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krayat · 1 year

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* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ author. ❫ ››› ㅤ we are bees then﹐ our honey is language .

* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ promotion. ❫ ››› ㅤ come﹐ little bees﹐ the flowers have your breakfast ready .

* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ announcement. ❫ ››› ㅤ we must dissent from apathy﹐ we must dissent from the fear .

* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ prompt. ❫ ››› ㅤ doves and pigeons can also be trained to send messages .

* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ anonymous. ❫ ››› ㅤ who is this stranger﹐ who comes in the darkness ?

* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ continuum. ❫ ››› ㅤ time doesn’t erase the demons we don’t see .

* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ euphuism. ❫ㅤ ››› ㅤi am make - believe. this is an archive. it hurts to be a story .

* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ episteme. ❫ㅤ ››› ㅤanger travels through me﹐ pushes aside everything else in my heart .

* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ visuals. ❫ㅤ ››› ㅤburial by fire is the last mercy: decay is for the living .

* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ imagery. ❫ㅤ ››› ㅤi build a life and i tear it apart﹐ and the sun keeps shining .

* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ thesis. ❫ㅤ ››› ㅤwho am i when i feel ? what dies in me when i am me ?

* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ theory. ❫ㅤ ››› ㅤbut would you know yourself if you weren’t burning .

* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ behavior. ❫ㅤ ››› ㅤthey made you a weapon and told you to find peace .

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rreskk · 1 month

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Can’t stop thinking about riding Trevor in his chair and fucking in his desk in the strip club office omggg the dirty talk, the way it would lowkey be rushed in case anyone walks in😭👀

I'm too lazy to proof read so sorry if it's all sillay :(

FAVOURITE GIRL

Summary: Quality time with Uncle T in his office!

Pairings: Fem!reader/Dom Trevor Philips

TW: Smut! (he's a bit of a pervert in this)

Word count: 1003

He made a low grunt when you sat down bare, his warmth greeting yours with compassion as the chair beneath him shuddered at the extra weight.

“Sugar, sugar…” His voice purred against the crook of your neck. “Move a little closer, just a little – fuck… Perfect… Yes, fuck.”

You had corrected yourself directly onto his cock, a small breath leaving your lips and making your legs turn to jelly. You also felt his thighs clench up at the intimate contact – his arousal becoming animalistically unbearable.

“God, I love your pussy.” Trevor murmur and wrapped his hands loosely around your hips like a saddle on a horse, encouraging to you slowly ride, the office silent apart from the background noise of your skin slapping together.

It was hard not to whimper. His harsh fingers with substances of grub and dirt traced your sides as he assisted the way you moved into his exposed lap. You felt him stiffen whenever the contact came close and he always looked between your body and the door, always alerted in case someone walked through and disrupted the mid penetration.

So you followed his gaze after feeling the uncertainty.

But he quickly captured your attention by moving his hand further up your back with a small grumble of his deep voice. “Hey, hey. Eyes over here, beautiful. C’mon…”

“Is the door locke – “

“Shut up,” He breathlessly silenced you. “That don’t matter. You should be feeling good right now. Uncle T’s treating you well, ay?”

“Yeah, yeah…”

“Where’s the euphuism, treasure? I needa make you scream.” Trevor grinned with his full sets of yellowish teeth before grinding you into his lap harder – his attention detached from the door and onto the way you reacted; breath hitching and words stumbling out like a token of pride.

He kept on going until your volume increased to his desired amounts.

“Fuck!” You grunted. “Yes, God…”

“You like that?”

“Mhm.” Your lips sealed shut as the two of you continued to fuck about on his desk.

“That’s my girl…” Trevor muttered then stood you up. His hands guided you to his desktop where he bent you over, his fingers caressing your backside before examining the brutality of your pussy; his lips twitching as a result of your wet nature since it drooled from his fingertip when stroking the surrounding pubes. It was exactly what he wanted, furthering his roughness and replacing his finger with his needy cock, warming you up again by rubbing it between your inner thighs.

