#*posts this and runs*

[ricky-horrors-whore]

Panty sniffer Noah whose eyes rolls back as he inhales a deep breath of you.

You’re not home and he won’t get off without the thought of his head being crushed between your thighs and at least with having your underwear pressed to his face it’s a little better imagining he’s nuzzled up against you instead, right where he should be and moaning quietly while he ruts into his own hand, like he ruts into the bed while going down on you.

Noah trying to ignore disappointment when he automatically kicks the used fabric and it’s not what he craves, but breathes in and nearly whines your name.

Panty sniffer Noah whose eyes get a little cloudy just from the high he gets of inhaling your scent.

Panty sniffer Noah who actually tries to get you to mail him “fresh” underwear when he’s away on tour.

[i-never-forgot]

Who wants another snippet of The Monstrosity?🙃

[tickle-bugs]

If you are comfortable with this, could you write one with Barbara and Adam Maitland with the dialogue “you may not find my dad jokes funny, but I have other ways of making you laugh.”

i realized only after i finished this that i forgot to include the dialogue NOOOOOOO

this is the same premise tho, hope u enjoy it!!!

Not a House, But a Home

“Honey, can you fix us some lunch while I finish this up?” Barbara calls, dropping her paintbrush into the glue bucket. She gathers up the remaining wallpaper as neat as possible and sets it out of the way.  

This house of theirs is really starting to feel like a home. A little too big for just the two of them, but there’s nothing to be done about that. That ‘expanding the family’ conversation always ends in a depressingly existential place, and well…why think about that when she can put up new wallpaper?

The sickly yellow of the original house had always felt like a bad omen, but she’s hoping this pastel brocade will really liven up the place. Maybe the green would bring them some luck in their new lives. 

“Adam, I’m hungry,” Barbara calls again, frowning at where the wallpaper’s already starting to lift. 

She’s never claimed to be good at renovations, anyways. Thank god she didn’t start with their disaster of a bathroom. 

“Hi hungry, I’m dad.” Adam calls back, rounding the corner with a glowing smile. 

“Ha ha.” Barbara puts her hands on her hips and huffs a strand of hair out of her face. 

“You’ll never believe what I found in one of our boxes.” Adam brandishes a worn, bright blue book with garish text on the cover. The saturation is so intense that Barbara can hardly read it. He flips through it, muttering to himself, and stops on a random page.

“What’s brown and sticky?” He reads, mischief dancing in his eyes. She stares blankly at him.

“A stick!” He laughs—genuinely laughs, as if Barbara had told the joke herself. She rolls her eyes fondly. 

“Aw, I thought that one would get you.” Adam pouts. 

“Dad jokes just aren’t funny.” She shrugs. He flips through the book again.

“What kind of drink can be both bitter and sweet?” Adam pauses dramatically. “Reali-tea.”

“That’s just depressing, babe.” Barbara sighs. 

“You’re right. Oh! Here’s another one—when does a dad joke become a dad joke? When it becomes…apparent. Get it? Apparent?” He wheezes, nudging her shoulder. She smiles, but more at his antics than anything. 

“Yes, I get it. You goofball.” She swats his shoulder. 

“But you still didn’t laugh.” He frowns.

“Traditionally, people laugh at jokes that are funny. I don’t think your book is going to help you with that.” She kisses his cheek, resigning to make lunch herself while Adam works this little tangent out of his system. 

“No, wait, I’ve got a winner.” Adam tosses the book onto the dining room table. He wraps his arms around her waist from behind, stopping her escape to the kitchen. 

“How many tickles does it take to make an octopus laugh?” 

“Uhm…I dunno?” Barbara instinctually leans back into him, looking fondly up and over her shoulder at his giddy face. 

“Ten-tickles!” 

“Waitwaitwait, Adam! Ohoho nohoho!” Barbara tosses her head back into his shoulder as he tickles her. He kisses her temple as if he isn’t the problem. 

“So you do find my jokes funny!” Adam gasps happily. Barbara squirms in his grasp, her whole face scrunched with laughter. 

“N-No I don’t!” 

“Then why are you laughing?” Adam asks directly into her neck. He’s wise enough to dart out of the way, having enough past practice getting headbutted by her to be quick in his shenanigans. He zips between the sides of her neck, planting fluttery little kisses that make her knees and lungs go weak. 

Barbara cackles, slapping her hands over her mouth to muffle herself. Adam tickles her ribs because he’s mean, he’s so mean, and she grabs his wrists instead. He picks her up a little, vibrating a claw into her stomach, and she kicks her legs with everything she has. 

