#someone tell me to stop

[callilemon]

Noé.exe stopped working

[eldrith]

jon snow count your days. 1.2k words in….

[popodoki]

Sex shop Catwin, part 3 of WHO KNOWS cause who am I trying to kid here anyway x

NSFW (obviously)

last part ended with Thomas telling Edwin "Sweetheart, we're just getting started."

The words, whispered into his ear, shoot up the same path along his spine, hard and fast like an electric shock. It spurs him on. It’s the only explanation he can give himself, for the way his hands grab and cling to Thomas’s shoulders, the way he surges forward to claim the other’s lips in a kiss that starts with their teeth clacking, lips getting bruised and ends with the both of them trying to suck the other’s tongue into their mouth. The hand loosely wrapped around the base of his cock moves, fingers trailing down, down, instead of back up his shaft. ��

Edwin keens at the first touch of wet fingers behind his balls, shivers as they trace a tingling line down his taint, knees widening of their own accord. Thomas pecks him softly on the lips, a few times, before dropping down, kneeling in front of the couch, in the space Edwin’s just provided. Edwin’s so distracted by the two fingers massaging up and down his taint, coming close to but stopping just shy of touching his fluttering rim, that he doesn’t notice Thomas gently pulling one of his hands towards him, until the cold lube lands on his palm. The tube clicks back shut as Edwin stares at the slick slowly spreading in a circle on his palm, slowly warming after contact with his skin, which feels like it’s burning, from the inside out from the tip of his toes to the topmost hair on his head. Heat somehow finds an even higher setting in his face, when Thomas takes his wrist again, and guides Edwin’s hand to where Thomas is still trailing his up and down his taint. Edwin’s fingers hover above his hole, dripping lube.  

Both sets of eyes blow impossibly wide, the moment the tip of Edwin’s pointer finger nudges its way into his hole. Edwin stares at Thomas, the latter focused on Edwin’s finger slowly but surely sinking to the knuckle. Edwin is the first to break away, eyes flicking to the coffee table. He’s acutely aware of Thomas’s eyes staying, fixed on Edwin’s finger pumping in and out of his own ass. Edwin wonders if he’s at all surprised at how smoothly Edwin progresses from one to two of his fingers, how practiced the stretching motions of his hand and fingers are. Edwin might not have had any success with the vibrator, but missing out on a new and exciting experience, doesn’t automatically mean he’s had unsatisfied nights. He muses that even if he’d had, it’d been worth it, surely, for he’s currently in a whole new and exciting, ongoing experience, right now. The way his cock twitches at the novel sensation of being watched, having a rapt audience watching him finger himself, is not something Edwin can ignore.  

Neither are the boxes on the coffee table. 

They both startle, partly from Edwin’s voice piercing the silence that had fallen around them, and partly, Edwin figures, because it’s him who breaks it. “You mentioned a demonstration?” While he doesn’t quite land the steady tone he tried to maintain, Edwin’s gratified to see Thomas smile wide at him, biting down on his bottom lip almost in childish glee and excitement, as he gives a searching glance over the boxes. He’s equally glad for the way Thomas’s fingers still don’t leave his skin, touch grounding, helping to keep any possible nerves that might still try to spring up at this point at bay.  

Thomas’s hand pulls back in sight, returning from where he grabbed something on the far end of the pile. Edwin’s fingers pause as he takes in “a string of beads?” That’s exactly what it is, the correct term being anal beads, as Thomas explains, while he applies more lube - the tingling kind - Edwin’s mind quietly supplies, to his fingers and subsequently to the beads. One by one, from the smallest resembling a pea, to the largest which Edwin’d say is closer to a marble, they’re covered in the lube until they shine. Thomas hooks his finger through the ring at the end of the string, and lets it fall and slip through his fingers, dangle, and land on Edwin’s hip. He traces a tingling path down to where Edwin’s ass clenches on his fingers. At Edwin’s nod, the slight spread of his fingers at his entrance, the beads start slipping in. Edwin’s ass rolls down instinctively, invitingly, as the pressure increases at a snail’s pace, Thomas controlling the stretch, not giving in to Edwin’s silent pleas, as he shifts his ass on the couch.  