The change of positions made your adrenaline spike. His desk was covered with dirty magazines and ashtrays, so you had the delights of ingesting his natural scents of tobacco and filth. It brought you comfort more than anything – better comfort than most smells. His offices stunk of sourness due to his hygiene and addictions, but you had outgrown the disgust, finding it arousing as he pushed inside you.

“Fuck…” Trevor whined, thrusting in and finding himself comfortable, repeating the procedure again while you were hung over his desk.

“Mph – “ You muffled out a sweet moan when he began to rush since the rattling of the door suggested dancers walking out from the stage which was merely down the hallway. It made you shudder, falling against the desk and grunting his name.

“I know, Angel. Uncle T’s gotcha…” He reassured with a rough voice.

“Oh – Yes. God.”

“How’s my girl doin’?” A lockful of your hair was tugged backwards as he wanted to see your face. Trevor smirked; satisfied and cruelly enjoying the way your face looked when thrown back. “Aren’t you the sweetest fuckin’ thing, ay?”

“I’m gonna cum.” You whispered pathetically.

“Oh yeah?”

“Please – “

“Playtimes almost over?” He gave you a playful frown, his grip increasing. “But, sugar, I love being with you. You gonna hold it together while you can, babe?”

“Bu – “

Trevor tugged your head back more as his lips grazed the tip of your ear. “Don’t be like that to Uncle T, sweetheart. Hold it together until I say so.”

It was an order to restrain the urge so you squeezed your eyes shut and took him in repeatedly. His praises encouraged you, his hips becoming unbearably fast as he wanted to toy around dangerously before anyone could walk into the office to clock out.

“Fuck, Trevor.” You couldn’t help but moan – his torture making you sexually frustrated.

“I’m almost there, sugar…”

“Trevor. Pleas – “

He gritted his teeth. “Keep talkin’. Baby, fuckin’ speak.”

“Fuck… Fuck…” You stared ahead as he fucked you quick. The moment he wanted you to speak, words were struggling to form and you felt him grow tensely impatient by the ways his hips ruggedly slammed against your backside. It made you jaggar forward and grabbing his desk for support.

“Speak to me, Angel.” He repeated in a broken whisper.

“I want to.” Pathetic as it sounds, you only whimpered and looked back at him, his face scrunched and hands digging into your waist. He was close. It made you lose willpower as cum seeped from your sex. You couldn’t even express the pleasure since he was still fucking you through the climax, your cum being smeared all over his cock that was already stimulated by his longingness to release.

Trevor exhaled sharply and thrusted one more time – deep inside you – his hips cuddling against your backside, his frame closing in on you before he came.

“Oh, fuckin’… God! Love me!” He cried into your ear.

The desk underneath you stopped rattling, but instead rocked backwards at the pilling up weight of Trevor’s body falling into yours fully. You moaned softly at his orgasm, feeling all warm and used, his cock staying inside you until he said otherwise. Which was okay. You wanted him to stay inside you; for more than he thinks.

Your breath was weak and it barely made a noise, no matter how hard you tried to talk to him.

“God. You’re my favourite fuckin’ girl.” He took the hint and spoke for you. “You gotta run along now, Angel. I won’t keep myself together if I’m still inside you when that clock ticks another second.”

It was tempting to challenge his words but you knew he was a busy man, so you leaned up, his cock flawlessly falling from your pussy, making you feel empty and cold.

“Beautiful.” You heard him murmur, his hands rubbing your hips again. “I’ll give you a call later. Don’t fuck around without me, yeah?”

“Mmm. Okay, yeah.”

“Yeah, what?”

“Yes Uncle T.”

“That’s my girl.”

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callmegaith · 5 months

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Is making jackalopes a euphuism for sex?

I knew someone would say that

no.

LIKE THEY HAVENT EVEN KISSED IN MY DRAMATIC RL UNIVERSE YET THEYRE NOT GONNA JUMP INTO BANGING! I LIKE MY SLOW BURNS OKAY?!