“Hey. Hey Barbara. What kind of music do chiropractors listen to?” He squeezes her sides, ensuring nothing but squeals can escape her. “They listen to hip pop!” 

“Adam!”

“Wanna hear a joke about construction? Ah, sorry. Still working on it.” 

“Okay, okahahay, you’re funny!” She pats his hand frantically, doubling over in his arms. He lets her go, but not without one last squeeze to the waist. She grabs his hands before he can get any more ideas.

He kisses her, one of those great big mwahs! that she never gets tired of. God, he’s a dork. Her dork. 

“‘Kay, now it’s definitely sandwich time.” She pats his chest, sucking in a deep, giggly breath. Her legs are still a little wobbly underneath her.

“Y’know, I’ve been trying to write a song about sandwiches.” Adam grins. 

“Don’t—“

“It’s really more of a wrap.” 

Barbara sighs with fond exasperation. Adam leans in for another kiss, running off to the kitchen with a yelp when she pinches his side. She waits until she hears the clanging of utensils to release the chuckle she’s holding.  

“A wrap. Classic.” She shakes her head and snickers. 

[folklouire]

the prophecy taylor swift twenty four hours joy division. is this anything

[lupin-bun]

Come Back to Me

William Easton/FTM OC, self ship, trauma, hurt/comfort, smut (in later chapters)

Week 1

Chapter 1 - A First Time for Everything

“You’re coming with me to a drag show tonight.”

William looked up from the file he had open on his lap as he sat on his couch, to stare in bewilderment at his sister.

“The hell’d you just say?”

“I said, you’re coming with me to a drag show tonight.” Pamela reiterated, as clearly and concisely as she could, one hand on the back of the couch, the other on her hip as she looked down at her brother.

Will snorted in disapproval and looked back down at the file.

“No way. Can you really see me at a drag show?” He turned his head long enough to raise his eyebrows at her, pointedly, before returning to the file.

“Will,” Pamela started, a warning tone to her voice, “it’s been almost a year, and all you do is work. You never go out, you never meet up with friends, I don’t think I’ve even seen you smile since then.”

Will flipped the file shut in annoyance and shot Pamela a dangerous look.

“My friends? They’re dead, Pamela. Or did you forget? Hell, you were there!”

Completely unfazed by Will’s tone, Pamela raised an eyebrow.

“That’s another thing, Will,” she began, gently, “the friends you did have in the first place worked for you. They were employees.”

“I know! Don’t you think I know that!?” Will’s tone rose as he stood up, angrily, and marched through to the kitchen, Pamela following behind him, silently. “They were both. My employees and my friends. And I…” he paused and swallowed, remembering, “I let them die.” His tone dropped, sadly. His face screwed up and he turned his back on her, busying himself with opening a cupboard to retrieve a bottle of liquor and a glass.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Pamela soothed, stepping closer, carefully. “You didn’t put them there. That psycho did. You saved as many as you could.”

Will didn’t answer. There was a clink of glass on glass as he poured a shallow amount of the alcohol into the whiskey tumbler, and threw it back in one swallow. Pouring it into the glass at all seemed mildly redundant. He put a hand on his right hip as he stood there, his back still turned, but Pamela still noticed his thumb stroking the spot where she knew a huge scar sat, under his shirt, an ugly reminder of what he’d been through.

She stepped up close behind him and lay her head on his shoulder, rubbing his arm, comfortingly.

“Come out with me tonight,” she murmured, quietly. It wasn’t a question, “please, big bro.” She added, giving his arm a squeeze. “You deserve to do something fun. Take your mind off it for once! Ok, so I know it’s more my thing than yours but, maybe?” she wheedled him, looking up at him with a hopeful smile.

Will exhaled, resigned. He side-eyed her. He never could say no to Pammy.

“Fine.” He agreed simply and Pamela smiled, pulling back from him.

Will turned to face her properly, his attempt to look stern betrayed by his eyes that held a deep, desolate sadness that had been ever present these last few months.

“Performers from England are visiting for a while, including my favourite king! He’ll be there tonight and I wanted to show you his stuff.” Pamela decided to try and get Will talking about the show to get his mind off his trauma. She had been introduced to the drag scene by a lesbian friend from the studio and become hooked. The performers were all so… elaborate. Sequins, studs, rhinestones, glitter, confetti, huge wigs, headpieces, nails, heels, it was all so artistic and joyous.

“He?” Will questioned, picking the bottle up from the counter and walking it back through to the living room. “Aren’t you supposed to call drag queens “she”?”

Pamela couldn’t help but smirk to herself. William really knew nothing about the drag world. “No, he’s a king. Not a queen.”

“What? What’s that? A woman dressed as a man?”

