medic turns to Villain, who has been watching the whole time from a corner of the room. "She should start feeling better soon, sir. The antibiotics will take care of the infection and the fluids will help with hydration. Just give it some time and she should be fine." He smiled.

Villain only nodded, his expression still tight and controlled. He steps closer to the bed, looking down at Hero's unconscious form. Noticing the way her hair is spread out on the pillow, the paleness of her face, the soft rise and fall of her chest as she breaths.

Villain was sure his body was acting on its own again as he reached out and hesitantly places his hand over hers. It was an unconscious gesture, one he didn't even realize he was doing. He stands there for a moment, feeling the warmth of her skin and the steady beat of her pulse beneath his fingertips. It was a physical reminder that Hero was still alive, still here, despite everything that had happened between them.

Villain notices the weak pulse and frowns, concerned. "Medic, her pulse is weak. Is that normal?". Medic looks over Hero's vitals on the monitor and nods, "Yes, it's normal. She's been sick for a long time, sir. Her body is weak and she's lost a lot of weight. It's expected for her pulse to be weak at this point." Villain nods, still looking at Hero's unconscious form with a furrowed brow. It was unnerving to see her like this, so still and fragile. Unlike the bravado and the winning smile she always gave him to get under his skin. Her godawful jokes and her...careless laughter. He couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt and regret. Despite everything, he still cared for her, more than he wanted to admit.

The medic noticed Villain's stark change of demeanor. He raised his brows before speaking "I'll check on her regularly to make sure she's improving. Besides...you look like a mother hen worrying too much for a fever" He teased.

Villain groans before glaring at Medic. "You're lucky I need you right now, or else I woudve cut your head off and hang it in my office for saying that" He let's go off Hero's hand before walking to the door, he stopped. Turning slightly back at Medic, his eyes dark with the promise of a threat "if I see you slacking off, I won't hesitate to do good with my words" He spoke, before stepping out.

[pinkcaraz]

sincaraz au where they both run fan/update accounts for rival players/teams (big4? f1? football? etc.) and have beef but also flirt like crazy on the tl and subject all their followers to watching whatever the hell is going on between them and then bam they fall in love and somehow people find out they're dating/married/fucking/etc.

OR they're already dating/married/fucking/etc. but they have beef and flirt on the tl for fun

[outeremissary]

This was a originally for a daily prompt list where the prompt was "trust issues," but I feel like I lost the plot a little on the vibe of that list overall. But god I love drawing those weird plants

(version from the original post before I changed my mind about what looked more Decent lmao)

[rhinocio]

best friends to lovers more like (Childhood) Best Friends IV Re:Coded x [physikal contackt] 365/7/24 Final Mix patch + Kiss Mod 2.0 bonus:

[nouveaumoon]

Strahdtober 1-3: Barovia, Ismark, Ireena

[pixelatedraindrops]

Yuma Month: Day 28: Death

“ B A D E N D”

TW // Blood

TW // Suicide

[homoerectusindeed]

[idontknowreallywhy]

Me for several weeks: “I should really do some writing for secret Santa, these are good prompts, I have a few ideas to play with.”

Unhinged ADHD brain: “Nooo it has to be Brilliant, the best thing you’ve ever written because it’s a Gift for a beloved Thunderfam member. Wait until The Perfect Idea hits and then the words will just flow. Start four completely unrelated WIPs instead.”

Me who is an idiot: “Sounds legit, sure let’s do that.”

Weeks pass…

Me who could see this coming yet was completely unable to do anything about it: “Hey brain, maybe we should just go with the idea we already have and actually… write some words? I’ve got a few snippets to hang the idea around and really think it might be ok…”

Unhinged ADHD brain: “DENIED. We have 25 hours left. It would be against everything I stand for to start it so far in advance.”

Me now: *writes post bemoaning the fact she’s an idiot and hasn’t got this fic down yet instead of actually doing it. Vows never to commit herself to prompt-based deadlines again knowing she sucks at them and yet knows she will break this vow because it’s so fun to be a part of things*

To whoever my recipient is… I apologise. This is likely to be written at 4am and complete nonsense… but know I’ve been thinking about how great a gift I want to create for you every day for weeks.

[lotr-sesa]

The Lord of the Rings Secret Santa posting deadline is in TWO WEEKS!

There are now TWO WEEKS left to get those fills in! That means we're halfway to deadline. We hope the writing is going well! Claiming will run all the way until the posting deadline on December 27th.

