prompt generator

my whole life

Prompt: Oral fixation or fetishization (lips, tongue, or whole mouth; french-kissing; licking; oral displays using food or beer bottles; smoking cigarettes, cigars, or pipes; biting or chewing one’s lip(s)). Prompt from this generator.

“I wish you wouldn’t smoke in the house.”

Steve looked up, raised his his eyebrows. “Isn’t that my line?”

“Used to be,” Bucky said, shaking his head, stepping inside out of the sun. “Still can’t get over the fact that you smoke.”

Steve was sitting at their tiny kitchen table, the top covered with the detritus of his morning: an abandoned coffee cup, last week’s newspapers from Paris; his tobacco tin and a fold of cigarette papers. He had the last of one in his fingers, burning embers, and he hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt yet. With his bed-rumpled hair and flushed mouth, he looked, Bucky thought, like the 10 AM version of sex on a stick.

“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t want to do it my whole life,” Steve said.

Bucky turned to the sink, twisted open the tap. “Really?” he said above the fall of the water. “That why you always gave me so much shit about it? You were jealous?”

Steve snorted. “Come on, those things you smoked were foul. Made you smell worse than a chimney; made you smell like you’d been chewing ash.”

“Pffft. Half a year of you puffing and now you’re a tobacco connoisseur?” He grabbed the soap and scrubbed his hands together and watched the dirt peel away, the black soil that clung to his wrists, that sat between his fingers, ceding ground to rough soap and the spray.

“Hardly a connoisseur,” Steve said in his ear, suddenly solid at his back. “But I know what I like.”

“That so? Well, good for you, Stevie.”

Steve palmed his hips, thumbs busy in the stretch of skin between Bucky’s damp t-shirt and his beat-up dungarees. “I thought so.” He rubbed his mouth against the back of Bucky’s neck and nosed up into his hair; it was getting too long now, Bucky thought, had thought out in the heat of the garden. But Steve liked it this way, liked to string his hands in it, like the smell of it, he said, even at times like this when it was wet with sweat and the early summer sun.

It’d surprised Bucky, how much he liked poking around in the dirt, coaxing seeds into releasing the life they held and then tending to the new, fragile plants. Hell of a long way from a window box in Brooklyn, but then, what part of their lives wasn’t a world away from the one they’d grown up in? He was different now, and Steve surely was; hard not to endure all they had, seen all the death and cruelty they had, without coming out on the other side changed. That he spent all his free time talking sweet to snap peas and zucchini seemed the mildest of them all, those changes, the sweetest. They were in the business of life now, he and Steve, of living; freed out from under Uncle Sam by hook and by crook and ready to make their own way. A way that had led them to the countryside, to a little house with four rooms and touchy plumbing, to a genuine feather bed and two cats and long, long ardent nights spent making up for lost time.

“Beautiful day outside,” Bucky said, gruff.

“Is it?” Steve slid an arm around Bucky’s waist.

“Fucking gorgeous. The pear tree’s starting to bloom.”

Steve squeezed, pulled Bucky back against his body, all that solid, all that weight. “That sounds nice. I bet it’s real pretty.”

Bucky’s breath hitched. “Yeah, it’s–ah, oh, pink and white and everything.” He let go of the soap and reached up to silence the water. “Something you should sketch, maybe. I bet you could capture it right.”

“Maybe I’ll take my pencils out later.”

“Yeah?” Bucky reached up and clutched wet at Steve’s hair, pulled his head down towards Bucky’s neck. “We could eat lunch in the shade, maybe.”

Steve’s mouth opened, obliging, and sucked a kiss into Bucky’s hot throat. “Mmmm. I’d like that.”

“You would, huh?”

A chuckle. “You know what I’d like better, though? In this particular moment?”

“Tell me.”

He felt Steve smile. “You know why I used to give you shit about smoking inside?”

“No. Why?”

“Because. Watching you hold one of those damn things between your lips, watching you suck on the tip, used to make me so hot.”

Buck’s dick gave a fierce jerk. “Oh, god.”

Steve bit at his neck. “I’d walk in,” he murmured, “and smell your smoke and not be able to breathe and then I’d see you, your mouth, that thing that had so easy what I was dying for, your tongue on me, Buck, the way you’d purse your lips when you took a drag in”–he groaned in Bucky’s ear, rolled his hips against Bucky’s ass–“fuck, it made me so hard it was all I could do not to go to my knees and beg you to put your mouth on my cock instead.”

