#Upping the saturation was so good I love the colors

[spuirrelwiththeletterp]

cutely slides in the yap post about their Sans AU that was previously accidently posted and jumps out of a window 😊

I've posted some art of my kid, but haven't given their name(I did) or any other info. I will eventually make a proper info post on them, but for now...

this booger right here is Error Print Sans, or just Print Error (or Error Print)

an absolute feck ton of words under the cut that's me just throwing up my thoughts ⇓

they originally started out as a passing thought that was just Error!Sans but CMYK colors, which evolved into a whole different character who didn't even have anything CMYK going on and I forgot about them for around two or three years until I re-entered my Undertale/UTMV phase recently. seriously disliked the character and the direction I took them in so I decided to start from scratch, took the original CMYK concept, and Print Error was born

am still working out their lore. I have ideas for some events that led to their current state, though how they got into the Anti-Void or why their attire changed after becoming an error is still beyond me

I called them Print Error because inkjet printers use CMYK ink and they're an error (very creative ik) they also feel weird being called just Print but they don't know why

even though I made its design with the CMYK color model in mind, its more CMY than CMYK due to actually not having any black, the way its body works just makes it look like it has black↴

Print Error's being is composed of 3 overlapping color layers (cyan, magenta, yellow) that each depict how much of that magic they have. less saturated colors means less magic left, and running out of all three colors will leave Print Error in a mindless "no color" or "all white" state where they can't use any magic unless they absorb color through physical contact

the alignment of Print Error's layers reflect their mental state. more misaligned layers means more mentally unstable or intense Print Error's emotions. more aligned layers means Print Error is more "there" in their own chaotically fragmented way, but layers rarely ever align too closely...

Their body is not affected by lighting, which means they stick out like a sore thumb with their bright colors and vantablack bones (it's already hard enough to just make the effect, shading them would just be an absolute nightmare 😭)

Print Error's strings are much thicker than a typical error's and come from both its eyes and mouth. Print Error can additionally absorb CMY colors from objects/beings with its strings

Print Error's attacks (bones, gaster/printing error blaster blasts) come in cyan, magenta, and yellow, which all have their own properties, but Print Error can't control what color their attack will be half of the time

Print Error is cold to the touch but has thermoanesthesia, so it doesn't know its a walking ice cube. its confused why others react so weird when coming in physical contact with it

Print Error does not understand social cues and personal space. they're often in a chaotically playful mood, though not always

Print Error is morally grey and can't tell the difference between good and bad, everything is neutral to it... apart from mistakes

Print Error's thoughts are inconsistent, usually jumping from one topic to another, having multiple thoughts at once, or not having any thoughts at all. it usually "lives in the moment", often going with the flow

Print Error's fragmented mind kind of leaves them absent minded most of the time, getting easily distracted and forgetting things like it's nobody's business. though they can often hold their focus if they're intrigued by something

even with a horrible memory, Print Error can remember things at random, though often it's something that it was previously intrigued by, or just something completely random. either way its gonna forget not even 2 seconds later

Print Error deeply believes that any mistake, no matter how small, can be catastrophic, causing them to have a sort of perfectionist mindset. they try to avoid making any mistakes, and punish themself over any mistakes they do make (leaving out details)

if Print Error witnesses someone else make a mistake, there's a chance their mind might not register it, but more often than not, will get seriously exasperated at the person for making a mistake and might even crash out of frustration. not because of the mistake itself, but more so out of fear for the person, though Print Error doesn't recognize the feeling nor reason behind it

though they do heal quicker than usual, it's a double-edged sword as it subconsciously encourages Print Error's more self-destructive behavior

I originally had Print Error have excellent depth perception, until I thought of Print Error seeing everything in the same layered effect others see them in. definitely gonna explore that idea!

there are many more ideas I have for Print Error but I don't know how to "coherently" include them so those are gonna be revealed over time 😉

If anyone wants to ask anything about Print Error, feel free to ask! I would love to answer any questions about them and I got nothing but time!

been stressing over this post for like two weeks and I just set a deadline so I wouldn't tweak things till the heat death of the universe

was heavily inspired by @ossiethegreat's Static Hue/Error!Color post to make my own rant on my own kid, so there might be some similarities cuz I am oh so ✨️creative✨️. link to the post because I absolutely loved reading its ideas and I love Hue

I AM SO SORRY OZ IF YOU DID GET A NOTIFICATION FOR THE UNFINISHED VERSION OF THIS POST THAT WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN I AM SO FRICKING SORRY 😭😭😭

