south_park_kink_meme ([personal profile] south_park_kink_meme) wrote2022-11-28 01:13 am
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General Prompt Meme

Welcome to the South Park General Prompt Meme!

Got a non-kinky situation you'd like written? Just wanna see some guys in some situations? Please feel free to leave a prompt below in the comments, and see if there are any you'd like to write or draw!

As with the kink meme, as long as you've got something you'd really like to see and you give a potential filler enough to work with, you should be golden! Please ask here if you've got any questions or need any help.


Some simple guidelines:

1. Please do not fight about ships or content in your prompts.

2. Hit "Post a new comment" if you'd like to leave a prompt, and hit "Reply to this" beneath the prompt you'd like to fill if you're filling a prompt. It's traditional to write the fic in the replies, but you can leave external site links too (such as link to art on privatter or to fic on AO3).

3. Ships are fine but not necessary. If your idea centers around a ship, as on AO3, please indicate that in the subject line with "/" for romantic or sexual relationships, and use "&" to indicate non-sexual or non-romantic relationships. If it centers around just one character, please provide the character's name. Please see this example prompt if you'd like some guidance.

4. If you submit a prompt that would be better suited for the kink meme (such as a prompt that centers around smut, kink, or a taboo), I may add it there instead so please check the kink meme if you don't see your prompt here!

Thank you, and please enjoy!



These are archived on the main index page that also includes all the kink meme prompts and fills, but please find below an index of only general meme prompts and fills (for those who would prefer not to scroll a ton of NSFW):


Filled Prompts


Unfilled Prompts


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Craig/Tweek, homoerotic tension, kissing, longing. with metro Creek

(Anonymous) 2022-12-22 08:30 pm (UTC)(link)
During the metro craze, Tweek needs help with his styling and Craig takes great pride in being able to make him look so pretty. Tweek's shy and extra twitchy though, as Craig applies lip product with his thumb. He's breathing heavily, struggling to hold eye contact, and when Craig insists Tweek look at him, Tweek gives him a look of such pure need that Craig instinctively knows he has to kiss him. It's a time in Craig's life when he has an excuse to run his fingers through Tweek's hair and tease him (sweetly) for getting flustered. That's their life until it isn't. The fad ends, and then it's taken away, and there's longing and sadness

Re: Craig/Tweek, homoerotic tension, kissing, longing. with metro Creek

(Anonymous) 2023-01-23 07:35 am (UTC)(link)
ahughh. did not read it over. hoping you are fine with tweek pov, also
---

South Park is gay, and so is Tweek. It’s not something he decided for himself, nor did he have a say in the matter when it comes to everyone else—but this is his life now, and while it isn’t all sunshine, it sure is a lot of rainbows, and he’ll make the best of it.

The usual smell of sweat mixed with dirt and sometimes a moderate amount of piss that once lingered in the hallways has since been replaced by pleasant fragrances with names probably too fancy for Tweek to even spell. As he makes his way to his locker, he can make out the sharp scent of Tolkien’s cologne along with Jason’s hair spray.

His new gang—no, clique, stands near the entrance of the boys’ bathroom, now cleaner than ever. Craig and those other guys aren’t just metrosexual, they’re the metrosexuals, guarding their turf like it’s a sacred goalpost. Except not, because they aren’t Nuggets-enjoying, Broncos-worshiping, dirty jocks anymore and all of them know better than to go near a filthy soccer ball.

Every morning, they all take turns to greet each other with consecutive kisses on both cheeks, accompanied by an audible mwah, mwah. Tweek doesn’t do that with anyone, though. He stands there and watches. Nobody really minds him doing that, except Craig who’s currently standing in front of him, extending his arm out to him.

“What’s wrong, Honey,” he says. It sounds like a challenge, a demand, and also genuine concern at the same time. He takes one deep breath upon deciding to approach him, His chin briefly ends up in the crook of Craig’s neck, but the one armed hug they share ends when Tweek quickly backs away from him with a yelp.

