#I am scared to write it

[a-murmur-of-a-prayer]

My New Year's resolution for 2025 is to write the most out of pocket, unhinged shit I can think of. Enough being afraid to be cringe, enough shame. It's over. If I can dream it up and I know it eats, I'm gonna write it. I have been holding myself back for too long, but never again.

I also am probably going to do more polls because hearing people's reactions/enthusiasm does in fact encourage me to write unhinged shit

[doiliedaze]

Reverse Ridin’

Warnings: riding Sev’s strap, orgasm denial, praise, implications of overstimulation

Genre: smut

A/N: I’ve been feigning to write for Sevika but I’m so nervous so here we go ๑ˊૢᵕˋૢ๑ also I really wanna try this position 😙 kinda mean! Sevika and her strap is referred to as her cock.

───────┈ · ·

The lights were dim, the rain softly plopping against the window, your moans echoing against the walls.

“You’re doing so good f’me” Sevika whispers, her thumb tracing your tramp stamp. The praise causes your hips to stagger and Sevika scoffs, “you’re that easy?”

“no” you moan trying to keep a steady tempo on her cock.

“My girl can go faster than that yeah?” She emphasizes with a thrust ripping a tired moan from your throat. You nod continuously trying to focus on going faster as she watches you fuck yourself. She moans at the sight of you, her breath heavy and her clit throbbing. Your back arches more and you brace yourself as you feel your orgasm pooling in your tummy.

“Sev please” you cry

“You’ll cum stop whining” she states as she slaps your ass. Your hips slowly give out so Sevika takes matters in her own hands. She grabs your hips and bounces you up and down on her cock despite your cries. “You cry because you wanna cum, you cry as I help you cum, you just want to fucking cry.” She mocks.

She moans as she sees your arch deepening and she swears she can feel you clenching around her.

Your body shakes as waves of pleasure takes over you. “Vika!” You repeat as you cum, Sevika grinding into you as you ride out your orgasm as did she.

Sevika runs her hands up and down your waist till her hands find your hips again, “you did so good baby.”

She helps you adjust yourself in a more comfortable position, till your nuzzled into her chest and tangled in her.

───────┈ · ·

A/N: it’s like 4 am but i woke up in a cold sweat horny for my wife so I hope it’s coherent 🙏🏿

Taglist: @manfuckthisimout

(Dividers- @dollywons)

[probablytame]

don't play around with feral dogboys. don't chain one up to the bedpost and tease it from afar, making it sit on a vibrator while you touch yourself. good lord do not make the most pretty little whimpers and noises as you do it. sooner or later that thing is going to burst out from its chains and tackle you to the ground as it sinks its teeth into your neck. snarling as it tears open your legs and rams its knot into your hole. and god forbid it's strap knot, because the only thing that's gonna stop it is exhaustion. that thing only sees you as a toy, and it's going to fuck you until you break

[ennabear]

ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ short lil sevika yap about riding her nose… 18+

your knees are pinning her arms above her, the cold metal of her mech arm harshly contrasting your overheating body temperature. she’s completely overpowered, sprawled out helplessly under you.

she begged, pleaded for you to say yes to her. clung onto you all night, palmed at your ass and tits no matter who was watching, nuzzled her nose into your neck and left hickies for everyone to see, and now you’re here.

her moans and mewls are drowned out by the repeated sound of wet smacking. your clit, hard and throbbing, bumps sevika’s nose with every thrust. sevika’s never been happier. all of her senses are overcome by you— taste, smell, touch, hearing, sight, all of it.

lewd praises spill from your mouth as you’re about to tip over the edge. phrases like “ohhh f-fuck, sevika! right there!” as she tongues at your clit. or “so good, baby! i’m s-so fucking close.” as your hands tug on the roots of her hair.

until she stops.

lifting you up slightly with ease, she arranges your hips in a more forward position. “keep going.” she demands, voice husky and thick with lust. confused, you follow her orders. the new angle allows you to slide your clit all the way down the curve of sevika’s nose, your arousal almost leaking into her eyes.