Currently, just under half the prompts have been claimed. Our goal is to make sure every prompter gets at least one of their prompts filled, so all signal boosting is VERY appreciated as we would love to see more prompts claimed! ❤️ There's gen prompts, kinkfic prompts, serious and sillier prompts, m/m and f/f as well as m/f prompts, so come have a look and see if anything tickles your fancy. There's prompts for The Hobbit, The Rings of Power, Lord of the Rings and The Silmarillion.

You can find all the prompts HERE as the prompt meme format doesn't allow for linking to individual prompts.

Claiming a prompt: use the "Claim" button next to the prompt you want to claim. (You can find open prompts under "Prompts" in the sidebar.) Several people can claim the same prompt. You can also claim a prompt without having submitted any of your own.

If you are new to the format, AO3 has a helpful FAQ here.

This year's timeline (2024):

Prompt Posting: November 1st to 25th.

Claiming: November 26th to December 27th.

Collection Open for Posting: December 1st to December 27th.

All Fills Due: December 27th.

Reveal: December 31st

The Rules (2024):

Your fill is due December 27th 11:59 pm Pacific Time (you can find a countdown here). Please post it to AO3 (and nowhere else, until January 10th) via the prompt page.

As a matter of fairness, please make your story more than 750 words (1000 is better).

Once claiming has opened, please only claim a prompt if you plan on actually fulfilling your end of the bargain, and please only claim one prompt at a time. After you have completed your fill, you may claim a new one.

It's a good idea to follow us here on Tumblr or join the Dreamwidth community so you can keep track of any admin posts.

[apoptoses]

Venice in winter is nothing compared to his homeland, but it’s still damp, oppressive. Outside the sky is a pale shade of grey and the wind must be blowing something fierce, as the little roundels of glass rattle in their iron panes.

But Bianca’s chambers are a hot house. Heat crackles in the fireplace, from the candelabras that dot the walls and tables. Steam curls from the surface of her bath and Amadeo watches the way the wisps of blond hair that surround her face curl with it. She tips her head back against the rim of the tub to look at him. Her cheeks are flushed as rose petals when she smiles, gone pink from the steam.

“You’ve made a terrible mess of my bed,” she says.

And so he has. Having no spare clothing here he’s had no choice but to yank the velvet covers free and wrap himself in them. He’s lying the wrong way, his feet peeking out near the head of the bed. He pushes them into a pillow and grins behind the auburn curtain of his hair.

“And what of it?” he asks.

“Does your master let you get away with such things?”

“No. He beats me terribly. I’m a victim of his punishments almost nightly.”

Bianca rolls her pretty blue eyes. “And you enjoy it, don’t you?”

He does. But she needn’t know that.

This room with all of its delicate things- perfume bottles, silk ribbons draped across her vanity table, Bianca’s little shoes and her combs for her hair and her vases of flowers- it’s not the place for that sort of talk. It’s like being inside a jewelry box. Like being beneath the sea, with the way the steam has collected on the windows and left them shimmering and wet.

Bianca toys with the golden end of her braid, searching it for split hairs. The pearl strands woven into it click softly as she twists and turns her hair.

Amadeo lives in a beautiful palazzo of unruly boys. He sleeps in his master’s strong, imposing bed. He’s been to brothels of all sorts, enjoyed their lurid sort of appeal but this place, this woman’s chamber- it holds such fascination. He watches her in awe as she lifts her feet from beneath the water, rests them on the opposite end of the tub, and he feels as though he’s under a spell.

“You look like a mermaid,” he mumbles.

Water runs down her legs. They’re pale, slender, and Amadeo wonders if he grasped her by the ankle if his fingers would touch where they encircle it. Pressed together as they are, water and soap bubbles clinging to her skin, they look like the appendage of a sea creature. If he blurs his vision the fine golden hair on her legs becomes scales.

“Oh?” Bianca flicks a bit of water at him. It lands on the tip of his nose. “And were I a mermaid what would you be? Some fisherman come to capture me? A prince lost at sea, desperate for saving like Odysseus? Come, wash my back and tell me.”

Amadeo rises from the bed. He leaves the safety of the blankets behind and drags her carved wooden stool over to the side of the tub.

Funny how they’re both naked and yet he feels all the more vulnerable for it. Bianca is otherworldly with her hair swept aside, her head tilted to expose the line of her throat, her shoulder. He takes the wet cloth, rubs the perfumed water into her skin, and wonders what a crude being he must be in comparison.

