erephene - Tumblr blog

erephene · 2 days ago

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Things I wish I knew when I started writing on tumblr:

Use tags to organise your posts: especially since you know there will be a time when you need to find a specific post but you put it in the search box and dumblr gaslights you into thinking you never reblogged it? yeah :) also to help put your fanfics, original posts, ramblings and reblogs in different categories that you keep on your blog. it helps to come up with your own trademark tags for your own blog. for example, "what's in the picklejar" is everything of my original posts (fanfics, rambles, complaints, etc). "babykelsi writes" are tags for all my masterlists. "picklejar asks" are tagged for every ask i receive in my inbox. which all coincide with my url and my name, Kelsi (which really, is not my real name but it's the internet, these streets are dangerous).

don't compare yourself to others: i know this is an age old saying, but trust me, this is something you need to hammer in your head. you're not in a competition, you're in a community. don't feel bad that one writer/artist has hundreds or thousands of notes while you have like twenty. this is especially if you're starting out, believe me, i felt that way a lot of times then i realized that it wasn't helpful and that i wasn't competing with anyone. we're all here to share and appreciate our work, our ramblings, etc. no one will make fun of you for having less notes than others. just keep writing, keep building your little space on hellsite and before you know it, you'll be mentioned in a rec list, or someone will send you a video reminding them of your fic or you'll have someone in your dms telling you a very detailed and extremely heartfelt message about how they felt very moved by your writing and how they related to your character(s). all it takes is one chapter or one-shot at a time.

write as much or as little as you want: if you feel bad that your chapters are too long, don't be. someone out there might have had a really tough day and your 8k word document of hurt/comfort, slow burn leading up to smut might be exactly what they need to feel better. if you feel bad that your chapters are too short, don't be. someone out there might be in the middle of a tough day and your 0.6k word drabble might make them giggle through their lunchbreak and help them gather their sanity to get through the rest of the day. you never know just how amazing your fics are and to us readers, size doesn't matter (did i just make a sex joke? yes. yes, i did. deal with it).

It's okay to say no sometimes: whether it's saying no to specific requests because they make you feel uncomfy and/or because you aren't well versed in a certain topic. or saying no to people asking for an update on your fic. or even saying no to tagging people in your fics (yes, y'all know what i'm talking about) because people don't have manners and just ask to be tagged without even sparing you a reblog. you're not going to be an asshole for setting boundaries so let go of that icky feeling in your stomach. yes, it might seem rude or unkind to people if you say no, but this is your blog and your writing. you decide what goes and no one else can change that.

Speaking of saying no, don't be afraid to voice your opinion on something that bothers you: like i said, if you don't like people asking you for certain things, tell them that you don't like that. you're also allowed to voice your opinion if you noticed something that isn't quite right within a fandom (e.g— racism, pedophilia, etc). it might be scary, but if you feel like you noticed something off, chances are another person did and they might also be afraid to speak up until someone else does.

Be very careful of which blogs you interact with: because if you're like me and you run a nsfw blog, chances are that there are children on this app who will take it upon themselves to ignore all of the (+18 ONLY) signs and read stuff that wasn't meant for them. but fear not because you have a very cool friend called the "block button" who will always be available to you 24/7. and don't let the ageless blogs fool you either because not too long ago, someone can add their age just days, weeks or even months after you've read, commented and/or even reblogged their smut and you just find out that it's a fucking minor🤦🏻‍♀️ (yeah, had to backtrack and find every last one of their posts on my blog to delete them asap🚮). so to the adults, be sure of someone's age if you're going to interact.

It's okay if you don't read every single one of your mutual's fics: Really, it is. Maybe you're not in the same fandoms but you share the same braincell, and that's okay. But maybe you are in the same fandoms and that's fine too. Perhaps the character they're writing for isn't your favourite or isn't the one you're currently hyperfixated on or you're just not ready to read the fic because you have your own to write or you're still crying at 3am because of a different fic. it's entirely okay, your moots will understand if you don't crack open their masterlist and inhale every single word they've written thus far. it's okay. it's fine. it's the same as buying a book and putting it on a shelf for months (or years) without reading it but eventually, you'll pick up that book and have the time of your life.