her flesh hand plants a smack on your ass, of course this fucker was able to wiggle her way out of your grip. “well?” she asks as you hover over her, brain fuzzy and temporarily stunned.

her nose is sculpted at such an angle that it runs over your clit and labia perfectly. her tongue laps at your hole as you keep riding her, eventually snapping and falling into an intense orgasm. when you come down from your high, sevika’s smiling under you. lips sparkling and painted in your cum, nose dripping and hair soggy.

she rolls the two of you over, nuzzling her dripping face into your neck and whispering “we’re doing this again sometime.”

[spookyscaryspoon]

just thinking of... poly!141 hybrids living in a cozy cabin deep in the woods...

it's winter and Kyle stumbles upon an unconscious Spring faerie, far from where she should be...

she's bruised and beaten, and Kyle being the sweetheart he is, knows he cannot leave her there!

he takes her back to the cabin, and while the others are still out hunting or doing yard work, he sneaks her into his bedroom and takes care of her wounds

Johnny is the first back, holding a heap of groceries from back in town. as he puts them down, he smells something in the air...a foreign scent of flowers...a hint of vanilla, maybe?

he rushes to kyles room, catching him red handed holding a little fae. he's immediately smitten.

they're both treating her, preparing food while waiting for her to wake up, distracted by her completely, when Simon finally saunters in, smelling like the sweat with a mix of the outdoors having just come back from hunting. hes immediately on guard when he spots the Fae on Kyle's bed, pulling Johnny away from the bed with a whine as hes forced away from his new little fae.

Behind them, John finally walks in arriving from the outside and coming to see what all the commotion is about.

fuck, how are they going to explain this?

[lucidloving]

John Green & David Levithan, Will Grayson, Will Grayson // @sweatermuppet // Jamaica Kincaid, The Autobiography of My Mother // Entropy, "Luck" // Anne Sexton, A Self-Portrait In Letters // @100493503004422 // I'm Not a Good Person—Pat The Bunny // Veronica Roth, Insurgent

[imsiriuslyreading]

being a POC in the Marauders/HP fandom is really interesting to me because it seems and feels like a really predominantly white space, which, hey, nothing new! and that does come with some challenges. for the most part, they're fairly under the radar.

it's things like being able to count the POC in a discord server on one hand, even though there's 100+ people in the community.

it's people not taking into account racial dynamics whether that be in a fic, or in a tiktok, tumblr, whatever. there are innate power imbalances in our society (regardless of what country you live in) and to assume because this fandom is a largely open, liberal and leftist space, that they don't carry over to fandom, is exceptionally naive. buuuuut, we live and learn, so people can and should be given a certain amount of grace. but what is unforgivable is to have them pointed out to you and for you to dismiss, ignore or belittle them. Not only that, but you as a white person, do not get to be the forgiving voice to another white person when they make one of these mistakes. please please please respect and understand that.

there's also (and i'm sorry if this is controversial and frankly it makes me really nervous to even write this), a trend of assigning ethnicities, cultures and races to characters in stories without having a proper understanding of them, or having a particular reason for doing so. I'm never going to sit here and say "you as a white person shouldn't write about ____ race!", because I don't believe that. but what I would really, really love to see, is for white creators and writers to ask themselves some questions beforehand:

what does the race of this character add to the story outside of me chasing clout with a particular group of people/is it necessary for me to be writing the lived experience of a culture/ethnicity I've never taken the time to learn about?

if so, why?

am i the right person to be doing this?

are my actions outside of my writing towards these POC reflective of this?

i also think it's really important to remember that unconscious bias is a thing, and it's really easy for us to spot in your writing if it isn't something you've addressed. Not only that, but even if you write the most well-researched POC in your fic, even if you're sharing posts about Lebanon and Palestine, none of that matters if your actions when interacting with us show us that you are indifferent to the power dynamics at play with you being a white person, often with a large audience, in this space. virtue signalling is spectacularly unhelpful if you're writing checks your ass can't cash.

