#Writers Conventions

[acooksbooks]

New Story Day (About A Week Late)!

I’m just jumping in here real quick to say a new story of mine has been released into the wild! (Also, I wanted to share my latest sketch, which is Pedro Pascal at the most recent SAG Awards, because he was so completely adorable, and I really loved how this drawing came out. Anyway . . .) Last May, I attended one of my favorite local conventions for writers and creatives, called Mo*Con. It’s…

[fake-married-my-dead-fiance]

Wacky relationship dynamics that I love:

Edit to add:

Alchemy of Souls, Doom at Your Service, Extraordinary You, Moon in the Day, Marry My Husband, Guardian: The Lonely and Great God, Oh My Ghost, W: Two Worlds, Lovely Runner, The Judge from Hell

[jouxlskaard]

Strap in, fuckers. This is a long one.

I've seen a lot of discourse and discussion recently about why TMAGP isn't resonating with listeners as much as TMA did, with a lot of people pointing towards the infrequent structure of each episode and the lack of subtlety that TMA had once excelled in. And while both of these are true, I think the main culprit that has caused these problems for listeners is one thing: the pacing.

TMAGP is only going to be 60 (Edit: 90) episodes long, compared with TMA's absolute behemoth of 200. When I'd found out about this, I'd assumed that it meant TMAGP would have a much smaller story - not having to establish as much information as TMA did, and allowing the story to have lower stakes as a result. This certainly wasn't a bad thing, as many sequels that have tried to one-up their predecessors have gone disastrously wrong, but I knew that the structure would be different to TMA as a result.

However, from the 12 episodes that we've seen so far, it appears that TMAGP is going to have similar levels of stakes to TMA - not the same stakes, of course, but they'll likely be on close to equal footing. This means that TMAGP has to establish the same amount of information to listeners with significantly less time to do it in, and the pacing has to speed up to adhere to that. In the first 12 episodes of TMA, we had established one possible recurring statement character (Gerry), a disturbing worm woman (Prentiss), and the fact that Jon doesn't like his assistant and refuses to believe any of the statements. In the first 12 episodes of TMAGP, we've established every important protagonist and what they sound like, two recurring statement characters (Bonzo and Ink5oul) with one that has already physically appeared, much of Sam's backstory and his ties to the Magnus Institute and the fact that something is deeply wrong with their workplace. That is a big difference.

This difference in pacing is what I believe is turning listeners away from what they'd originally enjoyed about TMA, because there's no longer that warm, comforting atmosphere when you listen to it. Its sound isn't designed to come from a tape recorder and a tape recorder only anymore; it's no longer a sit-down and listen to the Archivist tell you spooky stories for 20 minutes anymore; and, like I mentioned earlier, the structure is no longer the same throughout each episode. The horror anthology aspect, whilst still being there, has now taken a back-burner to the metanarrative because so much has to be established in so little time. To many, that's a bad thing. They listened to the original because they liked the statements, and the little things connecting them hinted to a much larger story at play. When this story was revealed, we got to see Jonny Sims and his brilliant prose at its best, because there was no longer anything to hide and the statements were in their purest forms - no longer having to establish information to the audience, and simply basking in the fear.

I'm sure we'll get to see the same thing in TMAGP once the narrative reaches that point, but the current pacing has uprooted a lot of listeners' expectations for the show. I'm going to listen to the entire thing, personally; yeah, it's different, and it doesn't deliver the same vibes and comfort as TMA did, and I probably won't be able to fall asleep whilst relistening to the more obscure episodes like I could before, but in a frankly disturbing way, I'm still fascinated with what Jonny, Alex and the other writers have created. This type of horror is the only kind that I genuinely enjoy, and I'm excited to see what direction Protocol goes in.

Edit: I feel like I should clarify that I don't see this comparison as something that takes away from TMAGP. Alex has said that it's going to be different from the get-go, and I do think that comparing it to TMA is an exercise in futility to an extent. I just wanted to talk about the shows together because I feel like they complement one another, and the narrative beats that I've talked about are less to do with TMA on its own and more to do with general narrative structure. We have buildup, payoff and pacing no matter what show it is, because that's what makes a story. I think TMAGP could be taken a little bit like Deltarune in terms of its relation to the original source material: separate entities with some overlap in character and themes. At the end of the day, it's still early days for the show and this entire spiel could just end up gathering dust - I just think it's a cool thing to think about, and it gives me an excuse to infodump about how pacing can affect a narrative and the audience's response to it.

I wrote this while my cat was laying on me. Have a picture as a reward for reading this whole thing.