I really tried to explain my thoughts and I feel like I failed in certain areas 😭 I struggle with explaining my ideas and especially the more in-depth ones, so some things might change if I find better ways to explain them

I definitely plan to share more of this gremlin, and especially if more than one person is interested in them!

also found some older drawings of Print Error I made previously but didn't share, so I'm sharing now because I don't think I would have shared these at any point in the future

also a lil lore one 👀 which I like but also don't like

[coconut530]

panel that hurt me so much I redrew it ✨

[dexaroth]

lovely palettes. always. even just by scribbling random color spots on him outside of his normal head markings to test it out

it also works fine with his current markings

i also recolored that last one with his current blue palette (altered midtones though) and instantly my brain goes OOH saturated blue colors better. you love blue. blue so good, remember? BLUEE!!!

aeugh. if i up the saturation of the monochrome it looks a lot like the style of a past layout there. which works as well!.. but when i compare daron's blue palette and this monochrome one its like the mono loses all its charm even though i know i love that palette too.. its like the more saturated palette is eye candy and i cant get enough of it to the point everything else looks worse by comparison if theyre not vibrant. cmon man. let me enjoy different things

[alsaurus-loves-dean]

.

[luckystrike-x]

.

[mazken]

[ID: A digital drawing of Serana from Skyrim, lying on her side. Her arms cross over each other at the wrist, her hands in front of her mouth. Her eyes are open, slightly, and downcast. One strand of hair falls over her face and hand both. End ID]

sorrow

[fuckingrecipes]

Grinding whole spices is WORTH the cost and effort

Just wanted to remind folks that if flavor was color, pre-ground spices are pastels, and freshly-ground spices are vibrant fully-saturated jewel tones with an iridescent rainbow sheen.

I am not shilling, I will not link you to a brand or product.

But please, please put it on your future to-do list to acquire a ultra gritty (not smooth ceramic or glazed) spice grinder. Lava rock if you can. The mexican Molcajete works wonderfully. An electric grinder if you must.

Search for a local asian or latin supermarket for cheap whole spices in bulk. Per-Pound, whole spices in a baggie are almost always cheaper than pre-ground bottles.

I am begging you, knees on the ground and tears in my eyes, to please, just once, go buy a tiny amount of good-quality cinnamon bark.

It should be a lovely medium-brown color with a soft orange tint, not nearly black with age. It should look a little soft and crumbly around the cut edges. Look for the flat pieces, which haven't curled into rolls from dryness.

Break a little piece off. Less than the size of your thumbnail. Crush or grind it however you can. Smash it with a hammer, make dust with sandpaper, however you want.

And stick it in your mouth.

A tiny amount of freshly ground cinnamon bark is heady, fruity, sweet, floral, and has a warm spice that breathes down your throat. You can chew on bits of the bark like candy, it's so sweet and good.

Pre-ground cinnamon tastes like bitter dust and betrayal by comparison.

The really old, dry as dust cinnamon sticks that look so dark brown they're nearly black... you can grind those up too, it'll improve the flavor, but it's about three steps behind the fresh stuff. Kingdoms fought wars over fresh cinnamon. Kings traded war prisoners for pounds of cinnamon, and I get it. I understand.

If you can afford it, if you want an earth-shaking treat, please consider: Whole Nutmegs, Good Cinnamon, Whole Cloves, and Whole Peppercorns.

And some method of grinding them.

[where-does-the-heart-lie]

Is it so hard to ask that sabo follow his dream he had when he was a kid? IS IT??????

Also, his boat was commissioned from Franky! And he did a great job :)

Design talk:

Im gonna start with just sharing his canon designs

Colors:

Something i want to call attention to is the blue and black in his design.

When he was young, Sabo wore his heart on his sleeve. He had a dream for himself and was taking steps to complete it. Likewise, that blue on his coat is on full display its bright and vibrant and saturated. But also theres that dark blue, almost black, thats underneath it thats being hidden by that coat, the pants, and his tattered cravat. Likewise again, Sabo is hiding his darker side. He has secrets he doesn’t want his brothers to know of and he lets his aspirations and relationships he has with them outshine his past.

In his present design, that blue that was representative of his dreams, is now the one being hidden. Its covered by a complete black coat, a representative of the darkness in his life that now is drives him. This color switch up is symbolic for how he’s put off his dreams and kept it locked up (belt), while choosing instead to pursue a life of darkness for the greater good.

Also, these pictures of young sabo and young adult sabo, you can visually see how less saturated it is. The blue is duller of the coat/undershirt and even more-so with the pants. You can see how he’s much less vibrant than how he was.