Tweek wasn’t always “Honey.” “Chapped lips,” was how Craig first approached him—and it wasn’t his fucking fault that he had extra sensitive skin and was prone to bite on them by accident. Though he was super ready to bite Craig on purpose right in that moment, instead. Why was he trying to pick yet another fight after what everyone made them do?

They can be dainty and pretty all they want, but they’re still boys in an elementary school where failing behind on the latest trend doesn’t go unpunished. Once you’re out of fashion, literally and figuratively, you’re out—out of the playground.

Tweek really didn’t want it to come to that—not because he couldn’t picture the black eye he could easily give Craig. He was worried mostly about how he definitely wouldn’t look pretty after rolling in the dirty ground while trying to wipe a smirk off of another kid’s face. Tweek already had to spend literal hours trying to look presentable and less disheveled, and he knew his nervous reaction to having all that be ruined for a petty fistfight would be far from the pretty, graceful way actors manage to cry on TV.

Turns out he didn’t have to be afraid, and it was just that Craig was feeling sooo generous, that he was just really passionate about sharing and caring and all that gay stuff—and that’s how he got his own matching pink designer track top he’s wearing now. He watched Mr. Tucker iron Tweek’s name on it just yesterday, after they all caught up with the latest Queer Eye. So Tweek knows he’s a part of it all, and that he’s one of them, and yet he still feels like he’s on thin ice with everything, but mostly with Craig in particular. Especially with the way he’s still staring at Tweek, seemingly deep in thought.

He doesn’t say anything. He just grabs Tweek by the hand, surprisingly gentle, and drags him into the bathroom right after Tolkien and Jason get the cue to kick literally everyone else out, leaving only the two of them.

“Forgot to brush your hair this morning?”

“Augh, tried, man. But I—I fucking hate brushing!”

“Oh, I can tell,” he says, as he’s doing his best to untangle and tame Tweek’s locks with his fingers instead. Tweek’s so nervous, he almost feels guilty, as if he’s keeping Craig hostage, like every individual strand in his hair has a will on its own and it’s out of his control.

When he was over at Craig’s, he survived the sharp smell of the hair dye, the rustling of plastic gloves and loud blow dryer, all playing a part on the brown highlights he’s sporting today. Now, though, it’s quiet aside from distant chatter coming outside the bathroom, it’s even harder distract himself from the tender sensations especially when Craig keeps saying shit like—

“Well, you’re lucky it’s pretty, even when it’s like this.”

Pretty, pretty, pretty. That’s all Craig says nowadays, and it’s so weird, and even weirder when it’s often directed to Tweek. It’s what he said when he was sitting with his back turned to Craig and with his knees pulled to his chest, being reassured about how Craig knows what he’s doing, that he’s totally helped his mom with hers, and no, not just watched, actually helped. Tweek didn’t really buy it though, the straightener was too hot, there’s no way he wasn’t going to fry. Craig told him to calm his tits. “I’m not gonna steal your hair. It already looks pretty on you,” and of course, he later followed with, “not as pretty as it’ll be when I’m done with it, though”.

Recalling it makes Tweek yelp out once more. There’s no hot iron close to his scalp right now, and yet Tweek is burning up inside, he’s afraid he might accidentally incinerate Craig, too. Though he notices a lack of mildly painful tugging of his locks, and that Craig is now able to run his fingers, and also that he’s probably been doing so for the past minute.

He keeps saying how soft Tweek’s skin is, and how he probably doesn’t even have to shave, and Tweek doesn’t get it—Craig, we’re ten, none of us do. He doesn’t object, though, letting Craig proceed to apply powder on his cheeks. The same hands previously focused on ruining his face like, what, a couple of months ago—are now handling it with utter care. Somehow, it’s weirdly similar, the major difference being that Tweek isn’t trying to actively knee him in the stomach right now. He’s just standing here, docile and obedient. At least that’s what he’s trying to do, as he's still seconds away from accidentally decking him with the violent way he’s twitching.

Tweek’s eyes are shut until he’s startled by the touch of Craig’s finger brushing on his lip— he’s lip balm, shaking his head.

“You don’t want pretty lips?”

“Augh, I do—”

“Then just let me.”

