#thank you for writing with me !

[mutantmuses]

soooo it's 12Am here &&&& i wanna do a follow forever up here ;

@hcxcd - I LOVE YOU !!!! Such an amazing human being & if y'all aren't following her y'all should. She's so kind, sweet and amazing at writing Wanda.

2. @watsonjackpot - I love him to death! I love his writing. Such a sweet person. I love how we gush over the ships we have made for our muses.

3. @bothsidesofaquestion - your writing is chef kisses. i love your Kurt so much! i can't wait for more threads !

------------

other amazing people ;

@qu-tipie @positivelybeastly @volucerrubidus @cultsg00ul @webxfshame @bruz3r @wonder-winged @florietiae @collectingmuses

Y'all are so amazing & i love all of y'all so much ! i'm so glad i've come back to this blog. i hope we all keep making wonderful threads together !

[xnxthinglastsfxrever]

// I'm a very grateful to have a chance to be writing with my amazing rp partners, if one day I'm no longer here, just know that this blogs lives on and you guys are the real MVPs. No one in my friends group or family member knows about this blog, and the only person who did was my late brother, he passed in 2014 and his blog on tumblr is still here. Sometimes I would just go to his blog and look at the things he had done, pictures taken just weeks before his passing. So if the time comes, when I'm no longer here, my writing will be along with my wonderful rp partners. Thank you for writing with me and Natasha.

sincerely,

Natasha T. september 9, 2023 3:36pm PST

[itismissswann]

I wanted to wish all of you incredible people here a wonderful Easter! 

[ursulaklegay]

its so scary to put yourself out there but a SINGLE message saying "hi i loved what you made it touched me in some way" makes it all worth it 10000%

[beepboopappreciation]

Is this anything

[paperclipninja]

I swear trying to write smut feels like:

His hands were hands and then the fingers were in the hand and the hand was with the fingers and the fingers had the hand in the other hand then the fingers dragged to the hand with the fingers and it was hot

[kangals]

friendly advice from vetmed: I know that when your animal has an infection that is generating a lot of discharge, you want to describe that to the veterinarian, because it’s a concerning sign. that is true. I also know that the most common word for this type of discharge is “pus,” so it’s logical that that’s the word that you’ll use when describing what’s going on. and in English, we often add a “-y” when we’re using a word as a descriptor.

but. the word. the word you are looking for. is purulent.

please stop sending in messages telling the doctor that your dog has a “pussy wound.”

[movedtoferinehuntress]

Yeah, got a few things done. I finally moved over all my headcanons for aloy onto ferallfemmes. I did a few drafts as well, and just slowly but surely catching up with the times. Its not that I have much, but my brain kind of crashed for the last week so I'm playing catch up. After this post, I'll probably post a few memes here and there but otherwise I'm off to bed.

please send as many memes as you want. I tend to always answer them <3

If you want to chat, message me on discord! if you need my name, send me a DM ^_^.

DRAFTS: 05

ASKS: 10

STARTERS: 02

THREADS: 45

[girllookingoutwindow]

Portia and Penelope: cute moments.

[erabu-san]

I enjoyed every second of this quest

[This art has platonic intention. Thank you for not tag ship!]

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[tarabyte3]

Hey fanfiction writers: If no one's ever told you this before, it's not just fanfiction.

It's something you spent hours, days, maybe even months on, pouring your heart out onto a page because you were so full of passion and thoughts about a story or characters, you felt like you were going to explode if you didn't get it out. Maybe you lost sleep because your mind was racing with ideas or you forgot to eat or drink water because you were so focused. Maybe your back aches from being hunched over for so long, unmoving. Maybe you even felt like you were going a little feral because you were so excited about what you were creating, or were frustrated when you got stuck. Either way, you put your heart, mind, soul, and body into making something.

It's okay to want people to read it, and it's okay if you're disappointed that they don't or it doesn't get as much of a reaction as you were hoping for. Humans are social creatures. Sure, we write for ourselves, but we also share because the joy of doing so is just as powerful as the joy of the process. Of having created something.

We all experience that joy and that disappointment, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

So it's okay. It's not just fanfiction.