In my Post-Story idea, what happens leading up to it is that Sabo succeeds in taking down the world government and after he’s sure the world can move on without him, he goes sailing alone as a pirate to write a book about the world, like he’s always wanted to do. Also, Luffy returns his straw hat to shanks.

So in my design, sabo wears a vibrant blue coat again. He’s living his dream and has nothing holding him back from doing it. The black is still used, and its not being covered, but its on his pants and his gloves. He still has that darkness, but he doesn’t use it as protection or as something to hide, rather as something he moves forwards and progresses with. He will never forget what pain and hardship he went through and he’s not trying to. However, whats underneath all the layers is not darkness or dreams, and its not necessarily being hidden either, its light. Not BRIGHT, but light. Mellow and calm. The settled true nature of a healed man.

I took more colors from his child design than i did with his young adult (YA) one, too. I wanted to show how he’s reconnecting with his younger self by bringing them through to his Post-Story look!

Also, since his journal is his dream, it is blue, as well.

———

Items of Clothing:

In both of his canon designs, there is a sense of properness. A top hat, cravat, tailcoat, etc etc.. Its all properness. But more than that, its the idea of responsibility.

Whether he acts responsible or not isn’t what matters in his case, instead its that he wants to look responsible. He wants this because a) he was a little kid who wanted to grow up too fast and be taken seriously, and b) because he has an incredible amount of responsibility being the second in command of the revolutionary army.

To further prove that, I would like to point out his silly little cravat. I love his cravat. But how the hell is that practical for his line of work? Sabo is concerned with being practical, hence his baggy/movable pants and leather gloves. Additionally, just the waist/trench coat, belt, top hat combo would suffice for a proper looking person, but it’s taken excessively with the cravat. The cravat is purely for appearances.

Further symbolism with his cravat, i think, is that this appearance is visually choking him. Its wrapped tightly around his neck when he was a child and when he was most under control of a much higher power. However, when he’s a YA, it’s a lot looser. He’s got some agency, but he’s still being suffocated by responsibilities.

On with my design.

I took away his cravat. Im sorry but it is SYMBOLIC!!!!!!! He is not worried anymore with appearances, he is Free.

I took away his top hat but not his goggles, too. I think that after Luffy gives back the straw hat, Sabo forgoes his hat as well. In solidarity, maybe. If you think about it, the top hat isnt what makes his hat so special, its the goggles. So i got rid of the hat and kept The Goggs. Although it is sad that they are no longer Hatted, as that is one of the beautiful appeals of ASL, they are no longer ASL.

I wanted to keep aspects of his YA design, since even though it is very perforative, its still a style that he’s stuck with since childhood, so he’s gotta like it in some capacity. I just tried to make everything look a lot looser/open on him.

Lastly, i gave him a bit of a beard cuz i think he deserves it.

———

Alright! If you got this far, thanks so much for reading my insane ramblings!!!! I fr feel like this rn 👇

Visually, sabo’s design is not too complex, at least not when you look at him next to Ace, but theres a lot of depth to it. I didnt even think of half of these notes before i started typing this up, its just the more time i look at it, the more i noticed!

[fanaticsnail]

A bit of both

Masterlist here

Word Count: 2,900+

Synopsis: You and Rosinante take your trust to a new level, engaging in two levels of weaving you had yet to use in sequence with one another.

Warnings: Rosinante x gn!reader, vibrator play (reader receiving), bondage (reader receiving), gagged (reader receiving), overstimulation, cock warming, dominant Rosinante x submissive reader, service Dom Rosinante, pet names (cara mia, mi amor, little thing), size difference, love confession, established relationship, praising (Rosinante giving), no gendered titles used, insertion sex (reader receiving), 18+, MDNI, smut.

Notes: This was not the fic I was working on, but the service-dom wanted to get out before the mean, jealous one. Ever since I wrote the "T" section for the NSFW Alphabet fic, I needed to see it explored a little more. I hope you enjoy.

Trailing behind you, gift bags lazily slinging from his shoulder with their cord drawstrings caught in his fingers and palm, Rosinante rolled his eyes as you debated with yourself which item you truly wanted from the bakery. Drawing his arm down, he let the bags hang from his wrist as he shoved his hand into his pocket.

“I mean, on the one hand, I do want an almond croissant. The filling is almost like fresh marzipan, and it's so sweet,” you tapped your chin with your fingertips before looking to the other glass display, “But on the other hand, I kind of want something savory like a cheese danish. I don't know about the salt content versus the sugar. If you were to choose one-?”