“Perhaps I would capture you and travel about with you, keeping you on display. I could charge a gold coin just to look upon your beauty,” he says. “You’d make me a rich man.”

He drags the cloth over the delicate ball of her shoulder. It’s white as a porcelain doll, soft in a way none of the other boy’s flesh is. Amadeo massages at her skin and takes in the musicality of her little groan.

“Mm, and would you keep me in a cage? Would you be a very strict master, one who never lets his little captive out?” she teases.

Amadeo nods. “A golden one, so that I might hand feed you through the bars. I could charge another coin for that, I think. Plenty of men would pay for the pleasure of passing you a little bite of fish.”

He washes her scapula when she leans forward, the ball joint at the base of her neck. Her breasts bob in the water, slick with soap, flushed pink with the heat,  and Amadeo can’t resist running the cloth over her clavicle. Down and down until his finger slides into the valley between them where her sternum rests. Her laugh vibrates beneath the bone as she slaps at his wrist.

It’s a half-hearted protest. Splashing just for the sake of getting him wet, and as Amadeo dodges her hand he pretends to accidentally grope her. The entirety of her breast nestles perfectly into his hand.

“You’re such a predictable boy. Would you have them pay to do this as well?” Bianca asks. Her voice rises into a gasp when he catches her nipple between his finger and thumb. “How many gold coins to molest your captive mermaid?”

She’s soft. Not like his master, who’s like caressing one of the marble statues that lines their courtyard. Bianca has warm breasts to squeeze, a roll of flesh that appears above her stomach when she sits hunched and naked like this. Amadeo rubs his palm over the swell of her stomach, his fingertips brushing the gold curls that cover her mound, and curls his other arm around her shoulders to clasp her wet back to his chest.

“None,” he says. “I wouldn’t charge them any, because this I would keep all for my own.”

The wind rattles the shutters of the palazzo. Rain lashes at the windows. It’s freezing outside but in here Amadeo is sweating. It trickles down his back as he grazes her thighs with his fingers. He’s damp under the arms, too warm from the fireplace, from his desire. Just like with his master, he feels monstrous from it. Lesser for the needy thing between his legs. An animal driven by lust.

Bianca struggles in his grasp. Not to get free, to rise up toward his wandering hand. But the position is awkward. Her ankles, perched as they are on the edge of the tub, they don’t give her enough leverage to lift her hips and so she’s trapped there; wiggling like a fish. Amadeo teases at the crease where her thighs meet. He traces it from knee to pubis and back again and listens to the quickening of her breath.

The cleft of her must be slick. She’s probably flushed pink down there as well but he can’t see it through the water, the way her thighs are clenched together.  But that’s alright. He’s submitted to his master, to the workers of the brothels. Amadeo’s not had anyone squirm for him and he’s finding he likes this game. Her shiver when he rakes his nails through her curls sets his blood alight.

He works his finger into the tight crevice where her thighs meet. He seeks out the sensitive nub between her legs and he knows he’s found it by the way Bianca tips her head back and inhales a sharp breath.

Amadeo tries to picture her as a sea creature. What folds she might have here, in this secret part of her. Whether she’d be warm inside or cold, slimy like the belly of a fish. He forces his finger further down through the squeeze of her thighs and teases at her entrance.

It’s torment, being outside of this bath, unable to plunge into her. In the excitement of the previous night he’d finished all too quickly, and it’s embarrassing, really. He’s dying inside to repeat his performance, to do better this time. But he owes her. Pleasure is the only way he can pay her.

Bianca’s hands grip his forearm like a vice. They’re slender, like a doll’s, and he likes to feel small but she’s the first to make him feel powerful. He rubs tiny circles at her and her nails dig into his skin. Glides his finger up and down and watches through the distortion of the water the needy thrust of her hips.

“Amadeo-“ she gasps.

Her knees fall apart. He clucks his tongue at her, stills his hand.

“You’re a mermaid, remember? Your legs should stay together, yes, like that.”

She lets out a whine, clenches her legs back into place. Amadeo touches her again, slow, teasing, and bites back a hiss when she claws at his wrist.

This is new, having someone fall apart in his arms. Taking her apart little by little with his fingertip alone is a rush that goes straight to his head. Like being drunk only better, because instead of a headache there’s a reward at the end. Falling upon her in her great golden bed. Or perhaps just the satisfaction of seeing her shake with pleasure. That alone might be enough.