It's okay to write the same trope in different fics: no one's gonna complain about it. chances are, as your readers, we're going to gobble it up all the same because we love that trope just as much as you do and we'll thank you for it.

It's okay to take a break and it's even okay to give up: especially if you have a fic that's popular amongst your peers. don't feel guilty if you feel overheated, burnt out or you feel like you have to take a break because you just discovered that the actors to that specific character are a bunch of assholes. it's completely fine. take a step back. breathe. if you want to return to that fic/character/fandom, that's okay. if you want to give it all up entirely and scrape everything off, that's okay too. there's no need to force yourself to continue down a path that doesn't make you feel safe/comfortable/happy anymore. don't feel guilty for protecting your mental and emotional peace.

which brings me to my next point, there's no definitive cure to writer's block: sometimes when you're stumped, you're stumped. maybe prompts aren't working. maybe your favourite songs aren't working either. if any and all else fails in trying to get back into writing, perhaps it's a sign to take a step back from writing entirely. maybe for a day, maybe a week, or month. or however long you need. in my personal experience, the feeling of being stumped by writer's block is easily much better to bear than being burnt out learned that the hard way.

lastly, it's okay to be horny on main: yes. you heard that right. no, i will not elaborate :)

might add more later

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erephene · 16 days ago

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What You Want With Me…?

Summary: Annie takes control one smoldering Mississippi night, and Smoke inevitably learns what it feels like to be completely undone.

Pairing: Annie x Elijah "Smoke" Moore

Warnings: smutty smut, milking, edging, degradation, praise, dom!annie, sub!smoke, use of the n-word

Word count: 2.9k

The ceiling fan clicks impotently. The room feels sweltering, damp, and too intimate. Smoke is on edge, as he always is. Without even moving, Annie dances around him like she owns the air he breathes and the floor he paces. She isn't trying to dominate him necessarily; she's just seeking the truth of him. She's experienced the tingling bite of his submission in flashes and flickers. She’s had but a mere taste the last few times. Tonight, she wants it all.

Annie is casually leaning against the doorway of the small barn house she and Smoke have grown to frequent over the last month or so. She’s wearing a pale blue nightgown that subtly hugs all of her curves. Cocoa brown skin that’s softer than room-temperature butter glistening lightly from the relentless Mississippi summer sun.

She watches Smoke light one of the two cigarettes that she saw Stack roll for him earlier as she contemplates how to get Smoke to give in fully not only to her but also to what his body craves.

She finally speaks, “You gon’ let me touch you the way I know you need, or you gon’ keep frontin’ like you don’t flinch every time I get close?”

Smoke doesn’t look up, but she catches the tiny smirk on his face as he says, “You talk too damn much, Annie.”

Annie straightens up and takes a few steps towards him, slow and calm. “Mmhm. But you ain’t moved since I started. C’mon, Elijah. I ain’t tryna break you. I just wanna see you melt.”

Smoke finally lifts his head and glances up at her, stormy brown eyes sharp. “I don’t melt, woman.”

She grins as she brushes her fingers up his inner thigh. “Yeah, you do, Elijah. You just don’t want me to see it.”

She removes the cigarette from his mouth and puts it out. He turns away from her to exhale the last bits of smoke hanging on his breath.

He holds her by the waist as he looks up into her eyes again, this time with an intense gaze of determination that surprises her. He exhales deeply and nods once as he pushes his body into Annie, giving her permission to take the reins.

She takes her time removing his shirt and trousers. She gently pushes him back until he sits comfortably on the wooden chair. She uses his suspenders to tie both his muscled arms to the chair legs. There’s a brief moment of protest in his eyes, but he pushes it down. He sighs deeply again and relaxes his shoulders and completely surrenders to Annie, the woman he loves. God help him.

After stripping herself bare, she straddles him, but she doesn’t line his hardening cock against her wet heat. Not yet. She kisses his collarbone. She plants a kiss on the corner of his mouth. His jaw clenches and unclenches with each kiss. Then his full lips and his mustache tickle her top lip the way she likes it every time he deepens the kiss.

Annie breaks the kiss and whispers, “Every time we fuck, you fight it. You rush. Like you scared of what happens if you slow down.” His eyes drop, and she cups his face, eyes softening as he gazes back into hers. “I ain’t scared of it. So let me take you there, Elijah.”

