marlene edging you +gags +mommy kink+ innocents kink using blind folds
warnings: mommy kink, gags, blindfolds, edging, orgasm denial, handcuffs, crying, begging, slapping
masterlist
marlene takes in the sight of you, practically drooling. a gag muffles your moans as she finger-fucks you at a brutal pace. tears soak the blindfold covering your face as you writhe against the bed, wrists struggling against the handcuffs holding you back.
“mommy, please, please, please,” you beg, lips swollen and voice needy.
“please what?” she says, pressing into your clit until you cry out.
“please! please let me come, mommy, please.”
she hums quietly, as though considering it, before saying with an air of finality, “no.”
a fresh wave of tears roll down your cheeks, sobs wracking through your body.
she presses against your abdomen, fingers sliding up to your tits as she lowers her face towards your pussy. she studies the pretty pink folds, the slick dripping down your thighs, the engorged clit practically begging to be touched, before licking you gently, soaking her tongue in your desire.
she licks again, this time pressing the flat of her tongue into your clit. a whimper escapes your lips, and your hips buck into her face. she laughs cruelly. “does that feel good?”
“y-yes, mommy, so good! ‘m so close.”
she pulls away, and waits a moment, leaving you in suspense, before slapping your pussy sharply.
you gasp, hips twitching. she slaps you again.
“mommy, please.”
“aw, does my little baby need to come? does she feel too good?”
“yes, mommy, please,” you’re shaking against her.
she slides two fingers into your hole, spreading you open wide. “you can come.”
you sob with relief, releasing all over her hands.
she rides you through your high, curling her fingers inside of you. you chant her name as though it’s a prayer, “marlene, marlene, marlene, marlene,” brains fully fucked out.
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Re: you are playing half-life
1) GOOD IT'S GREAT, needs a bigger fandom outside hlvrai. Also maybe look into Black Mesa- the fan made modern remake that is *absolutely beautiful,* one of the few games that would probably actually be worth $60, but is actually only $20, and is a faithful recreation with modern technology.
2) siren pups are called houndeyes! Headcrabs are probably p obvious, but also, the squid face dogs are bullsquids, and the three-armed aliens are vortigaunts!
3) pleas don't slander my boy Barney Calhoun like that he's just a security guard not a cop and in fact is canonically, actively anti-cop/anti-facist in HL2 please he doesn't deserve to have his game rejected like that PLEASE LOVE MY BOY-
Ok im sorry that's all I'm done I'm just passionate about these games I hope u enjoy them ok bye <3
!!! Oh bro you’re so good!! I absolutely LOVE people talking about things they’re passionate about and have a bunch of facts to share!!!!
I KNOW THE NAME OF THE HOUNDEYES NOW!!! Today is a good day :)
I shall play Blue Shift then fuck yeah!!! Was just about to start Half Life 2 so I’m glad I found that out beforehand and play everything in series! I’m absolutely gonna check out that fanmade game that sounds so cool!
As a kid I was pretty much fully isolated from video games as a whole and honestly it’s been a BLAST playing games that are spoiled or well known for many but completely unknown for me! I finished playing the Portal series a few weeks ago and MAN I now know why it is on such a high pedestal!! The games are wonderful and the characters are absolutely iconic. Currently going through well known earlyish PC games, the Doom games, Portal, Half-Life, and slowly chugging my way through chronologically so I can see how video gaming as a whole progressed and evolved! It’s so neat! It’s really hard trying to play a few games though, lots of games expect you to know a lot of stuff so I have to watch lots of videos to make sure I’m not forgetting a Super Important button that does a Super Important Game Mechanic. It’s so cool tho!!!! I’m having such a great time!!!!!!! Thanks for the ask my guy!! :D
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i was watching the amazing world of gumball earlier and there was a character named Anton and it made me instantly think of your Anton and i just needed you to know that
REAL. i’ve said this before but tawog is literally where Anton’s name came from. i do this thing where whenever i see a name i like and might use for a character in the future, i write it down in my notes app to save for later and i must’ve done that during my very intense four month long tawog hyperfixation in 2022. so when i was looking for a name for Anton (during the same exact time), i saw that name in my notes app and just thought it suited him! Anton is technically named after a piece of toast from the amazing world of gumball and i think that’s really funny
i actually just rewatched the Anton episode after i got this ask and. GUYS LOOK AT THE FUCKING SYNOPSIS
“ANTON’S LITTLE TOASTY BODY DISINTEGRATES DURING A SWIM CLASS” I’M SOBBINGGGG THAT’S SO FUCKING FUNNY (in the context where i think of my Anton whenever i hear his name because he is the only thing i’ve been thinking about for the past 8 months straight ANYWAYY)
it’s funny too because that episode is all about CLONES of Anton. there’s just a bunch of Anton clones running around and dying over and over again and that honestly isn’t too far off from how things were like in tllr before Anton got Dew /hj
anyway i am watching tawog again rn look what you’ve done. i will be watching this all night. it’s literally my favorite series in all of existence (lie. tma) Rob and mr small are gonna make me go insane again i’m gonna write another 70k word tawog fanfiction again because of you (/lh /j) anyway i love tawog very much i’m happy my followers have taste
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LAY ME DOWN. (tentative) chapter 16 excerpt. 1’252 words. unedited. featuring: pallas’s private reflection on an old train of thought. pretty lengthy discussion of feelings surrounding a deadname. vaguely implied dysphoria. oops all queer kid emotions.