[n0chanxes]

I’m still here and interested in our threads I promise

hi hello hey, its me I’m really sorry to those I’ve kept waiting for replies, I feel terrible.  My brain is muddy most days, especially after work, and since this is very much a hobby that I want to continue enjoying, I only rp the muses that are awake.  Even then I only rp when I have the energy to, which isn’t nearly as often as I’d like.. I don’t like forcing myself to reply to things because I love going back and re-reading replies and I find I’m never happy with/can always tell when I lost muse but still forced out a reply. I also really like being online with my rp partner so a good thread gets going. It helps me stay in the muse’s mindset and makes thinking about their thoughts, actions, reactions, and reasoning easier and more enjoyable. I’ve been doing this, here, for well over a decade, and I always get into periods where I make rp feel more like a job than a hobby. I’ve up and left my accounts before because I managed to suck all the fun from writing because of that mind set. I’m so so sorry that means some of you have to wait so long for me.

Please like this if you’d like to keep our threads. Or comment on which threads you’d like me to prioritize if I can. Conversely, if you’d like to drop a thread, please comment or message me. I’ll understand either way!

<3 

[elodieunderglass]

Horror isekai where Perceiving the Weird Eldritch Thing gets you catapulted into a nightmare labyrinth of puzzle-solving.

I.e Those Who Perceive The Hunt of the Goblin King Must Partake In The Labyrinth and Can Only Be Freed If They Complete It In One Day and One Night. By Fae Law. For Reasons.

But the definition of “perception” clearly needs to be updated because some normal guy simply films the Hunt of the Goblin King Behind Arby’s, and puts it on Facebook -

No, not instagram or TikTok, it’s important that it be Facebook -

Because the rules are pretty clear, “the rules are the rules” as is carved ominously in elvish runes above the grim gate, and the Contract is Sealed. and so therefore the guy and 25 of their most random real-life acquaintances must run the gauntlet together. It’s Some Guy, their immediate neighbors, their first partner’s mom, their friends from hobby Facebook groups (oh this poor guy and their hobbies; the elderly birdwatchers from Facebook and the young up-and-coming drag king community), their random teen kid niece, college friends, a dog who also watched the video, a couple consisting of a woman who is the guy’s Facebook friend and showed her husband the video, and the husband doesn’t even know Some Guy, so he’s in the labyrinth and absolutely furious about being forced to be involved, and they proceed to break up over the course of the puzzle.

It’s important that the narrative keeps trying to be a sexy dark horror isekai! but within this the comedic reality of Catherine, 52, the guy’s horse-riding instructor, being passionately involved in escape-room-style puzzle solving and grappling with minor goblins. They are in fact speedrunning the gauntlet.

The Goblin King finally has to say: all right, actually, I only really set all this up to fuck with one (1) guy at a time, thanks for your willingness to participate, but I think all 25 of you can consider the gauntlet fully run.

And the group would be quite hurt by that. The rules are the rules. We have a contract, actually. Let Catherine cook.

[wlwloverwrites]

Quiet Drive

Pairing: Old Man!Logan Howlett x Reader

Warnings: just reader giving oral so reader’s gender is up to you, implied age age… i mean he’s 200 years old so… mentions of alcohol and intoxication, oral sex (m receiving), using spit as lube, Logan growing hard in your mouth, handjob, deepthroating, smut (18+) please no minors

Summary: Logan likes quiet drives, but there’s only way that can happen when you’re sitting in the passenger seat.

Main Masterlist

DO NOT STEAL MY WORK OR POST ON OTHER PLATFORMS.

“Feels weird,” you comment, breaking the awkward silence in the limousine.

“What does?” Logan asks, keeping his tiresome eyes on the empty road and strong hands on the wheel.

Clicking your seatbelt off, you shift in the passenger seat so your body can face his. You send him a smile when he raises his eyebrow and steals a glance at you. A giggle escape your lips before replying, “Being in the passenger seat.”

Logan, the driver you are building a close relationship with, says nothing and only grunts in response.

Despite his grunt and borderline hostile attitude, you take it as a good sign. You feel his eyes every time you walk to and from his limousine. You notice the way he grips the wheel when you whisper his name sweetly from the back seat. And sometimes you catch his eyes in the mirror looking at you instead of the road when there’s a red light.

He thinks he’s slick. He ignores the way his heart races when you text him an address, or masks his surprise when you shout drunk confessions about your personal problems with a bottle in your hand. He also limits his vocabulary to deep grunts as his version of yes and no. He never adds onto your small talk, but can’t help himself from calling you ‘Sweetheart’. He figures if he ignores you hard enough his tiny crush will go away.