“Why didn’t you?” Bucky bobbled and grabbed at the edge of the sink, tried to keep himself on his feet. “God, Stevie, you don’t know what I’d given to have you ask for that. Jesus, you know how long and hard I beat myself up for wanting you?”

“How long?” Steve asked, his voice a soft, shaking growl.

Bucky turned his head, his body, and found Steve’s face, grabbed greedily at all that bare skin, that broad, beloved body. “Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck, beautiful. My whole life.”

Just now I made a friend in a dream. She was very sweet and very nice. I found her just by clicking around randomly on Tumblr and I accidentally sent her a message. I happened to be lost on my way to get some calzones so she picked me up and gave me a ride.

We sang karaoke in her car and she needed to stop by the bank so we went in together. There was an inktober prompt generator, and the one that I got was “Dunsparce who really needs to use an electric bike” and just as I was ready to draw it I noticed there was a crane machine there. It had Dunsparce plushies in it! Ever since I was little I’ve always been super good at crane machines!! I only had a dollar on me though. I noticed that there was a pencil jammed into the coin slot and although I should have known, it was there for a reason. I pulled it out, and instantly the crane made the usual dropping sound and dropped down into the prize bin. I absolutely hate it whenever crane machines work on their own or are broken. I woke up instantly with a feeling of sleep paralysis and my whole body was numb and I couldn’t move. I felt like I was on fire and I had tears streaming down my face.

Romantic/Fluff Sentence Starters!

“You have something in your hair - let me get it for you.”

“Hm? Oh, sorry. I couldn’t help but stare at you.”

“Um, would it be okay if I held your hand?”

“Shut up and kiss me already.”

“You’re the most important person in my life.”

“Are you tired? Here, I’ll carry you the rest of the way.”

“I’m not much of a chef, but… I really hope you like this.”

“Sorry for calling so late - I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“I need you more than you need me.”

“I want to kiss you and hold your hand any time I want.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you… I can’t.”

“The truth is… I love you.”

“You like me more than you like them, right? Right?”

“Be mine. Please.”

“I am who I am because of you.”

“It’s been a long day… let’s take a bath together.”

“Wait, don’t pull away - I want to hug you for awhile longer.”

“Ah- I adore your laugh.”

“Stop that, it tickles!”

“Ouch, I bit my lip… kiss it better?”

“I don’t want to get up… I’m so warm beside you.”

“You’re so intoxicating to me.”

“Your eyes are amazing… do you know that?”

“You’re just so wonderful.”

“S-Stop looking at me like that! You’re making me blush…”

“Are you tired? Rest in your head in my lap.”

“You, Me, Order In, Netflix… waddya say?”

“I want to be more than just friends with you.”

“Fuck it - do you wanna get married?”

“Your smile is beyond gorgeous… please, keep doing it.”

“Whenever we’re together, I feel at home.”

“Will you say you love me? Pleeease?”

“Wait, don’t go! Can’t you stay the night?”

“Wow - you look… amazing.”

“*Puts hands over eyes from behind* Guess whooo?”

“I’m not jealous! It’s just… you’re mine!”

“I want to go on a date! I demand it!”

“We just met, this is crazy, I’m referencing a song… but call me maybe?”

“What? No! I wasn’t staring… I-I was looking at something behind you!”

“Do you want some? Here, open your mouth… I’ll feed you some!”

“It’s been a long day… here, let me give you a massage.”

“Is it alright if I call you princess?”

“It’s not like I like you or anything! … Okay, well- maybe I do.”

“I think your perfect. Even with your flaws, you’re nothing but perfect.”

“That was barely even a kiss! Do it again - please?”

“What? No. I wasn’t aiming for your hand. I was reaching for the, uh- popcorn.”

  • <p> <b>Patton:</b> Hey! Honey! Let's play a fun game called you close your eyes and don't open them until you're in another room!<p/><b>Logan:</b> What have you done.<p/><b>Patton:</b> Who says I've done anything??<p/><b>Logan:</b> I can see the dog.<p/><b>Patton:</b> His name is Egg and I love him.<p/></p>
Send me “Restrained” + a number for a starter in which one or both of our characters are:

Or send “Restrained?” for a randomly generated number.