[intergalacticsouvenirs]

From Romans to Rectums: Thoughts on the Naming Convention in Mad Max

I think it’s fascinating how that meme about how often men think about the roman empire is materialized in the mad max world in different forms, but especially in their bastardized-latin naming convention. In my mind, it appears that post apocalyptic warlords were aware that modern society looked up to the roman empire, but they didn’t quite understand how the romans influenced us exactly. Nevertheless, the warlords (or their history men) did have access to niche knowledge such as ancient roman military strategy, enough to inspire the imperator and praetorian warrior position names. It’s as if the first history men did not keep any pre modern history on their skins, so they had to reduce the entire roman empire into fragments of ideals (for oral tradition). Such fragments of ideals would combine in weird ways to inspire these war-men to write the most beautifully grotesque poems that are their names.

In a world where words have more power, names are more than just biographical micro-poems, they are multi-used as tools as well. They could be guns pointed to your face like “People Eater” and “Toe-Cutter”, a quality seal of approval on a product like “Capable” and “Splendid”, an aggressive dog warning sign like “Furiosa” and “Mad Max”, and even a prayer amulet as in “Corpus Colossus”.

As a trend among warlords, a wacky wrestling stage name is a must for a strong branding. After all, the ferocious marketing of late capitalism and show business did not die with the atomic bomb, but rather thrived, mutated, and embraced nature, believe it or not. Darwin’s nature, not you tree-huggers’ nature.

The names of the two capable immortan brothers Rictus Erectus and Scabrous Scrotus reveal the real underlying obsession of all men: the penis. The penis is the axis mundi around which all revolves in the (mad max) world. But more than just about sex, the penis cult is about finding strength and courage in a hypermasculine god to mentally survive in a hypermasculine hell. In this context, the names of Immortan Joe's sons take on a deeper significance. Firstly, Rictus Erectus translates to something like grin and erection, as if Immortan Joe had hopped for a future full of pleasures for his son. It is also a very verbal wish for an offspring who can physically stand up by himself and for himself. Unlike his disabled brother Corpus Colossus, who received a magnificent name meaning body like a giant greek god statue, in fruitless hopes that his imperfections would also grow away. Scabrous Scrotus more explicitly describes a unique physical attribute, namely some scabby nuts. Scrotus could very well be a nickname, which would parallel ancient romans who would choose a cognomen (nickname) to be known by, like Caligula meaning “little boot”, Oedipus (greek) meaning “swollen foot”, and Verrucosus meaning “warty”, for example. Better would be if Joe had named his son after his own beat-up ballsack, in which case this ode to biological reproduction against the environment would be very on brand. I bet Darwin is grinning wide, in his coffin.

It is interesting to note that most people in the recent mad max world appear to be illiterate and uncultured, so most don’t even understand the meaning of these stupid Latin names, but just that they sound as important as they say they are. That means these men who have access to nuance are really “dressing up” for each other, like an internal joke with the bois. Three brothers named to sound like roman emperors, to rule over all the erected men, by his mighty phallus.

It goes to show how colossal and monumental… the roman empire was, that it would outlast even the best of modernity. And its shadow would still loom over humans like the mysterious milky way in the night sky.

It’s a shame that Miller’s hyper-poetry is not that accessible.

[msviolacea]

One of today's posts on Ask a Manager has me very curious, so ... poll time!

Note that if you don't drink at all, this is not aimed at you. I'm curious about people who would drink in social situations - what's your limit for professional situations?

[coveredinsun]

i put this in a fic so i might as well make it into a post too. this is NOT original, i should say, but it’s basically canon in my head that legolas’ mom died in the war of the last alliance (presumably fighting under oropher, who also perished then) cuz it’s just more narratively weighty than “some gundabad orcs killed her.” peter jackson mega fumbled with that one if you ask me. and i think if legolas were forbidden from going into that fight it would create a scrumptious parallel to gimli being forbidden from going on the quest to reclaim erebor with thorin. which is important and true because everything is about gimleaf. every single time without fail

[odo-apologist]

I know I just recently reblogged a post and mentioned how much I love the Lows but I love the Highs too and I think they're cute and they deserve more love <3 I love thinking about their little poetry readings and philosophy discussions and the fact that they probably all wear symbols on their foreheads in solidarity with Rimmer. I like to believe that there's a large garden on their ship and Kryten is the one who mainly tends it but the others help out and Rimmer paints it and does still lifes of various flowers and produce from it (he probably paints portraits of the others and other works but Holly can't sustain the projection of all of them so they don't last long). Even though The Cat doesn't care as much about fashion I think he still likes utilizing the same skills OG Cat has through embroidery/textile art and mending/creating all of their robes. He could also arrange flowers from the garden (sometimes for still lifes) and design the layouts of their communal areas. Lister can actually play guitar and other instruments on top of that and he's usually the one that performs music for the others (even though the others probably know how to play too- perhaps Lister taught them or helps them improve). He definitely taught Kryten and is the most encouraging in him trying out ways to express himself. Sometimes he writes poetry not set to music. In the universe(s) that exists where the High crew continue to live on after Demons and Angels take place, I think it's nice to imagine Rimmer getting the hardlight drive and all of them being so ecstatic that he can participate more fully in the activities on the ship, planting in the garden and playing physical instruments and getting to keep his paintings. They have a little banquet to celebrate and they cook it together. Rimmer paints Lister a little portrait that he can keep in a locket around his neck. Lister returns the gesture. I know this is all over the place but I just love thinking about the crew being creative and artistic and I think the Highs are the most likely to truly not only embrace that part of themselves but also make it communal. I want to see them create things and bond! I love them so much