Pamela paused, wondering if she dared go into the details of this king she was such a fan of, for fear of just confusing him. She’d been following this king for a while and he was very open about himself and how he identified, talking about it in livestreams, regularly.

“Not exactly…” Pamela said, trailing off. “It’s hard to explain. And I really want you to meet-…”

“No.” Will cut her off, strongly. “I’ve told you before, Pamela. I’m not interested in any of your friends.” He sat back down in his chair, heavily, and picked up the file again.

Pamela nodded with an amused huff.

“Oh I know. I am very aware!” She turned to leave and get ready in the spare room she was currently occupying, “Just like you weren’t interested in Sarah, or Lucy, or Allison…”

…

Pamela walked into the dimly lit venue, excitedly, a beaming smile across her face.

Will followed behind her with decidedly less enthusiasm, his hands rammed into his pockets like a moody teen. Though he had relented to be here, he hadn’t made any kind of effort with his appearance. The suit pants were gone in favour of jeans, he was still wearing his work shirt (it was now untucked) and his tie had been banished to the bedroom floor. He hadn’t even brushed his hair. When it had been scruffed up when he removed his tie, it had stayed like that.

The venue was very small. It was really just a smallish function room above a bowling alley in the city. Glancing around, William figured it would hold around fifty people. Sixty, max. There was a small stage the opposite side of the room, with gold fringe all along the back wall that twinkled, reflecting the stage lights (and the few dim house lights that were on).

With a resigned sigh, Will went to sit on a chair at the back.

“No, Will! Let’s sit on the front row! Please!” Pamela implored him, grabbing his hand and pulling as though she’d suddenly become six years old again and was trying to get Will to join her on the swings at the park.

Will shot her a look.

“Pleeeaaase!” Pamela begged, bobbing where she stood.

“You must really like this guy, huh?” Will remarked, heaving himself up to standing again, trailing after his sister, obediently. He plopped himself down in the aisle seat at the front and pulled a patronising face at his sister, who sat next to him. “Happy?”

“Very.” Pamela responded, with a smug grin.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone inbetween! Please take your seats! The show will be starting in five minutes! That’s five minutes until the start of the show!” came a distinctly male voice over the speakers.

Will rolled his eyes, tiredly, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Pamela elbowed him.

After definitely a lot longer than five minutes (and a lot closer to fifteen), the house lights went down. There were a few, scattered “Woo!”s around the room, including from Pamela. Will pulled a face at her.

She elbowed him again.

A tall drag queen in a floor length, silver, sequin dress, and sporting the biggest, brown, curly wig Will had ever seen in his life, strode, grandly onto the stage to a wave of applause from the crowd. Her dress was low cut, and it wasn’t just her wig that was brown and curly, it seemed. An impressive amount of chest hair sat, displayed proudly, above the neckline. And, when Will glanced down, the leg that poked, flirtatiously, out from a slit in the side of her dress was hairy too. But, he had to admit, the juxtaposition made her striking to behold, as she stood there, mic in hand, waiting for the cheers to die down.

“Thank you, loves. Thank you.” She began, her soft British voice amplified by the speaker that stood just feet away from where Will sat.

“Good evening!”

Another wave of applause.

“and thank you so much for having us bunch of raging queers from England in your city!”

There was a collective chuckle from the crowd.

“Honestly, getting the chance to perform in America is fucking insane when you’re from a tiny bloody city in the UK and hate RuPaul.”

Another chuckle, and a couple of raucous laughs from somewhere near the back.

“I’m Liv Presents, or Olivia Presentations if you’re nasty!” She winked, comically at the crowd, some of whom whooped or wolf whistled. “And I think I should just get the fuck on with it, don’t you!?”

A huge cheer went up.

“First on the line up tonight is a man that we had to pull out of his dumpster just to get him here-…”

“Oh my God!” Pamela whispered to Will, excitedly. “He’s on first! No way!”

“He’s a stinker, but don’t let that put you off. He’s the skunk punk of Norwich and he’s here tonight! He’s fizzy! He’s sweet! I hope you’re thirsty! It’s SODAPOP!”

Pamela flapped her hands against her knees, grinning in anticipation.

Liv Presents left the stage, and Will finally felt comfortable enough to cross his arms without judgement.

What had all that meant? “Stinker”? “Dumpster”? “Skunk”? What did all that have to do with anything?

Without warning, the start of some rock song or other started playing. Will jumped. It wasn’t the bubblegummy pop song or dramatic ballad he’d been imagining.

“You think your life is done, he took it all with him

So you drink enough to wash away the sin!