He finally admits the truth, “I trust you.”

Her hands slid down his chest. Over his toned stomach. To his cock. She grips it loosely, and his breathing stutters.

Annie lifts off his lap and circles him slowly as she thinks on how to start first.

It smells like sawdust and summer heat in the barn. Moonlight seeps through the slats in the walls, catching the fine sheen of sweat already glistening across Smoke’s chest.

The ties ain’t too tight, but they’re intentional. Just enough tension to remind him that he ain’t goin’ nowhere unless she says so.

Annie stops behind him, her voice low and as warm as molasses as she says, “You ever notice how jumpy you get when you ain’t the one callin’ the shots?”

She drags her fingers up his bare arms, tantalizingly slow. He shivers. He doesn’t answer her. His mind and body are tussling for control and his body is in the lead.

She leans down, mouth against his ear, “You trust me to pull your trigger, Elijah? Hmm?” She places a hot kiss below his ear, a spot that always makes his brain short-circuit. “Or you still convinced all I wanna do is tame you?”

With gritted teeth and tensing thighs, Smoke says, “I told you before, woman, I ain’t nobody’s pet.”

Smoke feels her smirk against his skin and bites back a groan. Annie takes his ear between her teeth, nibbling gently. “And yet here you are, tied up with your own damn clothes. Eager to watch me peel you open like one of my sweet potatoes.”

He grunts, cock twitching twice against his thigh, but he doesn’t say another word.

Annie slides in front of him now, crouching between his knees. She rests her chin against his knee and looks at his raging hardness, then up into his eyes, her gaze soft yet commanding. “I don’t want your obedience, Elijah. I want your surrender. That part of you you only show when you think I’m not payin’ attention.”

His voice is tight, eyes burning with a ferocity so intense only she could handle. “You don’t know what you askin’ for, Annie.”

She nods once and whispers, “Yes, I do.”

She wraps her hand around the base of his cock. It’s warm and heavy. Eager. She doesn’t rush. She doesn’t squeeze or stroke. She just holds him there, firm. “Look at that… already halfway there. You ain’t even fightin’ it no more.”

The wood creaks once under his weight as he shifts in the chair. He hates not having access to his hands but doesn’t comment on it. Annie can already tell from one look. He shifts again, extending one of his legs. Not to pull away from her but to ground himself. She watches his abs tighten and his teeth sink into his bottom lip as he fights back a moan.

His cock has an impressive rigidity…it is harder than it’s ever been. She files that away in her mind for later. He’s heavy, throbbing, and leaking already, which is where the real fun begins.

And he hates how fast it happened.

That is what she loves the most. He talks like he is in charge, but his body has been telling on him since she first touched him.

She spits in her hand and gets a grip on him, stroking loosely just enough to make him twitch. Not enough to give him any kind of relief.

“Aww, what’s the matter, Elijah? Already breathin’ like you close, and I ain’t even really started.”

Smoke glares at her, “Shut the hell up, woman.”

Annie smirks, her voice laced with sweet cruelty, “Ohhh, there he go. Talkin’ tough while I got your dick in my hand.” She leans forward and kisses the swollen tip. “You always this mouthy when you’re tied up and needy?”

He flinches at the kiss, half from sensitivity, half from embarrassment. She licks a slow stripe up the underside of him, and his thighs tighten instinctively.

Smoke grunts, struggling to keep his composure, “You keep runnin’ that mouth, and I swear—”

Annie cuts him off with a snicker, “—You gon’ what? Hmm? Buck against the restraints I put on you?” Her eyes soften just a tad as she sees the raw desire burning in his eyes. “Baby, you talk like you got power in this moment. But you’re already spillin’ in my hand.”

She pumps him slowly. Cruel. Just the kind of pace that makes a man ache instead of climax.

He’s breathing harder now, trying to stay still, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of seeing him unravel.

Annie kisses the inside of his thigh and asks, “You know what I love?” She pumps him a little faster. “Watching you fight it. Watchin’ your jaw clench, your chest rise, your pretty little dick beggin’ for mercy while you pretend you don’t love this shit.”