#asks!#this is a sfw acc btw #so u wont see them banging here #sorry to disappoint

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jomanila · 7 months

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Euphuism

Some common euphemisms for sex include: one thing, this and that, making love, the nasty, doing the do, getting lucky, getting laid, doing the horizontal tango, dancing, woohooing, making whoopee, and literally hundreds more .

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ao3feed-tolkien · 1 year

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Internet will be built for the "S.W.O.R.D"

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3U5fjMY

by tanor

Welcome to the Enrichment Center - your gateway to a reality where the fantastical and the ordinary intertwine. We're in the business of crafting the future, for the benefit of all (well, except for those who are already dead).

In this brave new world of 1983, expect the mundane to take an extraordinary turn: here we are literally constructing the World Wide Web from the ground up. Moon bases are sprouting in our cosmic backyard, Artificial Intelligence (we're hoping they'll be more friendly than homicidal), we're on the verge of a breakthrough solution for AIDS, and there's even a petting zoo for those eldritch monsters you've heard so much about.

Remember, the word 'compliance' rhymes oh so sweetly with 'science'. But 'incinerator'? That's a different rhyme scheme altogether - a gentle reminder that following the rules keeps you away from its fiery grasp. So buckle up for a journey across the paradoxes of the cosmos, brought to you by the Enrichment Center.

Words: 4465, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Series: Part 4 of Is a "sword" a euphuism?

Fandoms: Fate/stay night (Visual Novel), We Know the Devil (Visual Novel), Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Portal (Video Game), Stranger Things (TV 2016), Iron Sky (2012), Drawing Blood - Poppy Z. Brite, Beetlejuice - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con

Categories: M/M

Characters: Heroic Spirit EMIYA | Archer, Doug Rattmann, GLaDOS (Portal), Two (Stranger Things), Eleven | Jane Hopper, Terry Ives, Will Byers, Mike Wheeler, Ted Wheeler (Stranger Things), Sam Owens (Stranger Things), Jim "Chief" Hopper, Trevor McGee

Relationships: Jumper/Heroic Spirit EMIYA | Archer, Eleven | Jane Hopper/Mike Wheeler

Additional Tags: Self-Insert, Magecraft, For Science!, Time Travel, BDSM, Star Wars References, The Upside Down (Stranger Things), Commercials, Hacking, Hacking as Activism, Rings, Internet, 80's, my beta is an AI

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3U5fjMY

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #Tolkien #JRR Tolkien #Tolkien works #ao3 #fan fiction

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peteroo · 1 year

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19.May.23

Hedgehog hogs the hedge whilst hedge hugs the hedgehog—says your euphoric, European euphuism. ; )

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elopewithmemisssprivate · 1 year

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in biblical times "washing [someone's] feet" was a euphuism. jesus deffo gave judas head

This is the first ask i've had. ever.

#tumblr never change #mine #love thy neighbor

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mil0manheim · 1 year

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Wait is candles an euphuism? 🤔

It is not!

#asks

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vaqro · 1 year

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trigger warning for : attempted murder, death, supernatural elements, unreality, blood, grief. if you come across any other subject you would like to be tagged, dm me. you can read below the cut, or access the gdocs over here. this work is purely fictional and has no intention to mirror any real life events.

you open your eyes, and you are immediately blinded. you wince and turn away from the source of all that light, blinking the black spots away. once your vision is clear for good, you are able to take in your surroundings.

it is the desert.

the same desert you avoid thinking about in too much detail, the same one you remember from your childhood. bathed in sunlight, drowned in moonlight, or drenched in blood. somehow, in your nightmares, you always return to this same desert. that is not the unusual part; what draws your attention is the high noon sun. usually, when coming back to this crossroad, it is the moon that greets you, along with the stench of blood. however, as you sit up and reach for your hat, your hands are dry.