Tweek nods, though he still isn’t letting Craig, really. He’s flinching too often to actually get the balm on his lips, causing most of it to end up on the corner of his mouth instead.

“Stay still, or we’re going to miss class, and stay like this for hours,” he warns, like it’s going to stop Tweek. It should, considering this situation is the source of his anxiety to begin with, so he should be wanting to get away as soon as possible. Yet, on the other hand, he doesn’t mind just staying like this, frozen in time, not having to think about anything or face anyone else. While Craig’s thumb is pressing on his lips as he’s holding his breath on pure instinct.

“Okay. Now look at me.”

He can’t look Craig will know, know what, Tweek has no idea, it’s something he can’t show.

“Tweek, look at me.”

“Rrr— I don’t wanna!”

“You think I’d make you ugly,” he asks. “Me. You actually think that’s possible. Is that it?”

“Ngh—no!”

“That’s great. Then you can just look at me, Honey.”

Tweek’s starting to get kind of pissed off. At all of Craig’s demands, and his blatant disregard for consequence. So he says fuck it, and does it, he looks at Craig, not giving a damn about what he’s going to unleash on him anymore—or whatever it is that Craig is intending to find there. Their eyes do meet, eventually, without Craig having those stupid shades on. What Tweek was so afraid of happening the whole time has happened already, and yet it somehow turns out to be the most comforting thing in the world, he lets himself ease up, feel at home. He’s so relaxed, he doesn’t even avert his gaze, and he doesn’t notice the way Craig looks at him back until he presses their lips together.

What’s this? What just happened? He wasn’t listening to Craig when he was going on and on about the ideal way to apply lip balm. Something something pigments and equal distribution. Tweek knows this isn’t how you apply lip products, though. Is this a part of the trend, part of being gay? It does like it— it somehow feels right.

They don’t talk about it. He spends the rest of the day feeling like he’s floating above everything and everyone the entire time. He’s still not quite present when it’s break time before their last class and they’re all cornering Kyle Broflovski, resident butch boy, who’s apparently going out of his way to prove he’s sooo better than all of them according to Craig. Not that Tweek minds straight people, at least not as long as they’re not trying to make it into their entire personality. The pressure of meticulous self care is already a lot on its own and Tweek can’t tolerate metrophobia on top of that. So naturally, things get rough for Kyle, but they go easy on him, Tweek can tell—he’s fought Craig before, so it’s an easy comparison to make. No matter what he’s wearing, Tweek knows what Craig is capable of. At least he thought he knew, until today. What he experienced might have lasted for two seconds or less, and yet it was enough to shake him from the core, make him feel a way he didn’t know was possible.

And the feeling is still there, too, even after Tweek goes home. It’s like some sort of permanent mark on him. A stamp, maybe an alien tracking device, or a hex, though even Tweek knows that’s not the case. He’s also terrified that he’ll be noticed, that one of his parents will notice and drop the bomb out of nowhere, just like always, and it’ll be horrible— it’s not like they’re able to have normal conversations about even the most mundane topic. That doesn’t happen, though. It’s not like they can see it. Craig’s strawberry chapstick is indistinguishable on his lips. The soft pink color would probably blend with his own. His dad is too busy to notice anyway, describing the new unicorn drink with marshmallows they’re selling at the shop.

Very unlike anything he can imagine aliens doing to him, Tweek doesn’t want to be rid of this, though. He doesn’t like the thought of that at all. He even hesitates before taking a sip of his coffee on the dining table, fearing that it’ll somehow be all gone and washed away.

He doesn’t want that. So when Tweek shows up the other day, that’s what he does—Craig extends his arm again to initiate another hug, and Tweek places a quick peck on Craig’s lips. That’s what he’s supposed to do, right? Did he do it right? Except he isn’t as worried about his performance as he would normally be, not when he’s ecstatic after getting something he wanted, and when he’s somehow able to look into Craig’s eyes with confidence this time.