[ferronickel]

Every three years or so, I get the urge to make new business card designs, usually right before a big trip or event or something. This time around I was bemoaning the fact that I couldn't post them (because I try my best to keep my wallet name off of tumblr) and then I remembered that I can just... type in a different name. So enjoy some slightly altered business card designs from 2018, 2021, and 2024!

[paintingdragonfeathers]

All set up at a Scifi Valley Con Fall edition! You can find Painting Dragon Feathers on the lower level at booth P1 for all kinds of creature art, charity Con-Quests, and I’ll be giving panels Friday and Saturday. Stop by and say hi!

#convention #dealer #artistalley #paintingdragonfeathers #artist #fanart #artistlife #con #writer #diorama #pokemon #pokeball #pokeballterrarium #art #craft #terrarium #legendsofarceus #pokemonscarlet #pokemonviolet #pokemongo #pogo #gengar #mimikyu #umbreon #shiny #shinyumbreon #scifivalleycon #scifivalleyconfall2024

[midnighttease118]

A MARRIED MAN (18+ GAY SMUT)

This had to be one of the luckiest nights of your entire life. Or your ticket to Hell. Either way, you don't regret it, because this man's ass feels too good around your cock.

It perfectly adjusts itself around your length without a single complaint. It's true what he said; his body was built for this. This sort of talent isn't nurtured from birth, but a niche skill that only a desperate man would train for. Somewhere in your subconscious, you already knew this would happen. Those longing gazes weren't lacking in substance, nor were the firm handshakes he offered every time he stopped by your place with more housewarming gifts. His wife said you'd love them.

It was tradition for him to take his new male neighbors out to the bar and share a pint, spilling their guts about the lives they left behind to settle in this simple, suburban town. The rest of the fellas cared more for getting wasted than sharing their stories. You were the only one who took the bait.

"Ahh, a city man through & through," he raised his glass in your direction, "Cheers to a fresh start!" You clinked your glasses together with genuine smiles. Your new neighbor may have dressed like a stereotypical 80s father with gelled back hair, a clean-shaven face, and conservative business clothing, but damn, could he down a drink! His adam's apple bobbed vigorously as he chugged rounds of beer. The server who tended to your table collected your glasses when he finished his streak; her eyes peering at your neighbor's disheveled state.

You have a knack for catching when there is tension in the air, and your radar was going off as you sat across from your new friend. He didn't order any more rounds, but his demeanor suggested that he wanted to. His eyes shifted around for the server, and even when she was clearly in his line of vision, he would just chuckle and return facing front- gazing into your eyes.

"You ever been with a man?" was his question, but he might as well have said, "I know you killed someone," because your reaction made some of the bar patrons turn their heads.

"What the Hell you getting at?!" It wasn't like you were angry at the accusation- per say. You've been a proud bisexual since you knew being straight wasn't mandatory. But asking that question in a community you're not close to is way too risky.

"Don't sweat it," your neighbor lazily waved a hand, "I only asked because I have."

You suddenly felt like a man with a pickaxe, tempted to turn away after nearly being outed in public, but now you just heard that there's a big pile of treasure behind the final wall you need to break down. You knew something was up with this guy; it was only right to learn more! So, you calmly sank back in your chair, as your neighbor who was so obviously drunk continued his confession.

It started when he was 38. In a hotel room in Vegas. Told his wife it was for some work conference when actually he scheduled a nightly visit with some guy tagging along at a friend's bachelor party. He looked hot enough; so tall he had to bend down to assure he wouldn't hit the door frame. Muscles built from years of dedication, with a fashion sense that clashed with your neighbor's professional appearance.

The stranger locked the door and glared down at the man. "Would you like a drink?" is what your neighbor would've asked if he had not been grabbed by the throat. He was dragged to the bed, forced to sit, and in seconds he had come face-to-face with a real life, 10-inch cock. Veins pulsing down the shaft, precum already leaking from the slit. His mouth was pried open by the stranger's sausage fingers, and God willed him not to cum when the visitor's thick cock pressed past his pink lips. It slid in quickly but cautiously too, ensuring it wouldn't press too hard on your friend's uvula. The stranger closed his eyes and began to thrust, slowly at first, with a record in his throat repeating the words, "Fuck yeah, fuck yeah, fuck yeah...". Clearly, he did not come for foreplay.