this ocean of arid ground and thistles, undulating in mirage-like waves of heat and covered by a cloudless blue sky is empty of all noise. even the wind doesn’t greet you by tousling your hair or your serape. no noises from animals. nothing in the infinite land beyond the horizon is visible until you turn west.

that's where you see him.

the figure in black, with his back to you. at first, it seems credible to think it’s him. el deadeye. at this point in your life, you have met him a total of twice, and in both of them, you were on the brink between life and —

pain erupts from your abdomen, easily breaking through skin and muscle, just where reinforced armor meets a simple dark gray shirt.your lungs immediately seize in shock, and your throat convulses.red spills from the new hole in your gut the same way it escapes through the corner of your mouth. you barely have a moment to stumble back, hands coming to cover the wound, your pistol meeting the ground. when you lift your eyes —

but just as he approaches, ready to call the name he gave you some twenty-five years ago, the mirage wanes — the figure changes. gone are the hat and the riding boots. in its place, gloves and leather, wide shoulders and long legs, and a rather distinct black wool beanie. you know this person better than the palm of your hand and almost as well as you know your own gun.

gabriel reyes.

you halt your steps, eyes wide. your mouth opens, but you hesitate to say his name; it's been six years since you did.

it feels wrong to name your dead

the man shuffles before turning, robbing you of the chance to say anything at all. "so you’ve made it." the same voice, the same californian accent that you spent nights trying to imitate [ isn't imitation a form of flattery? ], the same hands hidden in his pockets, the same perpetual frown that ate away at your anxieties when you first [ or second ] sold your soul to the devil. it freezes you, the way the mere presence of him reverberates through your body and drains you of any reaction.

you look like you’ve seen a ghost, ingrate.

at long last, your brain conjures something to say—not the smartest or even the most sane, but your lips are dry and you never had much of a filter anyways, so everything you have is: "is this heaven?" and at least it comes out even, no mutters or startles, unlike your heart, which gallops inside your chest.

that’s met with a snort and a smile, which became more and more rare as the days went by in those last few years before the end. the sight of it jars you; "if it were, we'd be eating my abuela's posole on her front porch." and you laugh, nervously at first, but not caring enough to mention that you wouldn’t be eating any posole made with chicken. not even grandma reyes’.

instead, you fiddle with your stetson, still in your hands. "what are you doing out here?"

gabriel shrugs with his whole body, eyes diverging to look around, "same as you, i'd figure.” before he curls his mouth in disdain. “what exactly are you doing here, pendejo?"

multimillion-dollar question. what are you doing here in the desert? the job is done; echo is with sombra by now, and the two are working out a way to send an incredibly expensive, omnic-like robot that was stolen from the military out to europe. what matters is that mina’s dream is still alive. you could have [ should have ] gone with them, but you took another path for your life; claiming to have unfinished business you needed to attend to, but in reality, you just wanted to watch the sunset [ or more ].

ana amari was supposed to be dead, killed by widowmaker — whom you have been privately hunting on his own behalf all these years. it was supposed to be a final act of kindness [ of vengeance ] for the woman who had been like a second mother to you. but it was just another lie to add to the ever-growing tally of lies overwatch told you.

she was alive; the two of you had just spent a night together. drinking, talking — as if time hasn’t passed, as if her death meant nothing, as if you were still some young man too easily impressed by the force of nature that she was [ and continues to be ]. ana attempted to have you consider, accept the call and go help the world. it is a nice road, the one she urges you to take, but is it the right one? you came to egypt with questions and it seems you are going to leave with no answers.

"searching, i’d say," you whisper, rotating the hat in your grasp, "but i ain’t got no idea what i’m looking for anymore." you sigh as you pull your heart back over your head, “i don't even know who i am." outlaw, vigilante, gunslinger, journalist, entrepreneur, soldier, agent, or ghost? which one of them can best define you?