“While smaller than your average dildo, I mean, I’m sure even the largest bead is one you can definitely take right now, as it probably equals to your own two fingers,” Edwin blinks open eyes he wasn’t aware he’d closed, to flash a mildly annoyed look down his heaving chest, at the man in between his legs, who stopped moving, “the point of anal beads is the slow build-up.” The smile on Thomas’s face is definitely more of a smirk, now. Edwin wants to slap it off. He wants to kiss it, bite it. He settles for a groan laced with as much frustration he can muster, instead. Wants to hate the other man so much more when he gets a laugh in return, though he can find the small victory of the final, largest bead slipping in, settling just past his rim. His hips twitch forward in tandem with the little tugs to the attached ring, pulling the large bead in a nice little taut nudge, nudge, nudge to his sensitive opening. “The other point of the beads,” Thomas whispers into the skin of Edwin’s tense, trembling thigh, “is the release of said slow build-up.” The finger suddenly yanks, roughly, on the ring. Beads slip out of Edwin’s feebly instinctively clenching hole, with such a wet squelch that it almost feels like there’s come dripping out of his used hole as the last bead slips free. Absurd, as that’s a sensation Edwin isn’t familiar with. Absurd, how much he suddenly craves it.   

It’s too soon for Edwin to come again, but still his cock near aches with the need for it, flushed an angry red, all the way to the dripping tip. A small spurt of pre-cum is all that came out, rapidly cooling on the skin under his bellybutton. He’s trembling, fingers clenching on the couch material, nodding along without really listening, as Thomas finishes properly putting away the beads, and reaches for two larger boxes, placing them side by side, in Edwin’s view.  

The purple dildo in Thomas’s hands is thinner than the rabbit vibrator, but longer, with a slight curve to the tip that promises pleasure, despite lacking the need for batteries. The lube Thomas spreads over it is from a different bottle than the previous two, and his grin has a feral glee to it when Thomas notices Edwin staring. “Put your hands under your thighs for me, hold them open?” He asks, instead of answering Edwin’s unspoken question. As soon as Edwin has the backs of his knees in firm grip, they threaten to jerk back closed, in response to the cold strip of lubricant Thomas just drops right from the tube, held over his cock. Though quickly warmed by his skin, the initial sensation leaves goosebumps trailing after its path down the length of his cock, down his balls, where it pools and sinks into the couch, deepening the wet spot Edwin’s sweat and slick coated hole has already made. Edwin takes some deep, centring, breaths through his nose, registering on the third pass of air, the scent of- “strawberries,” Thomas mutters, face so close to his slicked cock, the puff of air he releases among the single word sends a responding throb to Edwin’s erection, “my favourite.” Thomas finishes, in a movement of lips pressed directly against Edwin’s cock. Edwin can feel the other smile against the sensitive skin, feel those lips widen, a tongue peeking out, tip tracing a vein from bottom to slit.  

At the probing exploration of that tongue tip, flicking then dipping into his dripping slit, Edwin can’t stop his legs from bucking up, with a whine that slowly deepens into a drawn-out moan, as Thomas simply moves with him, and comes back down with him just the same, only then Thomas moves further, bobbing his head forward and taking Edwin’s cock all the way down his throat in one movement, with a pleased hum. Edwin’s given no time to properly react, as the curved tip of the purple dildo nudges once, twice, three times at his hole, to enter on the fourth. He’s given no respite, he’s well prepped, slick, and his body’s response is faster than his brain, his hips already rolling in invitation. There’s nothing for Edwin to focus on except the slow but steady push of Thomas’s hand around the base of the dildo, the couch sticking to his sweaty back, the overwhelming feeling of Edwin having no choice but to take exactly what he’s given. And liking it. He’s coming hard, the moment the curved tip of silicone, with hardly any give no matter how hard he clenches down on it, edges around, and then fully presses deep right into his prostate. There’s no give then either, no relief of pressure, even as Edwin writhes, trapped between Thomas’s throat around his spurting cock, and the dildo held steady and firm by Thomas’s hand, unrelenting contact with the little bundle of nerves in his ass, is sending sparks of searing heat up his spine in a rapid succession of fireworks. Colours blur behind Edwin’s tightly shut eyes. It’s overstimulation to the core, and Edwin’s crying, hissing with the intensity, as he shakes and shakes, feeling any semblance of strength leaving his limbs one by one, all focus narrowed on the inferno between his legs, the cause of it. 