The man you once deemed strait-laced had rubbed his thighs together as he sucked. So this is who I am, he told himself as he accepted the throbbing cock deeper into his throat. He willingly laid on his back so the stranger can crawl on top, and face fuck him into the mattress. His hips gyrated fiercely against your neighbor's skull, while the rest of his clothed body was constricting from the tension and sweat. The man moaned like a little bitch as the visitor halted to expel his cum down that greedy throat. Load after load dumping out from his heavy balls towards the man's stomach.

You imagined yourself in that Vegas hotel. Sitting in a chair located in the corner of the room, stroking your length to the man being gleefully assaulted.

"Do you hate me yet?" the man broke you from your fantasy. It was good though; sporting a boner in a crowded bar would've made you the town pariah. Plus talking like this, in a place littered with open ears, was not smart on the other man's end. So you leaned forward and told him, "Let's get outta here."

The fun didn't stop once that stranger came down his throat. He left for a few hours only to return with the friends he tagged along with on this trip. It was already so late at night when he came alone, that when he returned with his crew it must've been around three in the morning. They were all so huge! Each man took a turn with him. Claiming his ass, drowning that mouth with more semen. His hands couldn't be at rest when he saw all the dicks he had to service. This wasn't part of the deal at all, but he didn't mind.

"Why not?" you asked, begging your painful boner to rest just for a minute. You kept your eyes on the road, driving your neighbor's vehicle since he was far more wasted.

"Women don't know how good they have it," he replied, slouching in his seat, "They grow up being adored by so many guys just for existing. Meanwhile, us men must fight for attention. I'm glad he invited them over. I knew I was still holding back, and that was just enough to break me out of my box."

Unlike Vegas' infamous slogan, what happened that night didn't stay there. Your new friend flew home the following day to reunite to his wife, hugging her dearly before saying hi to the kids. They pestered him about school, and toys they wanted to add onto their Christmas lists. The entire day was testing him mentally, provoking him to snap as his loosened asshole pleaded for another cock to ravage it. He intended on deleting the hookup app by midnight, but he logged on just one more time and swiped right on ten people before bed.

One fucked him in a car in an empty parking lot. Another paid for a motel so they can 69 all afternoon. Your neighbor's least favorite fella was this 21-year-old named Chase. He tried not to remember names, but Chase wouldn't let him forget with his hourly text messages. His tight, virgin ass was perfect for the older man to deflower, as before then he had only bottomed. Chase assumed it was love at first fuck, and so he insisted they meet again and again until they were official. The man rambling beside you said that he let the kid down easy, texting him, "I can't. I'm married" before blocking his account.

Being an undercover whore wasn't for the faint of heart. There were times the father of two looked at his growing children and wondered if they'd be proud of the parent they had. "I'll be just like you, Daddy!" his then 8-year-old son said one day. The word "Daddy" was ruined forever as he could only smile at his boy before rushing to the bathroom and letting out a load in the shower, remembering how deliciously Chase moaned that word.

"How 'bout now? Hate me yet?" your neighbor grinned while resting his heavy head against the car window. His detailed excursions were fascinating to listen to, but you were just one man. A man that had no business knowing any of this.

His wife didn't suspect a thing; as long as he occasionally slept with her and gave great head, then that would put an end to any suspicions. But 11 years of sneaking around wore on his spirit.

His children were both in college, which left him and the missus together more often, uninterrupted- without an escape. She needed him now more than ever with her grief over the empty nest. It was then when he finally deleted all the apps and tried to be faithful to his wife. But then the political convention came.

This neighborhood, perfect as it may seem, did not carry the type of people this guy would consider friends. Like he told you on the way to the bar, you were the only one wanted to talk to him. An eligible bachelor would want to listen to his escapades. That was his belief; he wanted someone to hear his story. Somebody to be wowed at his adventures- and to justify his actions.

"There's nothing wrong with what we're doing," said a man in his hotel room, day 1 of the convention. They laid together, his head on the stranger's hairy chest. He enjoyed how the dark hairs brushed against his shaven cheek. "We're still following the word of the Lord by being upstanding men. What we do in private is nobody's business."

"Even if we're cheating on our wives?"

The stranger rolled his eyes, sitting up straight so that your neighbor would have to sit up too, and stray away from that broad chest. "Cheating implies we WANT a relationship with other men, but that's not true. We can fuck and leave without pretty words in between, and that's not sinful as long as it doesn't infiltrate our primary lives; the ones we've built with the mothers of our children. I look at her every day and never think I'm betraying her, because I know I'm clean. I don't bring nothing home but the bacon!"

Confident words he said, considering they had just fucked without a condom.