He hisses through his teeth. He’s close. So close. But he won’t say it. Won’t warn her.

Annie coos, “Go on, Elijah. Cum for me. I know it’s right there. Be a good boy and gimme that first one.”

Smoke groans again, louder this time, breaths coming in shorter, “Fuck you—”

Annie giggles, “You wish. Now hush and cum.”

She twists her wrist just right, leans in, and whispers, “My good fuckin’ boy,” right as his whole body seizes.

Smoke groans, deep, guttural, and involuntary. His thighs jerk, toes curling in his boots as he spills hot and messy across her hand and thigh.

He’s panting. Shaking. Spewing all kinds of filthy curses. That doesn’t stop Annie because she’s already reaching for him again.

Smoke half-drunk off release, body on fire with ecstasy, slurs out, “Annie… wait, wait, I—fuuckk, I need a minute.”

Annie hums while stroking him slowly again, already coaxing him back to full hardness. “No, baby. You needed a minute. That was one.” She leans in slowly to kiss him, pink tongue pushing past his full lips with filthy precision, “Now I wanna see what that mouthy attitude sounds like when you cum for the second time.”

A deep, low whine escapes his throat. He shocks himself, completely unaware he could even make a noise so desperate. She laughs softly, presses her forehead to his, and whispers, “You so fuckin’ pretty when you give up the fight, Elijah. My sweet, stubborn mess.”

He’s still breathing heavily. His thighs are shaking, his wrists tug uselessly at the suspenders holding him in place. But she hasn’t stopped. Won’t stop. One hand still pumps him slick now, easier, crueler. His cock is sensitive, reddening at the tip, twitching like it’s confused between pain and pleasure.

Smoke grunts and gasps, “Annie… f-fuck… I said I need a goddamn second—”

Annie giggles mockingly, “Aww, and I said I ain’t done with you.” She leans in to kiss his nose. “You gave me one. I want more. You said you could handle me, didn’t you? What happened to all that bark, huh?”

He jerks in the chair when she thumbs the crown, swiping the underside with the perfect amount of pressure. His cock is sensitive as hell now. His hips lift like his body’s betraying him.

Annie continues, “Still tryna pretend like you ain’t mine? Even when you moanin’ through clenched teeth and squirmin’ like this?”

Smoke chokes out a moan, “You ain’t… I ain’t…”

Annie says sharply, her voice laced with lust, “Say it.” She pumps him with both hands now, drastically slow and downright mean. “Say who you belong to right now, Elijah.”

He shakes his head, his face scrunching like he’s trying not to cry. She kisses him again even more possessively than the last time and still doesn’t stop stroking.

A broken, shaky moan slips out of his throat. “Shit…Annie, please.”

Annie freezes mid stroke, but only for a few seconds. “Ohhh?” She leans back and tilts her head cockily, “Did you just beg? Elijah Smoke Moore…said please?”

He jerks again, head dropping back against the chair, throat exposed, lips parted in something that’s not a scream but damn sure wants to be.

Annie strokes him even faster now and whispers, “That’s what I wanted. That’s what you been fightin’ this whole time. You know how beautiful you are like this? All messy and needy and mine?”

Smoke lets out a desperate sound, barely coherent as he begs, “A-Annie… I’m close—again, I—fuuuckk, I can’t, it’s too much, I—”

Annie leans in again, mouth dropping by his ear, “Yes, you can. You gon’ give it to me. Gonna let go, baby. You hold so much shit in, you forget how to fall apart.”

She speeds up, her hand steady even as his body jerks and trembles. He can’t even form words. Too blissed out.

Annie moans, drunk on lust and love and pure domination, “Let me ruin you, Elijah. Come on. Be good for me.”

That’s it. That’s the word that undoes him.

He lets out a strained, broken sound. His back arches, thighs trembling uncontrollably as he comes again. It’s messier this time. Louder. He groans her name like a confession, like one of her bayou curses and one of his uncle’s Sunday prayers all at once.

She slows her hand but doesn’t completely stop.

Not yet.

His chest is heaving. Sweat drips down his temple. He’s slumped in the chair, wrecked, blinking slowly like he just woke up from a dream he didn’t want to leave.

Annie climbs into his lap, careful not to overstimulate him again…yet.