“-We’ll take an almond croissant and a cheese danish please,” Rosinante held up his hands to the baker, gently shaking his head at you before glancing at the corner of his eye at you. With an arched brow, he placed his Berry on the counter and waited for his change.

“What are you playing at, Rosinante?” you question him linking your arm through his bad leaning on his shoulder, “That's too much, look at the size of them!”

“Take a bite of both of them, and then choose the one you like more,” he gazed down his nose at you with his hazelnut colored eyes, scolding you with his expression. “I'll eat the other one.”

“Smart,” you nod with your pout down-turning. He shot you a sly wink, taking the change and watching the attendant fold the brown bag down at the opening. Pastries already staining the covering with the fat from overly saturated butter, you reached up and made to gather the bags; halting immediately as Rosinante shot you a warning look.

Placing his Berry in your back pocket, he reached up and took the two paper bags in his hands while you laced your hand in the crook of his elbow once more. Sheepishly looking at the ground, you felt him stoop down and press his lips to your temple.

“You know I won't let you lift a finger, mi amor,” the low growl in his deep baritone caused your eyes to flutter closed and spine ignited with pricks of fine needles. Opening your eyes to fall half-lidded, you smile bashfully at him. He pressed his lips atop the apple of your cheek, his soft smile felt in his sweet kiss.

Pastry bags left crumpled in the refrigerator, gift bags lying messily by the door, clothes were scattered and discarded in the hamper in the corner of the room. Shoes placed together in the hallway, the dim light of the room illuminated the skin of your tall lover.

Gazing possessively down at you, his lip paint lay smudged on his cheeks and chin, as your own skin was littered with intentional kisses ranging from your littlest toe to the crown of your head. You pleaded with your eyes, your lips swollen and bruised from being mounted and dominated with his own lips moments prior.

He molded your flesh beneath his hands to worship you, before drawing out a lengthy piece of rope with the intent to accentuate and immobilize your features.

“You've been so good today, mi amor,” he whispered, coiling and knotting the rope over your breasts, “Such a good little thing for me.” You whimpered for him as he parted your thighs and drew one knee up to your wrist, circling it with the fabric.

You open your mouth to speak, his eyes shooting you a look of warning for you to hold your tongue. Elevating your other knee to your wrist, he insured you were snug enough in your ties that you were not uncomfortable. Crawling between your exposed thighs and lowering his chest and stomach over your torso, he smiled down at you with a playful twinkle in his eye.

“Before we start, do you want a sip of water or to finish your danish?” he offered, giving you a sweet and genuine smile, “I can get it out of the fridge for you.” You smiled back in response before shaking your head at him.

“No thank you, sir,” you chirped back at him. He learnt forward, brushing your nose with his own before drawing a woven gag up to your lips. You parted your lips, causing Rosinante to coo down at you in glee.

“So well mannered,” he praised you, “So good.” He pressed his lips over yours, the material preventing him from truly feeling your lips on his. “Now, remember what we talked about? Give me a demonstration of what you need to do if it gets too much?”

You bobbed your head up and down to nod in understanding before humming three notes up through your nose at him in a melody familiar to you both. Bondage was not a new concept to you, but with the addition of the gag it felt like you had no communication for if it got too intense. When you were tied, you would use your safe word when it got too much, just like your rapid taps against the mattress in code would halt motions when gagged.

“Perfect, cara mia,” he pursed his lips against your temple, “I'm gonna sit behind you now.” You nod eagerly, darting your eyes between his as he moves from your torso and kneel before you. His cock was achingly hard, his red top shining in the light from how desperate he was yearning for you.

The shibari had you feeling completely exposed and vulnerable, just the way Rosinante enjoyed you. Each time he tied you felt like you were a little gift wrapped up just for his delight, his complete control and your complete submission to him alighting a flame of trust between both of you.

Rising to his feet, he gingerly walks over to his knight stand and finds a leaf-shaped object and it's remote ignition. Eyes widening he moves his way behind you and presses his torso flush to your back before moving his forearms beneath your legs. Lifting you with ease, his tip lined up with your entrance which waited eagerly with prior lubrication.

Placing the tip over your quivering body, he eased you to softly impale yourself on his cock. Inch by inch, you took Rosinante's impressive length into you with your eyes wide and lips falling wide.

“You okay, mi amor? Not too much too quick, is it?” he hastily checked in, knowing the size difference may cause you some discomfort while you adjusted. You whined and shook your head, wriggling in his arms in a bid to take more of him within you. He chuckled, giving into your request and slinking you down on his steely cock. Hissing at the feeling, Rosinante let out a shuddering deep moan as he felt your body move to accommodate him.