Your neighbor felt like a real sissy as he sat there, blanket over his lap, unsure of what to say to such things. It seemed correct, but he still felt his eyes beginning to water. "So...if your son wanted to fuck other boys, that'd be okay?"

"He don't need nothing from no man that he can't get from his woman," his lover replied, "But I will say this: if that woman happens to rag on him too much, and no other female wants to ease his stress, then I would accept the consequences. Humans crave connection! It's a crime to hold that back. We're the ones working all day, providing for the kids, and they can't bother to give a handjob?"

Your neighbor was 48 at this time; just a year before meeting you. He looked back on this moment fondly, as it was this time as he sat in a hotel bed with stained sheets of semen that he was convinced that he never felt more accepted by anyone. His heart swelled with a light that was diminished long ago as he listened intently to his partner.

All this time he had been staying alive for his family, carrying this weight of guilt, but now he felt like he could be free from that. He had craved freedom so badly; from the time he was 14.

"Heh, you look like a real fag right now," the stranger smirked, "With all them tears." he reached over and touched your friend's face, wiping off a tear with his thumb. Your friend grabbed that hand and pulled it down so that thumb was pressing against his lips. Slowly, he inserted the thumb into his mouth to be licked and sucked by his experienced tongue. His wife would never allow him to be vulnerable like this.

"Ahh, what I said got ya hard?" the stranger bled into a grin. His cock bounced with vigor, "I got something better for you to suck, bitch boy."

This story concluded right as you parked outside of your neighbor's garage, knowing his wife's car was already parked indoors. You helped your friend step out of the vehicle and wondered if he'd ever stop rambling. "Golly," you said, "Sounds like one crazy night!"

"Do you think I should've stopped there?" he said, "Stopped sucking his cock?"

"You should've stopped a long time ago."

"Even if I'm lonely?"

"Huh?"

He repeated his question with greater strain in his voice, lightly gripping at your polo shirt, "I did everything right..."

You glanced up at his beautiful white home, checking the windows. They were all dark. "Okay buddy, do you wanna crash at my place tonight? I don't think it's best if your wife sees you this way."

Your place didn't look like it'd appeal to a man of his tastes. Everything in his house was immaculate, from the clean carpets to the organized food pantry, even the wooden desks that had no stained rings from soda cans like yours had- you always forgot to put down coasters. A bachelor's home was a little more dirty, casual, or as your neighbor liked to say, "lived in."

You turned on the TV and left him sitting on the couch while you got him a glass of water. Two minutes shouldn't have been enough to have him weeping when you returned- yet there he was. His limbs slack, head thrown back, moaning like a pitiful human. This was the right time to ask if he was okay, but he was clearly not okay, so that question felt redundant. So, you quietly left the glasses of water on the table and held the remote to switch channels.

"...Do you hate me?"

Your jaw clenched. Again with that fucking question.

"No, I don't. Why do you care?"

The man sat up properly, looking down at his lap, amazed at how he allowed himself to cry actual tears in front of another man. His eyes were burning, like crying caused an allergic reaction. It hurt to see.

"I hate myself."

You refused to look him in the eye after he said this. Your skin was crawling with goosebumps from how awkward this night had become. "I love my wife & kids. I swear that I do. But I was cursed to want dick." he claimed, "Times are changing though. People are more inclusive! I thought maybe, after I did what I had to do, I could finally explore that side of me. Keep it under control," he paused to take a sip of water, his voice gaining more clarity and sounding saner than it has all night.

He half-expected you to interject here, but you wouldn't. You wanted to listen.

"I think I'm done with that life now. I got it all outta my system, but being with all those guys just proved to me even more how much I need my family. They keep me grounded and safe. Hooking up is a recipe for all kinds of disasters. Why do it when I have the perfect woman in my bed?" he chugged more water as his eyes started to clear, "I'm gonna make it up to her. For the rest of my life, I will."

"Please, you are so full of crap."

"What?" the man's heart that had been bearing itself to you all night had locked itself in a tight cage, "I just told you my whole life story, and that's all you have to say?"

"What a horrible existence if your 'entire life' consisted of cheating on your wife."

"I know it seems that way, but it's not cheating if you never want to pursue a relationship."

"You still believe in that bull crap?" You couldn't believe this guy! Your tongue was nearly bitten off by how long you were holding it all night. Every story he told should've ended with you leaving him in that bar or calling a cab to take you home- you didn't have to listen to this nonsense. "You really are a coward," you put it lightly.

"Call it what you will," he argued, "But what I did was NOT cowardly. It was a sacrifice! I gave up my body to get rid of these feelings just so I can be a good husband. What do you think would've happened if I kept it all in?"

"I don't know- leave her?" you glared, "But that's just not Christian, is it? No, God would rather you keep secrets behind your wife's back, so you can get your nut off in assholes that could give you a disease. Name one time you used a condom."