It’s such a shitty thing he did, the way he said “Goodbye”

You can take it out on me, if you like…”

The song began but no-one had reached the stage yet. William turned to ask Pamela what was going on, but noticed that she’d turned in her seat and was looking towards the back of the room.

He followed her gaze and spotted the performer, strutting up the aisle, slowly, engaging directly with audience members as he went.

The man was smallish, a couple of inches shorter than Will, but he sported a flawless, oil black mohawk with a white chunk at the front that made up for that deficit (Aaah. Now the “skunk” moniker made sense). He had a medium build with nicely toned arms and shoulders from what Will could see. He had surprisingly slim hands, with black painted nails, and he wore (not at all what he’d expected of a drag king), Black jeans, a black leather vest with copious studs and various “punky” accessories (spiked collar, fingerless leather gloves, and various piercings). An unexpected departure from the huge, over-styled outfits he’d seen a lot of queens wear. His wickedly grinning face was accentuated with strong makeup; deep contouring, dramatic eyeliner (top and bottom lids, plus wing), painted on, pointed brows, black lipstick with extended lines at the corners, pulling his smile wider than was natural. The overall effect was a small but dominant creature with a devilish streak, and a snide, sarcastic sense of humour.

“Fuck away the pain Erase him from your brain

Fake it like you love me

Come on baby, touch me!”

He carried on performing. He was not shy in the slightest! He strutted and swaggered down the aisle, getting in close within audience members’ personal space, throwing an arm over people’s shoulders, hiking a foot up on the sides of chairs and rolling his hips (or, in one instance, the front of the chair of a guy who was man-spreading up a storm. Sodapop had cupped the man’s chin and bent in dangerously close, within kissing distance, before grinning and backing away, letting the man’s face go, teasingly). Soda strutted past Will and onto the stage and, apparently, Will was staring pretty intensely, because Soda had caught his eye and, with a wicked smirk, winked at him.

Will immediately felt his face heat up.

“Show me where it hurts

This dirty little curse

Don’t have to be ashamed

If you wanna scream my name

while I fuck away the pain”

Now Soda dropped to his knees, head thrown back, as though in ecstasy, running his hands down the full length of his torso.

Will could actually feel his pulse in his cheeks.

“You hate the way he fooled around behind your back

A slave to him but now, with me, no strings attached!

But if you wanna use me up and leave me in the bed

If that’s what you need, go right ahead.”

Soda rolled his body, thrusting at the audience, head still back.

Will had chanced a glimpse and now wished he hadn’t. Soda had a noticeable bulge in his pants. Why had that caused Will to twitch? He shifted where he sat.

Stronger than a shot of whiskey or any pill you taaaaaaake…!

Liv walked back onstage, the mic in her hand replaced with a glass of (presumably) whiskey. Rather than hand it to him, she tipped it, carefully, and let a small amount pour out onto Soda’s throat. It trickled down his neck to his chest in riverlets as he brought his head back up. He locked eyes with Will again.

Will had to be blushing so hard, you could fry eggs on him! He shifted, uncomfortably, in his chair and uncrossed his arms and, trying to appear casual, pretended to rest his head on his fist (really just trying to hide his woefully red face behind it!).

“Fuck away the pain

Erase him from your brain

Fake it like you love me-…

Soda suddenly lunged at Will and crouched low, so close to him!

...Come on, baby, touch me!”

He ran his hands down the shiny black leather that covered his chest again.

With his heart pounding, squirming in his seat, head swimming and definitely not thinking straight, Will drunkenly put out a hand to place it on Soda’s chest too.

A sharp slap to the side of his leg broke Will out of his trance.

He blinked and looked, instead, at his sister who quickly shook her head, urgently.

Will swiftly returned his hand to his lap, mortified.

Soda didn’t seem to care. With a devilish smirk, he winked again, and moved on.

…

The number had ended.

The audience were going nuts, cheering, clapping and whooping as Soda gave one last little bow and jogged off down the aisle.

Liv returned to the stage.

“SODAPOP, EVERYBODY!!!” She called over the crowd, which redoubled the cheering. “How are you all feeling? Is your thirst quenched? Uuuuuuuuunnnnh!!” she moaned, comedically.

There was a roar of approval from the audience.

“Now, I’ve just got to say,” Liv started, semi-seriously, “I did actually forget to say this at the start of the show. Absolutely my fault! But you’re all going to see some very sexy people on this stage tonight,”

Another cheer.