In order to get rid of the silence, your hand reaches over to the radio. Before you can get a hold on the volume, Logan gently smacks your hand away.

“Come on Lo’. A little bit of music doesn’t hurt, right?”

He tries to ignore the nickname and the way the hand that reached for the radio, is now resting on his thigh. His eyes look at your hand on his thigh and he wants to groan when you hand slips a little higher.

“Like it quiet in here,” he huffs, but you think it’s a cover up for the blood slowly making its way to his cock. “Is that a problem?”

“Think so,” you shrug as your eyes fall to his lap.

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“The only way my mouth is going to be quiet… is if it’s full.”

Your hand migrates to his crotch as you look up to stare at Logan, searching for any signs that maybe you were wrong. Maybe he doesn’t like you and the longing stares are equivalent to the stares you get from your average stranger. Maybe it’s all in your head.

“Sweetheart, do you know what you’re doing?”

The question isn’t a rejection so you waste no time in reassuring him that if he’s willing, you will treat him for every ride he has given you.

“‘Course I do. Will you let me?” You ask, eyes wide and filling with hope.

His face is mean, which scares you into thinking that you have offended him with your attempt to get into his pants and get your mouth on him. However his furrowed eyebrows that emphasize his wrinkles relax as he lets out a chuckle. His broad shoulders shrug, his way of telling you, ‘suit yourself.’

The empty road eases your worries of an accident and you trust Logan’s steady hands before you undo his zipper. You tug at his pants and he awkwardly helps you lower them enough so your hand can palm his dick.

“Wanted you for so long,” you confess, resting your cheek on Logan’s thigh.

You smile sweetly when you hear a quiet hiss the moment your fingers slip beneath his underwear. Your fingertips tangle themselves in the grey hairs leading up to his cock before they hook and tug his underwear down. Logan laughs at the way a line of drool escapes your lips and falls onto his lap, but that laughter is cut off when your eyes meet his and you lick a wet stripe on the palm of your hand. Your wet hand grabs a hold of his semi-hard length.

“Sorry. It can take a while,” He apologizes.

He isn’t as young as he used to be. He has scars that linger on his skin for weeks before they finally fade. His body aches when he wakes up in the morning and he finds himself needing a second cup of coffee before he can drive his first client. He also needs an extra minute in situations like these, despite it rarely happening since he been living his secret life.

“I’m an old man now.”

“I think you’re hot.” You say so bluntly he almost believes you. You wanted to work for his pleasure so it was a win-win situation in your eyes. “Plus, we have more than enough time.”

The address you sent is an hour away so you brush off his words as you hold his semihard-on in your hand; he’s heavy in your sticky hand and it makes you ache. With an experimental lick, you taste him.

His grip on the steering wheel tightens when a soft wine escapes your lips. He steals a quick glance and catches the way you wet your lips before you wrap them around his cock.

Mindful of your teeth, you work your mouth on him and sigh softly when you can feel him. Your dry hand remains on his thigh and you want to giggle when he shifts under your touch drawing small shapes on his flexing quad. Your wet hand works itself up and down, alternating between a tight and loose grip. You work slowly as you mostly use your mouth to warm his growing inches. Instead of pulling off completely when you need air, you carefully move cock so his tip is pressed against the inside of your cheek. After a couple of breaths you focus on warming his spit-soaked cock and repeat the process.

Slowly, he grows heavier and thicker in your mouth. You feel the slight stretch in your jaw and the weight of him on your wet tongue. You’re mesmerized when you finally pull away and let your spit drip down and pool at his base. His cock glistens with every passing street light and suddenly Logan is missing the warmth of your mouth; his hips buckle and curses at his seatbelt pinning him down.

Instead of teasing him, you hold his cock in your hand and press the head of his cock against your lips. Your lips kiss his tip, smearing his precome over your lips. A line of his sticky come stretches over your parted lips when you take in your mouth again. The sight is sinful and has the old man question how the hell he is still driving straight.

“Fuck, you’re filthy.”

His words make you smile. The hand wrapped around him tightens as your drooling tongue licks over the vein on his cock. Logan turns into a leaking mess, especially when you work your closed fist on his cock. His groans slip past his lips and his foot on the gas pedal feels heavier.