“Oh, so good,” his deep voice praised you, his lips finding your shoulder blade and caressing your skin. “Okay, stay still. One more tie, and we'll be all done.” You knit your brows in focus, tensing your abdomen as his hands move around the both of you.

The small leaf was pressed against your sensitive nerves at the front of you, prompting you to unintentionally gasp at the sensation. The small bud encumbered your nerves endings completely, the anticipation eating at you as he chuckled lightly. Adjusting the ropes, he insured the object was flush with your skin before wrapping the ropes around both of your waists. Each touch his hands gave you left tingles on your skin, your body fluttering around him as you kept yourself as statuesque as you could.

“Now all you have to do is keep my cock warm for me while we watch a play on the carrier snail,” he whispered against your ear, leaving a soft kiss on your lobe, “All I want you to do is cum for me. So, so much, mi amor.” Your eyes widened as you felt his hands reach for the switch for the projector snail, and for the remote attached to the soft leaf.

“Just sit pretty like you're doing,” he clicked on the projector, the lights flickering over the wall and starting the dancing lights and music to follow, “And cum on my cock.” The leaf buzzed and shook to life, your back arching into his torso at the intensity of the motion. Rosinante chuckled against you, feeling your body contract around him almost immediately.

The rhythmic thump of your entrance adjusting and the coil tightening in your abdomen was enough to strike lightning in your vision. Immediately writhing on his lap, you bucked and ground yourself back into him as best you could against the bonds. Your body chased your high, leaving a mess on both yours and Rosinante’s body as you came hard against the leaf.

“Oh, good job,” he whispered against your cheek, adjusting the switch as he felt you fall back from your high to not overstimulate you with too much intensity too quickly. Giving your thigh a gentle tap as you panted behind the gag, Rosinante soothed your skin before reigniting the switch.

Keening and choking through your gasp, he continued to dart his attention between focussing on you and the moving picture in front of you. Each time he felt your body almost reach its high, he would gaze down at you lovingly while he watched your face contorting in pleasure. Letting go of all thoughts as euphoria washed over you, he would always end your climax with praise and a soft kiss.

“So good for me,” he purred at you, the deep rumble in his chest cutting over the whines and mewls you'd release in ecstasy. “That one was a big one, huh? Keep it up, mi amor.” His hands began to dutifully worship your thighs and devote all of his attention to you. Constantly engaging with your feet and wrists to ensure adequate blood flow, he had you unravel on his lap another eight times for the duration of the moving picture.

Each time he felt you cum, he did his best to keep himself edged and not spill over too soon. Your body wrapped around and exposed for him and him alone had him fighting with himself for a sense of control: just how he needed it. He needed you to be a channel for his lust, his greatest escape and refuge from the hardships of his mission. Something he could control, to focus on, and to have an immediate response to his intentional actions. He needed you to have the release and freedom that he couldn't, waves of empathetic bliss being felt as he felt your body become void of anything other than him.

He needed that complete control.

Eyes glazed with dewy water, cheeks stained with hot tears, body and nerves shot with oversensitivity, gag damp with your own saliva, you felt completely void of all thoughts other than to engage in Rosinante's commands as best as you could.

Keep his cock in your body while the play projects, and cum as much as you could.

As soon as the screenplay ended, Rosinante let out a soft moan as he tested his cock by rocking you on his lap. Your body felt limp and pliable, nodding in acknowledgement as you felt him begin to move. Each follicle of your body was engaged, mind numb and pleasure coursing through your veins. Thrusting up, you heard him whimper a soft whine of your name as he rocked you harder and faster on his lap.

Head lulled on his chest, you felt him flick the leaf back to life and reach a hand around in front of you to add more pressure to the stimulation. His fingers and palm gave you that final push you needed to begin to chase a fresh wave of desire as he huffed and panted behind you. Jolting your body up and down his girthy cock had his blunt tip reach depths within you that had you cry out for him. Sobbing and whining, you felt the coil begin to tighten and compact into a ball as he continued to pummel up into you.

“O-Oh, fuck. You've got one more for me, don't you? Just one more,” he kissed and bit at your neck, tongue and teeth dragging at your skin, “Be good a little bit longer and give me one more. I want it. Give it to me.” His gruff bark had you immediately whine at yourself to focus on chasing your release, your oversensitive body almost giving out while bound in the safety of your harness.

A scream found its way through the muffled gag as you came hard around him, body shaking and trembling as he moaned deeply for you.