that being said, I think throwing 'racist' around as a term at people who make mistakes is really unhelpful. because every situation has context and nuance, and dogpiling never helps anybody. there are opportunities for learning, developing and understanding here. but please remember, if a POC tells you something is upsetting, harmful or offensive - even if other POC haven't said that to you - it's not your place as a white person to dismiss that.

anyway, hope that helps, love u very much xo

[padmestrilogy]

while i have an unmatched level of faith in the andor team and trust them with any plot development no matter how "out there", i really do hope s2 doesn't have any sort of defect/rebel/“redemption” turn for syril. one of the great joys watching andor live was seeing ppl empathize with and babygirlify this guy instantly, then get hit with week after week of "He Is The Biggest Loser Fascist You'll Ever Meet" . am still riding that high . like they were editing him to folklore taylor swift . just bc he was somewhat meek and had blue eyes . i need him to become a bigger fascist in s2 if anything

[fearfulandhungry]

[goomyloid]

i dont know how i'm supposed to live without you

thing

[tooies]

i think probably the reason i like the idea of like a girl secretly being a dragon but still trying to just have a life in society and be normal is because it's kinda a transfem narrative of the whole like everyone thinks you're a terrifying monster but you just want to be a girl. and the other reason is due to i'm otherkin

[dragonsareverycool]

The figure turned to look at Damian and seemed to freeze before its form shifted, rings of light covering it as it did. When the rings faded, there they floated with white hair that moved like it was uneffected by gravity and was moved by wind that wasn’t there. Freckles that looked like stars covered the beings skin, tanned but washed out and ashen, like a corpse. Wide, expressionless eyes that glowed a bright eeire green. Despite this, Damian recognized that face. He recognized that expression too. Despite looking like Tim’s dead eyed stare to most anyone else, Damian knew the expression as one of surprise, of shock. And that face was almost identical to the one in his nightmares of the worst day of his life. He knew that face every time he glanced in a mirror.

“Danyal” he said softly, his own face almost certainly in an identical expression. Despite the distance and chaos between them, Damian was certain Danyal heard him, as Danyal perked up a bit. Then, his form seemed to glitch, colors distorting as his body twitched and part of his body seemed to disappear for a moment. Then, he seemed to fade into nothing, leaving Damian to start panicking. He worried that he had just lost Danyal again.

Then he reappeared startlingly close, putting his hand on Damian’s chest “Here,” he said, the difference in how he spoke compared to Damian achingly familiar, “A drop of your blood and an offering of food if you’re feeling nice. Call my name, it may take a moment but I will appear” he removed his hand, and a piece of neon green glowing paper with strange symbols on it floated after Danyal’s hand before Damian caught it. Danyal’s form glitched again, harder, and his face set in a grimace before he faded into invisibility again.

Fun fact! Sometimes when the grief got bad enough, Damian would mimic how Danny talked and would recite stories about constellations like Danny did. He took many, many precautions to make sure that no one, not even Talia knows that he’s done this. Only Alfred the cat and maybe Alfred the Human knows, and neither will speak a word to anyone about it.

[eskawrites]

I feel like I’m seeing another uptick of people talking about using AI for fics/writing in general and I know some of it’s in a mostly unserious way but I still just wanna say

1) Generative AIs are literally built on the concept of mosaic plagiarism. You are, by definition, stealing from the work of countless writers on the internet

2) AI writing is not writing, it offers zero value beyond in-the-moment entertainment. If you want that satisfaction of doing something creative you have to actually, you know, do something creative. If you want the instant gratification of a story go read/watch/play something that was made by actual artists

3) even if you have no qualms about the plagiarism and deterioration of human skill and creativity, AI is a major threat to the environment and every time you use it you’re contributing to a massive waste of energy and resources