"You're a brick wall," he shook his head and then stood up with a slight wobble in his step, "I knew I shouldn't have trusted you."

"Good thinking, my guy! What the fuck else were your expecting outta this?!" you stood up too. There was no point in arguing with a delusional man; there was no reason you two should've referred to each other as friends in the first place. You just moved in three months ago! Before then, you never knew of such insane people like your neighbor, who'd reject their true selves just to keep up a facade. He was quite a devil to want to storm out on you after telling those erotic stories.

"You want me to say what a good man you are? How righteous it is to deny your feelings? Mark my words, those kids know what you've done, and they hate you. They hate every part of you. How is it summer vacation, they study one hour away, and they've NEVER visited the house?!"

"Fuck off!" your neighbor thrusted his hand forward, inches away from smacking you in the face, but you didn't budge, "You don't know what I've done to keep my family together!"

"Unless you had a gun to your head, I find it hard to believe you had to fuck those guys. Even so, I'd rather take a bullet than betray my marriage."

"Fuck you!"

You got in the other man's face, his innocent appearance dying as he was sweating bullets down his neat hairline. His eyes were manic & pink from crying, and those pearly white teeth grinded against themselves, surely holding back diabolical insults.

"You are a whore. That's all you'll ever be," those words spat too much venom for someone who you thought didn't fully deserve it. Despite your outrage, you knew that he showed remorse, unlike some people who take their secrets to the grave. He was on step one of the recovery process for closeted homosexuals. There was an underlying reason for confessing all of this to you tonight, not just for validation, but for acceptance.

"Look at yourself. Your pants weren't that tight before. That cock is screaming for attention."

The father of two melted to the floor, his back pressed up against the front door that he was about to walk out of. The rage that clouded his vision faded as he let out a soft moan while using his hands to unbutton his shirt.

"No," you ordered, "Pants first."

He went on to strip himself waist down, enough to reveal his slutty erection that has been consumed by countless guys. It had been too long since you last had some, that was the only way you could look down at this pathetic man and feel an ounce of attraction. You kneeled, inching closer, and taking a hold of his cock.

"Be honest with yourself," you said, "You're a slut."

"No," he winced, feeling a tinge of pleasure shoot through his dick. He was a sucker for when guys delicately rubbed the slit of his penis.

"How much sluttier can you get? Letting a man you barely know touch you like this? After screaming in his face, and you still don't knock his lights out?"

The father pleaded for this to end, but his stiffening nipples said otherwise. You paused your stroking to unbutton his shirt for him, just so you can return to jerking him off. "Ahh...please," he shivered as your tongue pressed on his nipple, sucking at it gently with occasional bites. Your hand was talented in keeping in rhythm while you tended to his chest.

"I'll start you off easy," you whispered against his wet nipple, "Repeat these words: I am gay."

"Fuck you," he shut his eyes, turning his head to the side, like that was enough to erase from this reality.

"How about: I am bisexual? Is that better?"

"I'm straight!" he yelped, feeling his balls clenching against his body, "I don't wanna do this anymore..."

"Then leave," to stress how much you weren't holding him against his will, you removed your hand just before he could cum, along with your mouth, and stood up. You even moved a few inches back with your hands clasped behind you, "Go on."

He sat there, collecting his breath, "How do you expect me to get off?"

"I hear masturbating is a popular activity," you raised your eyebrows with a smile.

He sneered up at you, but he didn't move his body from the ground. Like a petulant child, he just threatened you with that distressed stare. That was more than enough to bring him to your bedroom. It wasn't a king-sized suite like his, but the XL twin made for a great excuse to keep you two in proximity.

The closeted man didn't deserve to feel your cock in its full greatness; with all this talk of meaningless sex, you wrapped yourself in a condom before entering that greedy asshole. "How long has it been since your last?" you pressed your hands against his thick thighs, reveling at the sight of your neighbor gasping for air.

"Ahh...a year! The convention was last- Ohh fuck!" your cock slid so easily past his walls, that getting to his prostate was effortless. "I'm clean, I swear!"

"Now why do you say that?"

"I wanna feel your cock, " a tear squeezed from his shut eyelid, "Just for tonight."

"Poor baby..." you gave a deep thrust, dragging a wonton cry from the 49-year-old man, "That would be great, but you gotta do me a favor." you paused, "Two actually."

The first was to bring a recent document of his STD results to confirm he was clean, and the second was much more obvious. "You had all this talk about giving your ass to these people; you WANTED me to come onto you," that thought of your neighbor devising this plan to visit the bar just to fuck you sent chills up your spine, "So consider this a freebee. No more until you confess. Say that you're gay. Or bi. Fuck it, pansexual. Just admit you love a guy's dick in your ass, and it's not some condition- but a part of who you are. Then I'll consider having you as my fuck buddy."