"how many times do i have to tell you this, cassidy?" gabe shakes his head, crossing the open path to you in quick and determined strides, saying, "it doesn’t matter the names people call you behind your back. it is the deed that makes the man." those dark brown eyes stare deep into yours for a moment before he continues on his way, headed east. you cannot look away.

it is always the same thing: he looks you in the eyes, and you are the one scared at what you find there, not the other way around. this is the same hard stare that had you agreeing to spend a lifetime of servitude instead of a lifetime in jail. but it doesn’t work this time.

"yeah, but my deeds just made things worse!" you call it — all bravado. grasping at straws, begging at the shell of a man you once held in the highest regard to give you a reason to stay, but there is nothing. [ the realization comes later, when there is only rubble and smoke ], and you are almost physically chasing the man just to have him look at you again. "i’m a fraud; i’m phony! ana believes in me," you used to believe in me too, "but these people, they need a hero."

gabriel turns just once, his snarl near animalesque in its voracity: "then be the goddamn hero! isn’t that what you always wanted?" the hero of the tale, the cowboy riding off into the sunset. but you shake your head, taking two steps forward before you stop. [ you cannot keep chasing ghosts, or you are going to become one yourself, charmer. ]

your vision blurs, but this time it is not the sun but tears. "you don't understand, i ain't even supposed to be here!" you rebut, arms wide as you try to force him to see the desert for what it is.

he meets your emotional whirlwind with the rock-steady calm he always did: "that’s right. you came all this way to find something that isn’t out here.” gabriel gives you a pointed glare, "don't you see? this isn't about you, it’s about them."

about overwatch. about their makeshift family, their friends, and their allies. about the truth of what happened. but most importantly: this is about the people who need help and you being one of the people who can help. no reward, no recognition, no trophies. the world needs all the help it can get right now, and his guilt can’t be in the way of it.

but it's not going to be easy. especially here, in this place of reckoning. you shudder, suddenly remembering that this is a dream.

this is the desert.

you are on the floor. you can feel the blood of your life gushing through your fingers, drowning the ground beneath you.like this, you cannot breathe. you realize you're going to die.on your back. in the desert. maybe you are already dead, and this has been nothing but a dream within a dream. you died when you were eleven years old. there is no man in black to put you on a path you cannot walk away from. but then you raise your eyes just enough to see a man in black with his back to you, spewing angry words into a microphone in his ear. he is carrying a shotgun. RPNT. repent. you manage to look him in the eyes and — ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤa white owl looks down on you from ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤits branch; its beak is bone-white, and ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤits eyes are almost sanguine; you have ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤnever seen an owl like this. the owl does ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤnot hoot or nor does it chirp, as if noticing ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤyour perplexity. the owl laughs, and ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤa shrill sound of metal grinding against ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤmetal and melting on hell's fires—and one word croaks through the blood in your throat. feeble, weak, disbelieving, "gabe?"

"but i can’t go back," you whisper, hiding your defeated gaze under your hat. gabriel continues on his way, farther and farther away from you. going back means admitting you failed the people you loved. going back means facing his death. it's half the reason you're chasing the spider, or why you want echo to be an active member: your own repentance.

the last thing you hear before you lose consciousness is that strident laughter again, and the shotgun aims at your forehead. RPNT. [ you cannot repent if you are dead. ]

"i don’t know if you’ve got a choice, mijo." that was a special one. a private thing, reserved for moments of doubt or the weary hours after a mission. a name that meant too much for either of them to accept freely and fully. but it was never denied.

your hand moves to your pistol, which quickly lights up. just one bullet. you shoot. the mask breaks.

gabriel looks over his shoulder one last time. how have you never noticed the tired lines and the deep shadows under his eyes? how entertained have you been by your own hollow tale of greatness?

death looks at you with his face bare before he dissolves in a cloud of black. your arm drops to your side, gun in hand. a real cowboy dies with his gun in hand or not at all. but you are not going to die. you have a lot to repent for.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ"no man can walk out on his own story."

#* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ euphuism. ❫ㅤ ››› ㅤi am shouting at the empty and always running .#* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ continuum. ❫ ››› ㅤ time doesn’t erase the demons we don’t see .

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