4) using AI just for ideas or just for inspiration or just to rewrite a sentence or just to find a different word is still using AI and it is still harming the environment and it is still stealing from others. There are other tools to use. The internet is full of free resources created by actual writers that can help you find that cool word you’re looking for or show you different ways to approach style and voice. And if you’re looking for inspiration there are literally endless amounts of prompts and ideas that are only a google search away

4a) this is also true for people who are only using AI as a joke. It’s still harmful and you are helping the problem continue by using it, training it, and normalizing it

5) art is valuable because it is created by humans. Making something worthwhile isn’t about creating a masterpiece, it’s about putting part of yourself—whether that part is passionate or heartbroken or angry or inspired or silly or reverent or filled with brainworms—into the world. And even if you are the worst writer/artist/musician who has ever walked the earth (and trust me, you aren’t), anything you create on your own still has an impact. You are changing the world! You are putting something out there that leaves an impression on you and anyone who comes across it! But when you use AI for that, you haven’t made anything. You’ve just rearranged someone else’s work and dropped it on the ground. And by the time you make your third work, or your tenth, or your hundredth, you will not have grown or learned or changed or experienced any of the actual meaning and beauty of creativity. And if you don’t want any of those things, that’s fine! But that means being a writer or an artist or whatever is not for you, and you shouldn’t go around cosplaying as one with a computer algorithm that is destroying the planet, stealing from hard-working artists, eliminating jobs, and contributing to mass misinformation and the deterioration of reading comprehension

[muffinlance]

Hey fic rec time! I didn't do these often so you KNOW it's good

If you like Star Wars and Mandos and falling in love with character dynamics you'll never be able to find again because OP just smooshed together things that never existed before

May I introduce you to:

Mando'jekai jedi by Anonymous

Yes Anonymous come out here OP so I can put you in a little jar and provide you optimal writing enrichment and maybe shake you a little to see how you work

Author Summary:

Feemor saves a random Mandalorian and earns himself the position of Jedi watchman for the sector. Now if only the mandos would stop hunting him so that he can investigate this terrorist cell in peace.

Jaster really wants to talk to the jedi who slapped the darksaber into his hands before running off. Now if only the haat'ade could track him down.

My Summary:

Feemor Gives Mandalorians a Life-Changing Field Trip (No They Cannot Exit This Ride): The Fic

The writing is so smooth the humor is HIGH-LARIOUS the angst is wrapped up in the humor which is wrapped up in outsider POV

It's like you went to Fic Restaurant and the waiter slapped the menu out of your hand and said "I've got the good shit" and you were too terrified to protest that actually you were just here for a little hurt/comfort fix-it fic but when they came back

Oh damn

Oh that is the good shit

Anyway click this it's the good shit

[llamagoddessofficial]

How would Farmer Sans handle hearing that MC was sick? Maybe they usually meet up a certain time while managing their morning chores and they’re just.. not there, only for him to later find that they’re bedridden

"hey, pumpkin."

The sound of Sans' voice, regardless of how soft it was, made you panic.

You sat bolt upright from your spot curled into the couch, jolting out of your strange fever dream. A cooling pack fell off your head, and a blanket you didn’t remember grabbing slipped from your shoulders to your lap.

Immediately, you could tell that you weren’t on your home couch. You didn’t recognise the blanket someone had tucked you under. You weren’t cold, you couldn’t smell the usual mix of dust and gradually fading damp - in fact, there were many wonderful scents mingling in the warm air, soup and tea and a sweet bread aroma that made your stomach rumble. 

It certainly wasn’t where you expected to wake up, after you fell asleep in front of the dodgy TV once the painkillers finally kicked in. This was someone else’s couch. And after a few bleary moments, you recognised it all. 

... It was Sans’ couch. You were in his house.

You looked up a little to see the man himself, as handsome as ever, leaning over the back of the sofa and looking at you. A gentle flicker of relief passed over his face. 

“rise and shine,” he said, voice as warm as the room. “how’re you feelin’?”

Huh? 

...

Your eyes widened. "S-Sans!?"