You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around the other man, thrusting harder. Your lover was already groaning so loudly, it's possible his wife could hear if she had her window up.

"You wanna be a good man- a good boy?!" you hissed.

"Please!" he repeated into your ear.

"Confess to me" an unnatural growl tore from your throat, and your nails dipped into his skin. You crammed the tip of your penis right up against his sensitive prostate, "To God, and you'll be set free!"

This task was completed a lot quicker than you anticipated. Part of you predicted he'd find a way to convince his wife to move out of the area and go somewhere closer to the kids. Or to Hawaii, which is where he always dreamed he'd retire. But just a week and a half later, you heard the doorbell ring. You saw a gift basket in his hand, and it took the strength of a thousand suns to not cackle in his face.

"I remember you said you liked pears, and this was on sale," he explained casually.

"Sure it was. Come on in."

Inside the basket was pears, pear-jam, pear flavored sweets, & a pear-flavored wine along with a couple washcloths & a mug. You knew all of this before opening the darn thing because he described it in detail. "Wife still not doing it for ya?" you said kindly, as it was translated from what you really wanted to say, "Are you so fucking bored you had to list off the gifts you bought me as a reward for making you cum twice?"

"She's on a girl's trip right now," he replied, sitting on the couch, "Will be for five days."

"Damn," you sat beside him. "Hope she has fun."

"Me too."

You rested your feet on the counter, "Let's not get off track though. What's the deal with you coming here?"

"I got the results; they're in that envelope I gave you with the basket. I also wanted to say..." he faced you and took a deep breath, "I think I'm bi-curious?"

"Is that a question or a statement?"

"A statement," he clarified, "See, I've been doing a lot of research on sexuality. There's a lot of people that are in my situation. Some insist that they're straight and others know they're gay, but try to fit in. With hours of talking to them, and learning, I decided that I don't know what I am." You begged to differ, but looking at his solemn eyes, you decided to be Mr. Nice Guy and not call him out on his denial, "I love my wife, but I also love..."

"Yeah?"

"I love having sex with other men," he finished, "From what I can tell, my body was made for this. I don't know if that's a good thing- if that's what is right...but, I can't lie anymore. I have a problem."

"Fucking hell," you groaned, "You still don't get it. It's not a problem to be gay! It becomes a problem when you hurt people because of it." This made your neighbor sigh, rubbing his hair back to avoid the budding sweat from spilling down, "So, that's it? You're just curious?"

"More curious than a monkey," he quipped, "I can't tell you that I'm gay. That was unheard of in my time. It's almost like calling yourself an alien! But for the sake of my family, I'm going to learn to be better."

What a fucking idiot, you thought as you pulled him towards you for a kiss. Even you didn't expect it to be as deep as you made it, with your tongue entering his mouth and savoring his coffee-flavored saliva. He naturally leaned in, despite never having been kissed by a man before. It was delightful, to be taken in such a dominant yet caring way. His head being pulled towards yours and starting a dance that could only be witnessed between your mouths. Not even his kisses with his spouse were so heated.

"Woah..." he gasped as you two parted, "You have an odd way of showing that you like me."

"I don't like you," you stated, "But it's not safe to be messing around with strangers. You're better off sticking to someone you know."

"Is this how you flirt with people?"

You dodged the question, "Why couldn't you be normal like other neighbors?"

"I think you'd be very surprised by how many married men act the way I do."

"Despicable." You took him again. Right there, on the couch. You didn't want to limit yourself to just one place; besides, your cocks were already fully erect and straining for release.

Your aching cock was devoured by your neighbor, who claimed to have wanted a taste of it since last time. He slurped your precum like it was his favorite drink; moaning and shuddering as your first load shot down his throat. He wanted to give further thanks by leaving you on your back, so he can climb on top and eat your dick again with his anus. No condom this time, not after you confirmed his results. The lack of barrier between skin was sending you both to nirvana.

"That's it, ride my cock..." you slapped his juicy ass that was in your view. It grew pink so rapidly; it was entertaining to watch. Slap after slap he took like a champ, bouncing harder on your lap and squealing for you to thrust upwards to match his movements- like the dirty pig he is.

A kind neighbor would tell his wife about the misdeeds he confessed, which would likely lead them to a divorce. It wouldn't be pleasant, but it was the right thing to do, much better than encouraging the man's addiction to fat, throbbing dick. But it was his marriage he was sabotaging, not yours. You were a bachelor, free to explore wherever you wanted without shame. This guy, however well put together he may look, lived a life defined by shame. You were going to break that.