“Oh, fuck. Good job, such a good listener. Fuck-... Nghh-... I'm c-cumming,” he shuddered, burying his forehead in the crook of your neck as he shot ropes of his release into you, “Yes, yes. Take it. Take. It.” He continued to usher you into a lengthier release as his balls sucked into his abdomen and shot a viscous expulsion of desire up into you.

Huffing and panting, he kept rocking you as he fucked his release back up into you. Your body was limp like a doll, a marionette dancing bound in strings for him as your master. His movements staggered, his soft calls of your name singing to you his sweet song of praise.

Finally feeling himself still, the aftershocks of his twitches spurting the final shudders of release into you, he finally switched off the leaf and tugged your body to lie flush with him. Showering your skin in soft kisses, he panted against you while his cock lingered within you.

Straining against the bands, you attempt to unravel yourself from the ropes by rotating your wrists in a bid for relief. Rosinante is immediately refocused, gently coaxing his cock from you and manuevering you over to the pillows beside him. His digits flew like lightning, hastily untying you and insuring your body had regained circulation by massaging and pressing his lips against your skin.

“Rosinante, I'm okay,” you reassure him, smiling through your glassy eyes up at him. He smiled down at you while continuing to focus his attention on the knots and weaves. Releasing the last length of rope from your body, he pressed his lips over each point of strain on your wrists, thighs, backs of your knees and sensitive abdomen.

Each time he releases a small part of the bonds, you feel his devotion in his delicate touch. Each kiss, each caress, each gentleness in his intimate touch: he was a devotee to your altar. His prayers were to see you thrive and come undone by his motions. His dedication each of new session to explore the trust in one another was unmatched, and you truly adored him.

And he loved you completely.

As you moved to stand, your body was overcome immediately by the intensity of pleasure your body endured. Your skin was hyper sensitive to touch, and your bones congealed under the pressure. Rosinante rapidly clicked his tongue at you, pouting his lips before smiling up at you.

“Oh, come now. We've been through this,” he whispered, nuzzling his nose with yours. You smiled through tight lips up at him, your vision hazy as you matched his doting twinkle in your dual vibrant afterglow.

“You know I won't let you raise a finger.”

Lips finally colliding, passion through overexertion lingered in the atmosphere. Parting lips, you gingerly hooked your arms over his shoulders and tugged him closer. He hummed against you, grinding his tongue against yours and stealing your breath from you. Lacing your fingers through his hair, he rotated his chin slowly to take on more of you through each languid motion.

Pulling away, he gazed deeply into your eyes with his orbs pooling with emotion. Caressing your skin, he pressed his forehead against yours.

“I love you,” he whispered, his breath huffing softly against your skin, “So, so much." To re-emphasize his intent, he repeated his phrase, "So much.”

“I love you too,” you whisper softly against his skin, moving your hands from his hair to his cheeks. “My heart. My sweet Corazon.” He smiled at you, taking a moment to linger in the world you forged together before humming softly at you.

“Yes, I'm all yours cara mia. Let me get you cleaned up.” The creases in the corners of his eyes were the most beautiful sight you'd seen, "You want bubbles or salts?" His gorgeous glimmer in his grin found purchase and roots in your heart with each beat.

“You think I can choose?” you giggle up at him. He hooked his arms behind your knees, your back supported by his other as he cradled you into him.

“It's alright, mi amor,” he chuckled at you, stumbling a little as he readjusted you in his arms. “You can have a bit of both and share it with me.”

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady

[astralprisms]

Xa'rok's guardian is an unfamiliar but ultimately friendly face amidst a sea of unfamiliar people - a tether to an old piece of themself they lost when they were exiled from their home creche - and one who seems to understand the allure and potential in illithid culture. They trust the guardian implicitly, at first because he's friendly and open-minded, quick to reassure and encourage, and later because his actions continue to prove his words true.

He looks like a githyanki, but the face the Guardian wears in this guise is actually a Githzerai, one [redacted] met briefly during his imprisonment at Moonrise Towers many, many years ago, before that body was destroyed and its mind caged, to be found, coincidentally, by a curious adventurer, who was given a boon for its release. By then the mind had forgotten the outline of its mortal shell, sustaining itself on the fortified psionic resolve inherent to all githzerai. But perhaps within the prism a spectator stirred, when Xa'rok took that mind up in conversation. It was a smart guise to take, as it gave the Emperor reason to caution his foolhardy savior to avoid the creche, not that they listened. After all, githzerai were the only beings the githyanki hated beyond even their former illithid masters.