1. Locked in the trunk of a car
2. Tied to a chair
3. Chained up to the wall
4. In a cage
5. Behind prison bars
6. In a room with a locked door and barred windows
7. Hand-cuffed to an object of their choice
8. Hand-cuffed to one other person (or each other)
9. Stuck in a hole underground
10. Trapped in an attic
11. Trapped in a tomb or mausoleum
12. Stuck in the back of a police car
13. Stuck in an elevator
14. Locked in a vault
15. Strapped to a table


「NEET or Treat!」

Hey! It’s officially the first of Halloween October, so here’s a small prompt generator for some Halloween art inspiration! 

You can click n’ drag, take a screenshot, or use Gyazo to capture a small section or your screen to grab your prompt combinations — we’ve included six different categories, so you can mix n’ match which ones you want to use! 

Plus, they’re all up to interpretation; for example, you don’t need to literally base the movie prompt off the horror movies listed, but you can just take inspiration from the title if you want to!

If you’d like us to reblog your post, feel free to @ the blog! We might not reblog every post, but it’s nice to see people having fun this spooky month! Otherwise, feel free to just mess about with the generator and enjoy!

Send me “Bad Touch” for some randomly generated violence.

Or send “Bad Touch reverse” for our muses to switch roles.

1) Slapping your muse across the face
2) Punching your muse in the face
3) Punching your muse in the shoulder/arm
4) Kicking your muse off of their feet
5) Stepping on your muse’s foot
6) Biting your muse
7) Grabbing your muse’s face
8) Wrapping hands around your muse’s neck
9) Pushing your muse into a wall
10) Pushing your muse to the ground
11) Holding a gun to your muse’s head
12) Shooting your muse in the arm/leg
13) Holding a knife to your muse’s throat
14) Using a knife to slash your muse across the arm
15) Hitting your muse in the head with a blunt object
16) Scratching your muse with their nails
17) Throwing something at your muse
18) Stabbing your muse with a sharp weapon
19) Breaking one of your muse’s bones
20) Twisting your muse’s arm

Make An OC That...

.. uses ‘it’ pronouns
.. is an otaku
.. has OCs
.. takes care of injured animals they find
.. witnessed a murder as a kid and has never talked since then
.. has an imaginary friend
.. sees ghosts and they are buddies with all of them and they help each other
.. that always makes up conspiracy theories and thinks the government is after them because “they know too much”
.. is an Instagram model and does it for a living
.. always forces their friends to watch terribly bad movies
.. was put in a coma to wake up 100 years in the future
.. is band obsessed
.. never grew out of their embarrassing teeny emo phase


“I’ll be leaving as soon as the sun comes up, so don’t pass out on top of me again.”

Erwin huffed and the breath ruffled the dark hair at his crown. He was black and white. Black hair, white skin, black eyes, white teeth in the moonlight. Levi would slip away come morning one way or another and leave him with a growing cold spot in his bed and a coldness somewhere deep within him he couldn’t name.

“Please” He whispered, but he didn’t finish the request. Knew it wouldn’t do.

Instead, he ran the blunt calloused tips of his finger up the man’s side. He took immense satisfaction in the slight shiver it elicited and held tighter to the strong body beneath him. All muscle and sinew and sharp elbows and sharper eyes. He kept his own pinched shut. Wanted to live inside this moment as long as he could. Before the first light of dawn began to trickle into his room and rouse him from this sweetness.

He was still hot and sticky with sweat from his exertions. Levi was a tight fit and fucking him felt like fighting and dying and being swallowed whole and reborn. He wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. The solace and the pain were a balm to his broken flesh and bruised ego, even if Levi’s tongue was quick and barbed.

Erwin buried his face into the side of his neck, breathed him in. Levi smelled like sweat and soap and something fresh like sun-baked sheets in summer. He nuzzled against the shell of his ear and thought to kiss his jaw, feel the slight chafe of his stubble against his lips but Levi shifted away then muttering something about, “tickles like fuck.” and Erwin chuckled at that.

“Sorry,” Erwin murmured against his hair without feeling.

“I just want you to stay a little longer.” He whispered.