“Gotta careful or you’re gonna make me pull over.”

His comment only spurs you on as you suck his leaking tip and let your hand jerk his cock. Your empty hand finds itself gripping his thighs when your mouth takes more of him. Your lips struggle to stretch over his cock and you hold off a gag when his cock slowly reaches the back of your throat.

“Shit!”

His loud curse makes you pull off his cock. Mindful not to end his pleasure, you work your hand over his wet cock. The mix of both your spit and his come let your hand glide over his cock and fill the car with soft squelching sounds.

“Thought you liked when it’s quiet?” You ask teasingly.

The question makes Logan chuckle. Adjusting his hold on the wheel, he uses his free hand to scratch at his greying, thick beard. “You’ve got a mouth on you, sweetheart.”

“In more ways than one,” you playfully wink before you let him stretch your mouth open.

The noises of your mouth swallowing his cock paired with Logan’s heavy breathing fill the limo and you feel yourself squirming with need. Your knees ache from holding your weight and the middle armrest digs into your stomach. It’s uncomfortable but worth every moan that escapes Logan’s mouth. It’s only fair you get to hear his sounds of pleasure after dealing with his grumpy attitude.

“Sweetheart, gotta keep your keep your head down,” he whispers suddenly.

Not fully catching his words, you try to pull off his cock to ask him to repeat himself, but his strong hand shoves you back on his cock. Tears build in your eyes when his cock hits the back of your throat. Your nails dig into his thigh and suddenly your nose is brushing against his grey hairs.

“Just a little longer. Stay down.” Logan’s voice is uneven as the grip on your head tightens, keeping you down.

You don’t question, instead you accept it. Shutting your eyes you try your best to calm your breathing. Your tongue licks his cock the best it can with your mouth being so full. The hand that was gripping the base of his cock slips down to his balls.

It takes every bit of strength in Logan to not look down. To not pull you off his cock and kiss you until his lungs ached. Instead he prays he doesn’t come down your throat and tries to drive past the car driving in the opposite lane.

One hand grips the wheel while the other holds your head down to swallow his cock. His windows are tinted, but the asshole driving has his high beams and could easily see you if he just looked over. He is careful to not draw any attention to his lap despite him knowing no stranger would be that noisy. Still he doesn’t want to take the risk.

Or maybe this was his excuse to feel the back of your throat. To feel the way you swallow his cock and struggle to breathe.

“Almost gone, love.” His words are encouraging and have you wondering if you want Logan to whisper sweet nothings into your ear on a regular basis.

The lights are blinding when the car finally passes them and once the road is clear Logan’s grip on your head is gone. Logan expects you to pull off, take a breath, instead you stay. Your nails digging into his thigh only dig harder, but you focus on his pleasure and reach to softly squeeze his balls.

“F-fuck.” His curse is his only warning and suddenly Logan is spilling into your mouth.

Feeling lightheaded, you finally pull away. A loud gasp fills the car and you’re quite a sight. Your eyes are teary, mouth is glistening with both your spit and his come to the point you have your mixture drooling onto your chin.

You let your hand do the rest of the work as you tug at his leaking cock. You let out a giggle when your thumb swipes over his tip and bring that thumb to taste him before looking up at the man who looks like he went to heaven and came back.

His mouth opens to say something, but he’s having trouble. His mind tells him to thank you, but his heart tells him to confess his feelings, but that would be cheesy, right? Luckily he keeps his mouth shut and you break the silence.

“Hey Logan?”

He lets out a relaxed yet nervous sigh before humming.

“Pull over, I’ve always wanted to have sex in a limo.”

He scoffs, but you see the blush on his cheeks and hear his emergency lights turn on. He checks his blind spot over his shoulder smiling when he confesses, “Gonna kill me, sweetheart.”

“But you like me.”

He’s speechless for second before he agrees, “Yeah, love, I like you.”

No pressure tags but also just a few of my favorite writers for Logan! Hopefully yall have seen me in your comments! If not i will comment even more! I love your works <3 @eupheme @mrsimpurity @tojigasm @moonlight-prose @ozarkthedog

More Logan Content

[somnimagus]

My page for @sheikahzine; about Impaz's duty to her village, empty of people and full of memories.

[id in alt text]