Ironic that Xa'rok would fall for them both. But then, Xa'rok was never exactly a typical gith.

OG Guardian look back when Xa'rok was a short-lived Durge, though I didn't write down his skintone/specific hair sliders combo and fucked up attempting to color pick in screencaps when remaking him, much to my continued ire. Much more golden and saturated, I love the way the scar stands out starkly against this skin tone.

Tav Question

What does your guardian look like? (Submitted by @spacebarbarianweird)

[penaltyboxboxbox]

how do you do/pick skin colors digitally? with skin tones i feel like mine often end up muddy or dull working on procreate

I LOVE THIS QUESTION AND HELPING WITH THIS GENERALLY.....SO HERES A BUNCH OF STUFF I GENERALLY TRY TO FOLLOW WHEN COLORING SKIN IN PROCREATE (but advice i think is applicable for all drawing ❤️)

Look at references, work from observation, and don't be afraid to experiment!!! MORE color and MORE SATURATED COLOR is always better when drawing people than to wash them out and make them dull, color is full of LIFE! and life is full of color! Happy drawing and good luck❤️

[dancingbirdie]

I saw you did a new submission for Astarion. Is it okay if I ask for another thing for Astarion who’s very submissive and whiny for your touch?

Hi anon! I hope I did your request justice. I was feeling a little angsty today and this is what came out. Feel free to submit another request if this didn't scratch your itch, so to speak.

As always, comments and reactions are appreciated.

xoxoxo

Bring Me Back

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Astarion x gn!Reader

Word Count: 1.3K

Warnings/Tags: Oral sex (Astarion receiving), slight hand/finger kink, body worship, mentions of blood & gore, trauma/trauma response, disassociation, fluff and angst and smut, p0rn with a little plot.

Summary: Astarion just needs some love and comfort from you after a particularly brutal fight.

*****

There was blood on his hands. Too much. Dried and crusted, saturating the wrinkles around his knuckles. He sat on the edge of the bed you were sharing, hands limp in his lap. 

He’d killed so many today. You all had, but he more so than anyone else. It had been a vicious battle, the reality of which seemed to be sinking into his bones now. 

“Astarion?” you ventured carefully. You were carrying in a water pitcher and basin you had pilfered from the cook’s quarters downstairs. 

He didn’t seem to register your voice. You tried again, moving cautiously to kneel on the floor before him. 

“Astarion?”

“Hmm?” he responded, his glassy eyes finally sharpening enough to take you in. “Oh, apologies, darling. My mind… it must’ve wandered.”

“Are you feeling all right?” you probed in a low murmur. 

“I feel…,” he trailed off, his head shifting to stare vacantly out the dingy window near the bedside. “Numb.”

“Numb?” you echoed.

“Mm. Disconnected, more like,” he amended distractedly. 

“Hm, I see,” you replied, unsure of what more there was to say. 

Certainly you could understand the feeling. And certainly it was justified, after the carnage you all had wrought today. No matter how noble the cause, things had still ended in a tide of blood and viscera. 

You were at a loss for how to comfort him. But the rational part of your brain settled on addressing the most immediate problem before you. Namely, the blood on his hands. 

“Astarion,” you soothed, waiting until he turned back to look down at you again. “I’d like to clean up your hands before we rest.”

He stared at you blankly. Then slowly, his gaze drifted down to his hands. He turned them over, palms up, studying them absently.

“Is that okay? Can I touch you?” you pressed. 

You knew his displeasure in being touched without warning. You’d seen his reactions frequently enough, on the road with your other companions. Each clap on the shoulder from Gale. Each good-natured shove from Karlach. His response was subtle, but not lost on you. He would grimace and shrink away. Every time.

“Touch me?” he repeated now, brows upturned.

“Yes,” you nodded. “To clean your hands of the blood, love.”

He shuddered. You watched as his fingertips twitched. His bottom lip trembled. 

“Please,” he uttered in a broken plea. 

You nodded again and set to work. Gingerly, you lifted each hand, cradling it with reverence. You passed the rag soaked in tepid, rose-scented water over each digit, in between them. You swiped under each nail, over each knuckle, clearing his fingers of blood, one by one. You soothed over his palms, over the patchwork of calluses on the pads of fingers, over the delicate skin of the backside of his palms. He watched you in silence as you carried out your cleaning, mesmerized. 

The basin was colored deep crimson by the time you finished. Grabbing a dry cloth, you patted his hands dry. You squeezed them both gently before moving to release them. You prepared to stand and get yourself ready for rest. 