She cradles his face and kisses him gently this time. Tender. Safe.

Annie shushes him, “There he is. The real you. The one I’ve been waitin’ on.”

Smoke slowly comes to, unable to look her in the eye just yet, but asks anyway, “You… you gon’ tell Stack?”

Annie chuckles softly as she rests her forehead against his. “What? That I tied your proud ass up and made you say please twice? Hell no. That’s our secret.” Then she whispers, “Unless you act up. Then I might have to remind you who really runnin’ shit ‘round here.”

Smoke's ears and cheeks warm immediately. He shakes his head fondly at her, “You evil.”

Annie kisses him again, smiling brightly. “No, baby. I’m just honest. And tonight? So were you.”

His head lolls back against the chair, body limp, thighs still twitching from the second orgasm. He’s covered in sweat, hair sticking to the back of his neck, lips parted like he’s trying to say something but forgot how words work.

And Annie? Annie’s glowing. THRIVING. Annie is captivated by his sounds, brimming with power, yet her satisfaction remains unfulfilled.

Annie drags her nails down his chest and lines him up, “One more, Elijah. That’s all I want. One more. You got it in you, I know you do.”

Smoke lets out a shaky breath, eyes heavy. “Annie, baby, I—” He groans deeply when he feels her wet heat sliding over him. “Fuck. You tryna kill a nigga or what?”

Annie moans loudly as she sinks down onto him, slow and deep. “No, baby. I’m tryna feel you. Just like this. All of you.”

He gasps when he’s fully buried in her soaked heat, tight walls squeezing the life out of him. The overstimulation hits like a lightning strike, but the warmth of her, the rhythm of her hips? Her warmth and the rhythm of her hips simultaneously soothe and wreck him.

She’s so wet, so soft around him, and still so fucking intentional. She moves in slow rolls, grinding deep instead of bouncing, letting him feel everything.

Annie braces her hands on his broad shoulders, panting softly, “Let it happen. Don’t fight me this time.” She moans loudly as she swirls her hips, “Let it be good, Elijah. For both of us.”

He tries. God, he tries. He whimpers against her lips, too far gone to be ashamed of the desperate noises he makes now because her rhythm is too much and too perfect.

She kisses him like he’s long-lost treasure and only she can locate it without a map.

Her own orgasm builds slowly and low in her belly. It burns. Tightens. She can feel him throbbing inside her, close again even though he swore he couldn’t go another round.

He’s trembling. Arms yanking at the restraints. His breath is stuttering against her mouth. But he won’t look away. His voice barely manages to crack out a warning, “Annie…shit woman. I’m—I’m gonna—”

Annie clenches around him tighter, panting into his mouth, “Me too. Cum with me, baby.”

Their sweat-glistening foreheads press together as they both tip over the edge—his third, her first. Her nails dig into his shoulders as she shudders around him, crying out his name, hips still moving through it. He lets out the softest, most broken sound of the night, almost a sob, and spills inside her, twitching and gasping, completely wrecked and utterly fucked.

She stays on him for a moment, chests pressed together, heartbeats wild and tangled.

He’s limp in the chair. Breathless. Shaky. His arms are still tied, and his wrists are tugging slightly against the suspenders.

Annie whispers softly, brushing sweat off his face, “You did so good for me, Elijah. I got you now. I got you always.”

She reaches behind the chair, slowly unhooking the suspenders from around his wrists. Red marks bloom across his skin. The marks are faint but tender. She lifts each wrist to her lips and kisses the spots gently, reverently.

Annie asks him, “You okay?”

Smoke is too out of it to form words, so he just nods. Barely. His massive arms wrap around her waist like it’s all he can manage. He buries his face in her neck, breathing her in like fresh air after drowning.

She shifts just enough to pull a tattered blanket from the nearby haystack and wraps it around both of them while they sit in the chair, tangled, sweat-slick, and completely undone.

Annie rocks him gently while whispering into his ear, “You can let go with me. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to now. He just holds her tighter against his spent body.

And outside the barn, the crickets chirp. The night stretches on, reticent and revered.

ach. To

#LORDDDD #this was art #sinners #sinners fanfiction #𖦹₊ ⊹ vee's recs

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