Edwin’s soft cock is released from Thomas’s lips with a, obscene ‘pop’, the other’s gaze keen and alert while he sits back on his haunches, blinking back with a smile at Edwin’s own dazed gaze. A warm thumb gently wipes across Edwin’s cheeks, and he’s vaguely aware of the other standing up, with alarming ease for someone who’s just spent so much time on his knees. Thomas crosses to the other side of the room, rummages through the fridge, returns with a bottle of water, taking a seat next to Edwin on the couch, all in the span of time it takes Edwin to force his lungs to pump some much needed oxygen back into his body. His arm feels numb when Edwin reaches for the offered bottle, so he sighs both in relief and in thanks when Thomas proves incredibly observant once again, and spins the cap himself, lifting the bottle to Edwin’s lips, tilting it perfectly for him to take a few blessedly refreshing sips.  

“I. I honestly don’t think I can handle any more.” Is what comes out of Edwin’s mouth, out of all the thoughts currently running through his head. Eyeing the variety of toys still on the coffee table, daunting more than anything, right now, he does feel that it is the most important thought to voice. 

“Sure you can. The real question is whether you want to.” 

Edwin swallows, aware of the other’s gaze on his throat, his face. Thomas must be following every minute change in Edwin’s demeanour, following the path Edwin’s eyes trace.  

“I’m not denying it’ll take a while,” Thomas says, after knowingly wrapping his hand around the sleek vibrator the very second Edwin’s gaze landed on it, “but all the best things take time. And you’re the best little thing that has walked into my shop in quite a while, Edwin.” He finishes, in a whisper against Edwin’s neck. Unbidden, Edwin’s eyes shoot to the other’s crotch as soon as Thomas is finished speaking, pulling a laugh out of him. “Don’t you worry about me, Edwin. I’m having plenty of fun myself.” Thomas’s lips glisten with a mix of spit and strawberry flavoured lube, his tanned chest has a healthy flush to it, his fingers look sticky with various fluids, and there’s a large wet spot darkening the front of his boxers. Edwin feels like he should at least offer something, after the kind of service he imagines would land Thomas a promotion if he wasn’t already the store owner. Thomas acts like it’s a reward on its own, for Edwin to nod his consent, to let himself be rearranged on the couch, listed sideways till he’s lying flat. His ass would be right on the dubious wet patch on the couch, if it wasn’t for Thomas shifting with him. His legs end up on either side of the other’s waist, splayed across Thomas’s hips, with his ass perched on the seat Thomas makes with his feet.  

There’s a bottle, a new one, again, in Thomas’s hands. Edwin blinks and spares a quick thought to where the vibrator has gone, and Thomas answers, because of course he notices just as fast. There’s laughter in his words, kept gentle but no less teasing. “Babe, there’s no way I’m just going to stick yet another object up your ass already. We’re taking our time, remember?” He shakes the bottle in his hand to draw Edwin’s eyes to it, turning it in his palm to properly show the label once he has Edwin’s attention. 

Massage oil. 

Edwin is going to die on this couch.  

[total-dxmure]

currently working on a dark academia fic… like… would it be awful to have four series going at the same time?

like… what about the sexy taboo cult fic i have in the works?

am i overloading myself? no, because this is my therapy. who needs a therapist when i can talk to my internet friends and write about ellie railing the fuck out of a nondescript woman all day?

[allastoredeer]

Not me making an outline for a fic, knowing it's going to be a fairly long one, and expecting 2,000-3,000 words tops (maybe 4,000 if I'm being detailed. 5,000 if I'm being SUPER detailed)

ONLY TO BE AT 7,000 WORDS AND STILL GOING

This is only supposed to be the outline. Not even the rough draft. I'm just putting down the most basic series of events the stories is going to follow, and I'm still hashing this thing out at 7,000 words. I haven't even reached the middle yet.

Fuck me and my natural inclination towards long and complex plots.

But goddamn am I having fun with this.

One day I'm going to figure out how to write sweet and simple one-shots. I'm going to figure out how to make a short story.

But until then, enjoy my gigantic, monstrosity of fanworks. If you have commitment issues, unfollow me now, cuz all of my shit is long-term.