[Transcript under the cut]
quick my english assignment isn’t looking. post pallas genderthoughts.
TAGLIST (ask to be +/-). @vellichor-virgo @nicola-writes @doctormoss @gerbermatter @cactusprincewrites @houndmouthed @muddshadow @aeipathys @just-wublrful @midnights-melodiverse @corkywantstowrite @paradisiacalshroud @andromedatalksaboutstuff @kingsinking
At five years old Pallas had come to The Library with a name sewn into the tag of their jacket, they were thirteen when they went to the Director to have it struck from the book and a new one written in.
Back then the conversation had terrified them in its finality, they’d written out a script and spent hours practising it in the mirror to iron the waver from their voice. It can be done, it had often been done before, it is a fact of life that even true names could be outgrown and replaced, they were still new to their lesson’s with the Director but she had no reason to deny the request; from what they knew she never had before. That wasn’t what had scared them. It was that once it was done it would truly be done, over, ended. It was putting down in ink and paper that aimless blob of a feeling that seemed to expand in their chest like boiling water whenever they looked in a mirror to long, giving the nameless a name, catching it between their fingers and sanding down the endless bubbling expanse of it into something hard and round to tuck under their tongue like a baby tooth.
What’s in a name? They had never been overfond of Shakespeare even though Nina ate and breathed it, but they still remember latching onto that line at nine, already hungry in a way they had only just begun to place. A rose by any other name would still smell as sweet.
In their first years at The Library they had never spared much thought towards the name they had arrived with, they understood vaguely that it was important, that it couldn’t be given out to strangers or else bad things would happen, that it’s existence in the pages of of the ledger was, in some unknowable way, tied to their existence in The Library. But that was the sum of it, they payed mind to the name when it was spoken the same way they payed mind when told to make their bed or brush their teeth in the morning; and in the meantime played an everevolving game with Nina on who could come up with the best alias to give out to the teachers and students that surrounded them. One of them would come across a new name in a story, or a tonguetwisting word in a dictionary, or a new animal neither of them had heard of before, and make a race to claim it as their “name” and be called by it first. They went through tens and twenties of different names in a week, trying to one up each other with the newest and grandest and prettiest ones they could find, keeping the originals folded in their pockets like rare trinkets, taken out only occasionally to be marvelled over and then quickly squirrelled away so as not to be overused. What exactly they had been called, words like he and she and you, didn't seem to matter so far as they knew to respond when they were said.
It only began to matter once Pallas realized belatedly that it did matter, once they began attending serious classes and learned that words carried meaning beyond what was conjured in the moment by a child’s mind. Words carried weight, they carried history, words set boundaries and above all they defined. There was a word for everything and everything had a word and those words had lexicon and roots that spanned back centuries and were impossible to untangle. It was at once expansive and suffocating, both freeing and constricting, and they remember hardly being able to breathe under the impossible scope of it all. Narrow and yet endlessly wide. Sure, you could be anything you wanted, but you still had to be something at the end of the day.
Afterwards they began to dissect and analyze literature the same way they began to dissect and anaylze their own reflection. They knew the science of a human body, skeleton and musculature and nervous system, but this was another thing entirely. Suddenly things they hadn’t cared about before, hadn’t noticed before they forced themselves into being known, began to topple out before them like dominos. The sudden feeling of wearing clothes far too small for you and only realizing once you go to breathe and find the collar tight around your throat. There had been something they’d missed, a crucial number skipped over in the equation, something wasn’t adding up.
The worst of it was that Nina, who until then had almost been able to read their mind in their matching idiosyncrasies, didn’t seem to be able to see this in its fullness the way they did. She would listen and chew the inside of her cheek and ask questions and assure them that whatever they ended up doing was fine by her as long as they were happy. But it wasn’t the same, and she was smart enough to know that. That, above all else, could not stand.
So, naturally, it became an obsession. They tried to concentrate on other things, but the discordant feeling stayed, that itch under their skin they couldn’t shake, an edge almost like hunger sawing slowly away at the back of their mind. They took to rolling their first name over and over in their mind, thinking on it more than they ever had before. They lay on the floor and stared up at their hands, flexing them, closed their eyes tight and tried to name every part of their body from the ground up before considering the whole. Before being he or she had carried the same nonweight as everything else, so long as they knew which word it was correct to turn their head towards when someone was talking about them, and the original name had been the same. After they stared at themself in the mirror and and repeated it until it didn’t sound like a word at all anymore, trying to link the sound coming from their mouth to the face looking back at them, but in those moments both seemed to belong to a stranger.
They read viciously, constantly, they read with the desperation of a drowning man clinging to the last plank of his sunken ship. They found more words, more definitions, and caught themself staring at the blank spaces between the lines. They looked at the marble busts lining the fourth floor hallways and pressed a finger to cool stone lips, traced the sweeping curves of carefully carved brows and icy smooth cheeks. They wrote out the name on sheets and sheets of paper, wondering if pen and ink would reveal something they hadn’t yet been able to see and they had crouched in the bath with water up to their mouth, hair spread in inky plumes around them, and thought about how most ancient Greek statues had once been brightly painted but time and meddling had worn that away until nothing was left but bone white. Scoured and scraped clean. They thought of how anyone could possibly define that, and held their hand up to the light to see the tiny blue veins run through it like mycelium strings.
And Pallas, thirteen and starving, thirteen and holding the whole what and who and why of themself in the palm of their hand, had curled the pale arches of their fingers into a fist, and pictured an endless, spinning, black hole.
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