"Fuck yeah. Yes! Take this cum! Enjoy it filling your tight ass!" you released your balls by the last syllable, letting cum rush through your shaft and squirt out the slit- into your neighbor's rectum. The man on top threw his head back, jaw wide, and cried out the words, "Yes Daddy!" so much that they were toppling over themselves. Morals be damned when you're welcomed into the community by such a whore.

You were going to make him the proudest cocksucker in the neighborhood.

Thank you for reading!

Please like & leave a comment if you enjoyed 🥰

[vaguely-concerned]

*fully sweating bullets and thousand yard staring into space as the king of hearts starts to talk about losing the person you love and what you'd be willing to do to get them back* this better not be fUCKING thematic foreshadowing for what this story is meant to head towards eventually (I say, with little hope and great trepidation). we're just going to be thematically microdosing on that in the main krew right folks. no one's going to be lost forever. right??!?!

(though I must admit that the idea of some of them dying and being brough back because that is someone else's heart's desire -- because 'what would even be the point of being given anything else, if you aren't here with me' -- would render me fully incapable of being normal ever again and forever goodnight)

[secretmellowblog]

I think Pere Fauchelevent deserves to be the new tumblr Les Mis sexyman. He’s got everything: a redemption arc, witty jokes/snark, and a bizarrely homoerotic relationship with a main character (Valjean literally takes Fauchelevent’s name and they raise Cosette together.) Sure, Fauchelevent is not “canonically hot,” but that has never stopped the Les Mis fandom before! (Just look at Grantaire and Javert.) I think ppl could easily ignore his canon descriptions and reimagine him as a sexy silver fox

[crimson-nail]

“You will deal with this?” asks Knives, the gravity of a hundred years of failing to rely on another weighing on his voice.

“—Yes. Trust us,” Livio and Razlo reply. There’s fire in those eyes, rising to meet Knives’ intensity without an ounce of hesitation left in that molten gold — like he has waited his entire life to be asked such a question, and to be free to give such an answer to someone. “We’ll clean up these two and get the plant back to the Andron facility. She’ll be fine. We’ll take care of her.”

“...Alright.”

He smiles. It’s returned in kind, toothy and lopsided and less than an inch from his face.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” says Nai, allowing a serene expression to overtake his features, “I’m going to pass out now.”

-

finally finished up a sketch page from the monster of a fic i’ve been working on since april… i am out here being delusional ❤️

[september-poetry]

a violent dog, a vitriol

what does it mean to exist

these bars that hold us in

this mortality that binds us

would you rather not

the confines of time

over the skin that keeps us held tight

within its grasp

i feel my flesh

it is raw and rotten

i see it fall apart

i sense my bones are breaking yet again

the blood spills from porcelain hands

ceramic stained red as love grows weary

do you not grow tired of holding up

a broken withered man

the puppets strings have broken off in your absence

and here he is

alone

empty

afraid

a dog without his owner

he bares his fangs and his torn and bloodied pelt

its scars permeate his grin

his maw is bruised and beaten down

as his skull glints in the light

and his tail is empty

it has used up all its energy

useless

limp and hollow

eyes of golden honey look into his cage

do you see my potential?

i can fight for you

i can die for you

tell me what to do and i'm yours

a violent animal

i will bite

i will tear at your softened flesh

i will break your skin with my lies

i will gnash and scream and howl

until there's nothing left

but a skeleton of broken dreams

and a lover who once was happy

euthanise me

smother my whines

ill whimper all night

i'll stay silent if you ask me to

im sorry

i'll offer you my neck

a sacrifice for what is holy

a martyr for my self worth

bite me

taste enough to satiate yourself

and leave my leftovers to rot

on the marble steps in which you lay me bare

chest exposed to the gods

ribs interlinked with your fingers as you pull

break them

crack me open

hear them fracture through your skull

taint these sacrilegious walls

that once held the intestines of your sacrificial lamb

an unworthy vessel for your virtue

let the sin spill out

and touch my lips as a final prayer

one last breath

another piece of me

fill your lungs with what is left of my body

and consume me whole

i love you

my oxygen

my owner

my everything

14 / 10 / 24

prompt: idol

week two: lights

from @lordsovorn darktober

[trekscribbles]

The Bushwhack Job Update

I was on the last chapter. I had a final reunion scene half-drafted, all ready to go, I was excited, I was ready to finish, and then... I had an idea. One that makes the final showdown much better than the one I'd originally written, and which ties up the con in a way that makes more sense.

Unfortunately, it required a rewrite of the end of chapter 13, which I've already shared here. I'm going to keep drafting through the last chapter to make sure I have all my main story points ironed out before I share the rewritten chapter 13, and then I'll share the rest as I finish them. I'll also probably add 2 more chapters than I was planning, which I think will lead up to a more satisfying ending without rushing things (looking at you, The Man Called Noon).

So be on the lookout for the new version in the next few days!

[schoute]

I'm writing more Croc x Kerry