[gothcsz]

thinking of writing a filthy park ranger!joel x park ranger!fem reader fic bc imagining that man having his way with you in the middle of the picturesque pacific northwest woods has me feeling things

[wish-i-were-heather]

i fear im in love with atticus finch

[the-silliest-of-goobers]

Hey who wants a LotF graphic novel bc I’m making one (or trying to) (again)

[popcorn-plots]

the urge to drop out of high school now that I've gotten into three colleges

[shoopsthereitis]

i have so much going on with wips and fests but i just had an idea that i fear will not leave me alone and now the brain will not stop coming up with scenes and plot points and

[aqueeracademic]

Storytime:

I was a dancer for 16 years, from the ages of 2-18. I danced pre-professionally and professionally and competed nationally. I won a national title dancer award for a solo I did when i was 17. I lived and breathed dance. It was all I cared about.

The most important dance i ever did in my entire life was a competitive group piece to the song “Woman’s Work” by kate bush. I was 16 and grappling with my sexuality and gender identity and we were dancing to a song that said “i know you have a little life in you left / i know you have a lot of strength left” and it MEANT something to me because i wasn’t sure i did. I wasn’t sure i was able to come out, to accept myself for who i was or share it with the world. I couldn’t see myself getting older and being queer. I couldn’t see myself loving or allowing myself to be loved.

I cried on stage performing that piece almost every time we did it. I never told anyone at my dance academy why it made me feel so deeply or what it triggered in me that made me sob uncontrollably the first time we did it on stage. I don’t think i even knew for another couple years what it was about it that made me nauseous while also filling me with adrenaline and passion. I just loved it.

Now imagine me, two years later, out and proud, watching the show that normalized all the things i was worried about. It normalized queer relationships to me that exist past your 20s. It normalized being gay and being genderqueer and made it feel possible that i would be able to come out and people not bat an eye. And then i came out and people accepted me and i couldn’t believe it.

Now imagine me, another year gone, watching the second season of that show that made me feel normal playing the song “Woman’s Work” over the reunion scene between the lead couple. A gay couple. An “older” gay couple (neither of them are even 50 yet but it was an older queer couple than i had ever been exposed to, just stay with me here). Imagine me, an artist who had dedicated a majority of their life to their craft, still holding on to the emotions i had felt from that one dance to that one song. And imagine it playing and me just sitting there sobbing.

Because it’s playing right after Ed has admitted he doesn’t think anyone is waiting for him. He doesn’t think he’s lovable. It’s playing right after Stede has realized he has lost the love of his life because he might not have been good enough. Neither of them having ever been loved the way they wanted to be, and were, loved by the other.

Imagine 19 year old me, watching that and remembering my early years, when i was a child and didn’t know what i was feeling and was terrified of whatever it was. Remembering the teen years when i knew i was queer but didn’t want to be. Remembering the years i spent trying to understand what it meant to me to be queer and being taught that by media like our flag means death. Remembering the dance that woke that beast up inside of me, the song that pushed me to keep going because there would be another side to this.

And imagine me when Ed woke up. When the power of love literally saved him from death because that is the power of being queer and in love. That is the power of being queer and not being ashamed of expressing it to another. “I know you have a little life in you left / I know you have a lot of strength left.” and goddamit, Ed did.

And I did too.

And i KNOW it sounds cheesy and i know that everything i just said probably doesn’t make sense. It seems so bizarre that i am even connecting these two events in my life, but i literally don’t care. Because queer media is fucking important and THIS IS WHY. representation matters and this is why: because 16 year old me didn’t think they would make it because they were queer, but they fucking did. And it’s shows like our flag means death that showed me that i fucking could. And it’s scenes like Ed coming back to life that reminds me everyday that i DO have a little life in me left and i DO have a lot of strength left. And it’s not despite being queer.

It’s fucking because of it.

[jewishrizahawkeye]

karlie walking up to her upper bowl general admission seats

[doueverwonder]

me: yeah I’m already stressed between work and school, and now getting ready for the holidays I shouldn’t do anything else probably

also me, pitching to people at church: what if we ran a food drive? I’d be in charge of getting everything together if y’all are for it

[austinbutlermischief]

[vicciouxs]

I promised myself that I would try to create a story for simple entertainment, without so much complex or philosophical background, because I feel that my brain is going to fall out, and I'm done with seven different word documents and a new civilization created.

[mostlikelydead]

someone help I'm becoming obsessed with metal gear rising