Levi struggled out of his grasp and heaved himself to the edge of the bed. He dipped down and retrieved Erwin’s shirt from the floor and began wiping himself off. He was a clean creature which surprised many but Erwin found it fitting. Levi was much like a cat; fastidious and agile but full of claws and sharp teeth and not willing to suffer the company of anyone or anything unless it pleased him or proved itself useful.

Erwin stretched out his legs as he watched him, preparing himself for a lonely bed, when Levi tossed the soiled shirt aside and rolled back into the space beside him.

“I have to leave before reveille.” 

Erwin nodded.

He understood.

It was an open secret to those who cared to see it, who looked after them as they crossed parade grounds side by side and watched as their elbows bumped against one another as they took their meals in the dining hall. But it wouldn’t do to flaunt, to brazenly defy rules about fraternization, chain of command, military integrity.

So Levi came in the dead of night when he visited and on nights when he stayed any longer than he deemed necessary, he left before dawn. And Erwin wished he could keep him longer and tried to hold him to his chest until the last moment but each morning with the first light he would let him go.

They named her Elizabeth Mayinga Holmes. While Mrs. Hudson gushed about the little girl in Molly’s hands, John dig out his phone and did a quick search. And then he groaned.

When his wife looked at him strangely he just showed her the result on the screen. Mary merely snorted and shook her head. She didn’t understand why he was so surprised.

Of course Sherlock and Molly Holmes will name their daughter after an Ebola virus variant. Was there ever any doubt?

As the little girl grew she was called by just about any variation of her name. Only her uncle still called her Elizabeth. He was persistent in his opinion that since she was named that way that is the only name that should be used.

Her mother always called her Ellie. Even when she was angry at her, and her father, for playing with an experiment that was recklessly left out in the open, she was always Ellie.

Uncle John and aunt Mary used the nickname Liz, and her not-real-but-we-don’t-care cousin always called her Lizzy. They were Rosie and Lizzy and they were inseparable.

Her grandparents loved her unique middle name, even though grandma Violet scowled Sherlock about naming his daughter after a deadly disease, but they never used it. Instead to them she was Eliza.

Mrs. Hudson said right away she looked like a Beth, so that nickname remained until the landlady died many years later.

Inspector Lestrade often dropped by the flat to talk to her dad. He too was a honorary uncle, but he always called her ‘kid’. So she never failed to use a different name that started on G when she talked to him.

But from all the nicknames Elizabeth preferred the one her dad used. It was simple.

He called her Sweetheart.

send me the word “prompt” and i’ll randomly generate a word, then make a starter based off of it!

if you want a starter based off a specific word, send me that word. 

  1. gone
  2. repeat
  3. justice
  4. question
  5. water
  6. worried
  7. warm
  8. excitement
  9. rest
  10. remember
  11. truth
  12. yell
  13. under
  14. illness
  15. open
  16. pull
  17. push
  18. impossible
  19. always
  20. sadness
  21. solitude 
  22. despair
  23. denial
  24. fall
  25. ghost
  26. failure
  27. home
  28. killed
  29. love
  30. loss
  31. clarity
  32. calm
  33. violent
  34. normal
  35. abnormal 
  36. monster
  37. hurt
  38. cold
  39. ending
  40. war
  41. nightmare
  42. sleep

Mycroft was turning 45 and Molly wanted to do something special for him. And once she learned from Anthea that he preferred yellow cake with chocolate frosting she knew just the thing to make.

And it turned out perfect. Absolutely perfect.

It took more time than usual to make it, mostly due to the fact she wasn’t using her own kitchen but the one in Baker Street, but finally Molly was done with the cake and carefully moved it to the fridge. Of course she personally cleaned and disinfected the whole thing to ensure she doesn’t accidentally poison anyone.

Sherlock was suspiciously quiet the whole time and just watched her from his spot on the leather armchair. A few times she glanced his way, expecting to hear a barb about his brother needing to go on a diet and not a Birthday cake, but it never came.

“Everyone will be here at 7. Make sure you text Mycroft shortly before and tell him there is an emergency.” she instructed before turning to walk to the bedroom and get some clean clothes before jumping under the shower, “And do not tell him about the surprise party.”