Bad decision. At such a sudden vocalisation, your body decided that was the perfect moment to send you into a horrendous coughing fit that made the inside of your throat feel like someone had gone at it with sandpaper.

Sans just put a big gentle hand on your back, letting you work through it, quiet as you hacked your lungs up.

Eventually the coughing eased off; once you had control of your body again, you turned your gaze back to him.

"Y-you...” Your cheeks were starting to burn. “why am I...?"

“you weren’t answerin’ the phone. i got worried.” As he spoke, you kept messing with your shirt, nervously pulling it down over yourself. “came to check on you, an’ you were totally out of it, could barely answer me. i had to go work, but figured i should bring you somewhere me an’ pap can keep an eye on you.”

... Oh no. You put your hands over your face, slowly getting quieter and quieter as the situation dawned on you. “Y-you really didn’t need to...”

“course we did. ain’t safe for you to be so sick all on yer own.”

This was a nightmare. Now, on top of being sick, you were absolutely mortified at Sans seeing you in this state. Tired, achy, sweaty... you were dressed in a stained old shirt and pyjama pants, visibly unshowered and pretty much as ungroomed as one could get. You distinctly remembered throwing stuff on your floor before you fell asleep, too weak to get up and go put it in the garbage - empty blister packs and used, crumpled tissues. Did he see all your dirty trash when he came to find you?

You wanted to melt into the couch. He had seen you delirious and ill, at your absolute greasiest and grossest. Stars, what did he think of you now?

“I-I’ve been out for hours?” you asked.

“mhm.”

Your whole world was coming down around your ears. Why couldn’t Sans have just let you die at home, where no one would see your shame?

“you didn't tell me you were sick,” he said, so quietly you almost didn’t hear. There was a strangely... sullen edge to his tone? 

Your face was on fire. You had already intruded so much on him and his brother’s kindness over the last few weeks. Sans had repaired your stove and water pipes, bought you fresh food from the farm, helped fix a leak in the roof, not to mention when you asked him to stay the night like you were a frightened baby. Now here you were; being sick and disgusting right in the middle of his house. 

Before he could say anything else, you pushed the blanket off you, swinging your legs over the side of the couch and scrambling to your feet.

“I-I should get home,” you said, hoarse.

Immediately, Sans’ brows raised. You didn't look at him for long, walking unsteadily and trying your best to concentrate on not tipping over.

“I’m so sorry to intrude. I’ll just-”

... Your feet went out from underneath you. 

You squeaked, loudly - but Sans didn’t care, he scooped you up like you didn’t weigh a thing. To him, you probably didn’t weigh a thing. You could feel his massive strength through his clothes, and you immediately knew that if he wanted to, he could’ve thrown you straight into the air like a child.

You couldn’t tell if it was the height that was dizzying, how close your face was to his, or if you were just way weaker right now than you realised. But immediately your hands balled in his shirt.

"... easy," he murmured, one arm under your thighs. "i don't bite."

... Your face filled with so much heat it felt as if the tips of your ears were going to set alight. You tried to say something, but when you opened your mouth, literally nothing came out. Not a sound. All you could do was hold on to his shoulders.

Sans’ voice became normal again, jokingly stern. “sorry. not goin’ anywhere on my watch, pet. you need to rest. look at you - yer burnin' up.”

Your whole body had tensed up. But not out of fear. You just stared into his eyelights.

He very gently sat you back down onto the couch, putting the cold pack into your hands. “you stay right there, ok? i’ll getcha some soup. it should be ready by now.”

"O-ok," you helplessly replied.

Sans moved away, disappearing into the kitchen.

...

There wasn't much else you could do, but lay down and put the cooling pack back on your head... trying to figure out how to make your heart slow down.

[rubberduckyrye]

I apparently need a transcript of V3's Japanese dub in English because--

These say almost the same thing, but--

LIKE THIS CHANGES THE WHOLE FUCKING TONE OF THE LINE.

WHAT THE FUCK.