The part of Tweek that still does fear Craig’s reaction also soon vanishes into thin air when he sees the smile Craig is giving him. That’s what marks the beginning of their new routine. Tweek still isn’t “girlfriend” or “sweetie”, he’s “Honey”, and Craig doesn’t go for a hug anymore, instead opting to go for Tweek’s chin to tilt his face upwards to meet his lips. They do the same thing every morning, and also when the last bell rings. They always giggle right after— at their shared accomplishment and just how effortlessly good they are at this. They’re so extra, just super triple dog gay—and they can’t help it.



He decides that he doesn’t care about sports. He doesn’t care about Love Boat With Men, either, or clothes that do or don’t fit. What brings him joy is so much more than that. But no, it absolutely doesn’t have anything to do with kissing his dinosaur plushie good night while imagining it’s Craig or anything, maybe just a little with the way he helped Craig put together dorky angel wings for their pride parade.

For a while, they’re lost in their own little world, and maybe that’s why it’s much harder for them to notice the exact point in time when things start reverting back to normal. The closest it gets to normal in the town they live in, anyway. Tweek isn’t sure how everyone is able to collectively decide when they’re done with something, but in the end, the day he decides to forfeit the pink is just a day like any other. When he looks in his closet, though, he can’t find anything even vaguely resembling what he used to wear. That’s not unusual for him, but they’re not under his bed or on the ground like they tend to be, either.

He makes his way downstairs. His mother says good morning to him, and claims not to know what happened to his shirt while wiping the dirty kitchen counter with what used to be one of its green sleeves. She then giggles upon Tweek pointing it out, laughing about how absent-minded she can be sometimes—just like Tweek, who never takes good care of his belongings, either. More questioning reveals how his dad has done him the charitable favor of throwing out all of his old clothes in bulk. Eventually, his efforts making sense of things prove to be futile, and so another one of his brief temper tantrums is put on the shelf before he heads out with the fidget spinner he’s given.

Upon going outside, he’s greeted with Spanish he doesn’t understand. He manages to dodge most of the glass bottles that get thrown at him. He soon gives up on the idea of scavenging the nearest clothes recycling bin for the fear of possibly getting stuck there—even if it might actually be safer from anywhere else in South Park right now, unless it’s inhabited by a rabid animal or something. He does have a plan B, though. He checks his phone to be greeted with the notification that Craig has indeed received and seen his most recent text.

It’s roughly fifteen minutes before the first period, and he’s somehow managed to sneak in without being seen by anyone except for some random third graders that laughed at him. He’s now in the thankfully empty boys bathroom, and Craig soon arrives as per their arrangement— the usual, stupid hat he wears covers most of his forehead yet again, and Tweek assumes his hair isn’t slick and perfectly parted with gel anymore underneath it.

Re: Craig/Tweek, homoerotic tension, kissing, longing. with metro Creek

(Anonymous) 2023-01-23 07:35 am (UTC)(link)
It’s Craig who has Tweek’s clothes from way back when the Tucker residence acted as their main headquarters for beauty rituals, after they’d return with bags from the sale over at Express for Men. Without further ado, Tweek is handed an old pair of pants and one of his trademark green button-up shirts—they’re folded neatly, very unlike the way Tweek remembers tossing them before changing, and not at all like how they were kept at his own house. Without perfume on either of them, Tweek can take in the fresh scent of laundry soap, openly signaling that they’ve been washed recently.

“Thanks, man,” Tweek says, getting a simple nod of acknowledgement from Craig in return.

It’s kind of tense for a while. This feels different from changing in the gym locker rooms, but also nothing like playing dress up with his metrosexual friends. Tweek is inside one of the stalls, the door isn’t fully shut. Craig is outside, looking away from Tweek, holding garments Tweek hands him over, and making sure nobody else is coming in. He’s also what Tweek grabs for support when he almost loses his balance while trying to get both of his legs into his pants at the same time.

Eventually, he pushes the stall door open, and is greeted with Craig still facing away from him. “Rrgh—you can turn around now! It’s okay,” Tweek says, and Craig does face him again, getting a good look at Tweek before speaking up.

“That’s not okay,” Craig replies, and of fucking course it’s not. Tweek is wearing jeans, for god’s sake—they’re ripped, and not even fashionably. It’s just not okay for him to walk around like that. It’s not okay that he’s just expected to get used to things changing all over again, and it’s not okay for the two of them to be like this. He looks up at Craig to perhaps find the same judgmental gaze he already misses, before realizing Craig is in fact referring to the exposed parts of Tweek’s chest and stomach.