Molly entered the bedroom so she didn’t hear Sherlock huff, or saw him sink lower on the armchair. He was sulking and he knew it. But he couldn’t help it.

It was so unfair.

When they celebrated his Birthday he knew beforehand about the dinner at Angelo’s and Molly brought store bought cake. But Mycroft gets a surprise party and a home made one.

He eyes the fridge for a moment, arguing with himself. It would be so easy to sabotage Molly’s hard work and make the cake inedible. But he loved Molly and would never intentionally do something that would make her upset. The cake she baked looked really good.

Really, really good. And he was certain it tasted great too. Molly Hooper was skillful in many ways.

With an over-dramatic flair Sherlock got out of his armchair and sauntered to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and looked at the perfectly round, chocolate frosting covered cake. And he just had to know.

Later on when Mycroft arrived he was pleasantly surprised to see tea and biscuits and friends. And then Molly announced she baked cake especially for him.

And then she look it out of the fridge.

And sighed.

There was a deep grove in the frosting, going all around the cake. A trench in the chocolate frosting made, she was absolutely certain of it, with a finger.

“You just couldn’t help yourself?” she grumbled after entering the sitting room, the cake in her hands. There was no use trying and fix things. It was too late.

Sherlock just shrugged, “I wanted to taste the frosting and you refused to give me the spatula. It’s good, by the way. When will you make it again?”

anonymous asked:

i'm in love with your story and i've been wanting to make one of my own but don't know how to get started, both story wise and gameplay wise. any tips?

Sandy’s Masterpost for writing a Sim Story!  ✍

I’m so glad you like my story! But I know how it feels not knowing where to start when it comes to writing, it’s so frustrating. So, below I’ve put together a bunch of helpful links that I’ve either used in the past or believe will be useful to you, and any other aspiring storytellers! 

🌸 Inspiration: 

🌸 Planning:

🌸 Plot Developement:

🌸 Character Development:

🌸 Dialogue:

🍁 Pose List Rec:

🍁Lot List Rec:

🍁 Mod List Rec:

🍁 Tutorials:

🍁 Reshade:

❄️ Character Page Rec: (for your blog)


❄️ Some Stories/Legacies that Inspire Me:

This is everything I could think of nonny! I am by no means a great, or even a particularly good storyteller, but I sincerely hope this post helps you, and others, get started! If you ever want to chat more, come off anon and we can talk story ideas! And that applies to all of y’all! 💖

a hotter touch, a better fuck

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warning(s): Possessive/Jealous Bucky, smut - dirty talk, semi-public, very slight dub-con (everybody is totally willing, the reader is just trying to have an important conversation and Bucky interrupts with sex)

Summary: Bucky and the reader are friends with benefits. After a rooftop party, the reader confronts Bucky about ending their relationship. He does not take it well. Honestly just an excuse to write 2k+ of finger-fucking

Notes: For @valuedabovehoardedgold from this prompt post; the generated topics were friends with benefits, rooftop, and hate sex (that I changed to be jealous sex).

Requests are open | Tag list is open

I lost some steam near the end but I hope it’s not too noticeable. If it is sorry 😂 I’ll try to fix that later.

Originally posted by caps-bucky

Manhattan comes alive at night, a living, breathing urban jungle stretching as far as the eye can see. Its skyline is full of concrete giants that reach for the clouds. Seeing it on high is absolutely breathtaking, the twinkling lights set against the black backdrop of the sky a stark contrast that catches and calls to the eye.

The steady heartbeat pulses through the streets and echoes in the hearts of everyone who calls the city that never sleeps home. Just look and you’ll find a place for everyone, even those that are everywhere but from nowhere; wanderers drifting with the tide of life. After everything that’s happened in the world, she can’t fade back into anonymity like they can. She will never be another civilian, she doesn’t have a ‘regular’ life to go back to. 

The powers she possesses set her apart. 

She belongs to something greater, something that could make a real difference in the world. Becoming a member of the Avengers has irrevocably changed a basic, primal part of her being and standing atop the Tower, gazing down on the city and its people she’s sworn to protect, she knows with a bone-deep certainty that she’ll never get used to a sight like this no matter how long she calls New York home. Its beauty isn’t apparent to everyone but to her, she’s never seen anything quite so magnificent. 

“Enjoying the view, doll?”

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