“but please do not touch us without permission. That’s an absolute must. Please don’t molest the performers! That being said,” here, she turned and directly addressed Pamela, “if someone like Sodapop gets up in your face and tells you “come on baby touch me” and encourages you, and gropes themselves like the filthy boy they are, SODA…!!”, she called to Sodapop, who must still have been at the back of the room (Will turned in his chair to look, but couldn’t spot him in the gloom), “… in that instance, I’d say it’s ok! But, bless you, my darling,” Liv reached a painted-long-nailed and bejewelled hand out for Pamela’s, and Pamela took it, “bless your heart! Ordinarily that’s absolutely the right reaction! Thank you, my love!” She released Pamela’s hand with a warm smile. “Now then! Up next…”

[dozydawn]

nimble, a border collie-papillon mix, wins the 12” class in the 2024 masters agility championship. the first time a mixed breed has won at westminster ever.

[hoofpeet]

14 year old artists listen to me right now (gripping you by the shoulders) STOP caring about your "internet presence" right naow. Draw slower and stop trying to boil your art down to an acceptable marketable brand

[madaqueue]

18+ MDNI - f!reader (nasty freak boy who cums too early...i love him)

virgin!satoru who thinks he’s going to die. genuinely, he thinks his heart is about to explode out of his chest and his last memory will be the way you stare down at him with those lust-blown eyes and that awe-struck smile. why else would he be shaking like this, covered in a layer of sweat and lightheaded to the point his vision is swirling?

“are you ready, satoru?” is the only thing he can make out above the ringing in his ears - how can he tell you he only has a few moments to live when your legs are spread like this and he’s so hard it fucking hurts?

virgin!satoru who is the farthest fucking thing from ‘ready’ but he’d rather die than disappoint you, so he’s at least got to try.

with an unsteady hand he swipes the tip of his cock up and down your slit, watching the way the light sparkles with how wet you are, for him.

“you can put it in, baby,” and he fucking groans, he can barely look at you when you talk to him like that, all syrupy sweet and thick and dripping.

virgin!satoru who finally, finally, pushes himself past your entrance. his eyes are locked on the way you swallow his length, the way he’s so hot he can’t breathe, can’t get enough air in because it all smells like you.

virgin!satoru who cums before he even bottoms out. he’s trembling and whining and it only gets worse when your hands find his shoulders and pull him into you.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry, fuck-”

“it’s okay,” you coo, and he’s so fucking warm, and he’s grateful he can’t see the smile on your face because he thinks it might actually make his heart stop.

virgin!satoru who straightens his back, slowly pulls his cock out of you and watches in awe as his cum leaks down your thighs, who can’t stop himself from smearing it through your folds with his thumb, who doesn’t miss the way your pussy clenches as he does.

virgin!satoru who’s already hard again, who no longer cares if he’s dying because this must be heaven, who stares back at you with wild, unfocused eyes as he says, “i think…i think i’m ready now.”

a/n: i think i blacked out from lust writing this

[zanmor]

We are well beyond canary in the coalmine warning levels with the way trans people and particularly trans women are treated on this site.

Maybe you've heard the metaphor of allowing wolves and sheep to share the same space, welcoming everyone. You end up with just wolves because allowing them in that space makes it unsafe for any sheep. Or the story about how a nazi goes into a dive bar and is refused service. The bartender then explains to someone else at the bar that if you serve them once they tell their friends and before you know it you're the nazi bar they all go to and normal customers don't feel safe.

Terfs and other bigots are seeing these targeted harassment campaigns succeed against trans women and rejoicing. They see Tumblr ban them and officially stand by those decisions as endorsement for their harassment. It's a sign to bigots across the internet that Tumblr is a good place for them.

And what's more is that a lot of us probably don't realize just how much trans women contribute to Tumblr. The women banned recently were sources of site-wide memes and posts I wasn't even aware originated from them.any years old memes and references can be traced back to trans women on this site.

How many of these folks have to be removed before this is no longer a site you want to be a part of it? Sure you cultivate your own experience, but you can't follow or interact with people who aren't here. And if I wanted to interact with the nazis and terfs I'd go to reddit.

I encourage everyone to reblog this. Trans women shouldn't have to be the only ones speaking out against the bigotry they're experiencing. They shouldn't be the only ones risking their blogs being nuked by staff. We have to stand with them.

[passumbapper]

(logging into the beating a slightly funny joke into the fucking ground website) they better not be beating a slightly funny joke into the fucking ground in here

[marciaillust]

almost blown out bsky / twt / ig

[pangur-and-grim]

oh, my beloved croissant.....

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The squad of all time has arrived on scene.

[pebblethief]

This is Irk, a baby tortle bard off on his first adventure!

He's very excited and optimistic and he inspires people by drawing them little pictures

his plushie is called Gim

[blabberoo]

Life's Mockery

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