The pearls in Bianca’s braid click when she tosses her head. Amadeo strokes her, up and down, again and again. Runs his finger along her folds and watches her toes curl at the edge of the bath. He presses at her entrance. Makes as if he’ll let his fingertip in and her toes point with anticipation. Then go lax again when he takes his fingertip away and seeks out the sensitive nub of her again.

“You’re a horrible tease,” she complains.

Amadeo laughs. “I’m your captor, aren’t I? It’s my right to tease. I trapped you for my own pleasure, after all.”

He traces a little circle over her clit. Bianca presses his cheek into the crook of his elbow, as though she means to hide her face.

“Most men would take their pleasure in other ways.”

There’s no hiding herself, though. Amadeo tilts his head, ignores the pain that comes with straining into such an awkward position, and takes in the way she’s panting. The rush of color to her cheeks, how she bites her lip when he touches just the right way. He keeps on that spot, repeats the motion, and he can tell by the way she squeezes her thighs that she’s squeezing tight on the inside too.

“I’m unlike most men,” he says, and kisses at her throat.

Her skin tastes like the perfumed water. Like salt because she too has begun to sweat. He rubs over and over, feels the rush of her pulse, and wonders if this is what his master feels with him. Whether making him squirm, helpless in his arms, makes him feel indomitable as well, and for a second he wishes he could rend her throat with his teeth. Amadeo wants to feel the stitch of her heart the way his master feels his whenever he bites into his flesh and takes his blood.

Slow circles. Over and over he spirals his fingertip. No change in the motion, no teasing now. There’s only one end to this and he means to achieve it as he drops kisses along her neck. Amadeo picks up his speed bit by bit until she gasps. There, there- the words are muttered out over the slosh of the bath, and he listens. Takes her advice even though his forearm is screaming at him, and-

Bianca kicks at the edge of the tub. Her cry sounds surprised, like she didn’t expect to be wracked with this much sensation, and she shakes with it. Her thighs squeeze so tight around Amadeo’s finger he couldn’t slip it inside her even if he wanted to.

And that’s fine. Good, in fact. This pleasure is for her sake and even if his cock is throbbing its need between his legs it can wait. Must wait, he decides. His master would scold him for taking her like a street ruffian not once but twice.

She’s lovely when she goes slack. Bianca’s hair is mussed from rubbing her face against his arm, a gold curl come free near her temple. Amadeo goes to tuck it back for her but she shakes her head.

“My hair will have to be redone entirely.” She plunges her wet fingers into his auburn hair and drags him down for a kiss. Her body is uncomfortably hot, sticky against his. “You’re right, you know.”

“About what?”

She nips at his lip, hard enough to leave it smarting. While Amadeo is busy rubbing at his mouth she rises from the tub like Venus from her shell. Arm covering her breasts, she reaches with the other hand and gestures for him to hand her a dry sheet.

“You’re like your master,” she says.

Amadeo cocks his head. He hands her the sheet without getting up from the stool, suddenly embarrassed of the thing throbbing between his own legs. He aches to throw her to the floor and take her.

“How so?” he asks.

Bianca enshrouds herself in white fabric. One neat movement, so well practiced that she hardly drips water onto the floor, and she’s perched on the edge of the bath rubbing herself dry. Arms first, then legs. She brings her ankle up to rest upon her knee and Amadeo can’t help but stare at the bone white jut of it. She’s pale as his master there. Her ankles never see the sunlight and so he can see the blue veins through her skin, and he wonders how they’d taste.

“Both of you are entirely unlike other men,” Bianca murmurs. Her foot with its pale sole, white as the belly of a fish, lands suddenly in Amadeo’s lap. She grinds her heel down and draws a gasp from him. “Now come to bed, Amadeo. I believe it’s time your captive takes her revenge. You’ll allow me some fun, won’t you? Before I release you back into the waters to swim home to your master?”

The pearls in her braid are loose. He ruts up against her foot and hears them rattle when she tosses her head back and smirks.

Amadeo is hooked. How easily he swings between such extremes. Misery and ecstasy. Dominance and submission. Shame and desire. He’s a being made of contradictions, and as he follows her to her golden bed he thinks he’ll do anything she wants so long as it keeps him here a moment longer. Safe from reality in her jewelry box room.

Safe from his sadness so long as he remains trapped in the net of want.