His buttons are all fucked up, which isn’t new or surprising, though it’s even worse than usual. In Tweek’s defense, he didn’t have to actually button up his shirt in a while, quickly getting used to the comfort that zippers offered at the time.

Apparently finding it unsalvageable, he proceeds to undo all the buttons and starts doing them from bottom to top. He’s doing it with intense concentration, an amount of focus Tweek wouldn’t be able to picture himself having towards anything— or never expect to be actually receiving.

It’s the same doting care, the sense that they’re sharing something special that others just can’t. It’s all just very familiar, it’s almost like things are still just like how they’ve always been, regardless of if his hands are covered with boxing gloves, moisturizer, or just dried glue and bandaids.

Perhaps that’s why after he’s done with the top button, Craig leans in, and Tweek also closes the distance between them, letting Craig’s thumb brush on his chin once again. Their faces are so close again now, but unlike before, there’s no perfume, no make-up, and a much stronger need— but also an invisible force snaps them out of the magnetic pull they’re in.

“Uh,” both of them let out at the same time before they both back away and avert their gaze—at least Tweek does. It’d be a good time for both of them to start laughing about old habits, but no nasal snort comes that his own raspy, awkward chuckle can follow. Instead, it’s just silence.

This time, Tweek wants to look more than anything. As his eyeballs wage a desperate war to gaze at Craig’s direction once more, he has to actively keep himself from giving in. It’s not an anxiety induced horror movie jumpscare he’s afraid of. Craig suddenly morphing into whatever monster he conjures up in his nightmares couldn’t compare to the sight of him not looking at Tweek back, or something even worse—their eyes actually meeting and all the implications that would arise out of it. He doesn’t want to face them, watch them grow and prosper, nor witness them crash and burn right before his eyes. Maybe it’s better that they never come to exist in the first place. Or maybe, he actually wants them to slip away from his sight and escape, hide and blend, continue to linger freely in the air and be buried deep and safe somewhere in the soil. All without him ever having to be aware, yet still patiently waiting to be freed. Today, though, nothing happens, and out of all the farewell gestures they’ve shared, this one ends up feeling the most like a Goodbye.

Because this can’t be their everyday anymore, and Tweek has to go and make peace with this fact, presumably all by himself. He exits the bathroom, Craig doesn’t follow him out of the door, and Tweek doesn’t look back at him. With every step he takes, he feels the distance between them grow and feed into the sudden whiplash he’s experiencing after being suddenly so far away— right after feeling closer than ever to Craig. Their faces being a hand span apart, and Craig’s neck and a small corner of his face being the only parts that make up the last glimpse Tweek has of him. Somehow, all of it felt even more intimate than when he's actually kissed him as part of a morning ritual. He keeps on walking, still reflecting on events that he knows he’ll be still thinking about when he’s playing basketball with Stan and Kyle and the other guys, and when Craig is in the other part of the playground talking about Space Trek or some shit with Kevin Stoley.

When they end up sitting a few desks away from each other in the same class, he feels Craig sneaking glances, unsure if it’s the result of some weird wishful thinking or just the usual paranoia—though in the end, it’s all the same, really. After all, everyone knows that Tweek makes stuff up. That he imagines things. So, even when he readjusts to normalcy and can’t recall the scent of Craig’s perfume anymore—he still finds himself wondering how Craig’s lips would taste without the chapstick or the lip gloss, and if he’ll ever get to find out, someday.

Re: Craig/Tweek, homoerotic tension, kissing, longing. with metro Creek

(Anonymous) 2023-01-26 08:35 pm (UTC)(link)
this is absolutely everything i ever wanted out of this prompt. it's so funny and sweet and well-written, and i love how you play up the fact that they are just two background dudes in an absurdist cartoon show that resets weekly. i will be rereading often -- thank you for this wonderful fill <3 [plz imagine: cat crying, cat shaking fictional gays]
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