But Astarion stopped you. His hands, once limp while you were caring for him, suddenly clutched yours desperately. Your eyes whipped up to meet his in surprise. They were limned in tears that had yet to fall. 

“Please,” he whispered in a desperate sort of voice. A whine, almost. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop touching me.”

You swallowed thickly, unsure of what to make of his plea. 

He plunged ahead at your reticence. “I can’t… I want to be here. In this moment. But I can’t find my way back,” he croaked. 

His voice, so broken, so desolate, was rending your heart in two. It was more than you could bear. 

“Touch me,” he begged. “Bring me back. Please.”

You nodded, never breaking eye contact, as you rose from your crouched position on the floor before him. Tears streamed silently down both of your faces. Neither of you made a move to wipe them away. 

Slowly, carefully, you urged him to shift back on the bed as your legs parted to straddle him. Perched atop his lap, you threaded your fingers through his silvery locks. Pulled on them slightly. Tugged at them until he groaned. 

His hands grasped your hip bones, hard enough that you were sure there would be finger-shaped bruises there tomorrow. You didn’t mind. You would cherish them, those marks from your lover. 

“Come back to me, love. Come back to me,” you whispered in between hot, open-mouthed kisses. Your tongues danced together, like old friends.

You nipped at the hollow place near his clavicle. You sucked on the skin where his neck met his shoulder. His needy, breathy whines only goaded you further. You hoped the fire that was igniting in your veins would transfer to his. If the way his hips were canting into you was any indication, you were both tinderboxes itching to be set ablaze. 

“Be here. Be here, in this moment with me,” you crooned in his ear, rolling your hips into his. You were both still fully dressed, but your bodies crested and fell together in perfect timing. A practice performance for what was to come. 

“Yes, yes,” Astarion keened, as you slipped a hand to brazenly rub the flat of your palm against his erection. The fabric of his breeches was strained to the point of stretching. 

“I’m here,” he panted. “I’m here.”

“Good, stay with me, I want to taste you,” you whispered. “Come back to me, let me taste you.”

“Fuck, please,” he moaned, his head drooping onto your shoulder. He was so pliant in this moment, like putty in your hands.

“Lie back,” you ordered, nudging him backwards with your body. “Untie your breeches.”

“Yes,” he agreed, all too eager to follow your command. Chest heaving, he reclined further back onto the bed. His fingers quickly set to work on freeing himself from his leathers. 

“That’s it, darling, yes,” you cooed, watching him bare himself before you. “Stay here with me. Watch me. Watch me keep you here.”

“Gods, yes, yes,” Astarion whined, lifting his head to witness you take him fully in your mouth. 

“Fuck,” you heard him bark wantonly above you. Felt his hips cant himself deeper into your mouth, until your lips were meeting the base of him. 

His dulcet whimpers and moans were music to your ears. As you worshiped him with your mouth. As you caressed him lovingly back into his body, back into this moment, back into this bed with you. 

You could sense he was close to climax as his hands gripped your hair tighter and tighter. You swirled your tongue around him with greater fervor, teasing him closer and closer to the edge. 

“Let me come in your mouth, please, darling, please,” he keened, hips bucking erratically against you. 

Refusing to bring him down from this high with words, you met his eyes and nodded your assent, gripping his thighs tighter as if to say go on then, love. 

And he did. He spilled himself down your throat in delicious pulses. You swallowed every bit, relishing his release as if it were your own. 

With a soft pop of your lips, you released him. Licked him clean, before stretching out to lie on the bed beside him.

His chest was heaving as he recovered. You delicately traced the muscles of his abdomen as he came to. After a few moments, he lifted a hand to clasp your fingers. Stilled them with his own as they interlaced on his chest. 

“Did you find your way back?” you whispered. 

He turned his head to look at you. His lips upturned in a quiet, muted sort of smile. 

“Thanks to you,” he returned quietly. “I’m here again. Here with you.”

[rayroseu]

late to the party but Meleanor was so right... Malleus IS a bright star for Briar Valley 😭💚✨

I really love how this groovy was composed visually. It really highlights the difference of Diasomnia members in comparison to Malleus. About their strength and status initially

but In a way, this makes me feel like it also highlights their difference in lifespan.

Malleus at the brightest because he still has far too many candles to burn, he is the one with the most highlights and saturation to bring focus but also since he's so bright, it dwindles other people's "shine", symbolizing his power and magnificence as an enabler to his loneliness and separation from others. He's like a Like a sun in a way... Too bright so its better not to get close, thats why its so poignant for me that his highlights are yellow (even though I know they just chose that bcs it complements green lol)

Sebek and Silver have some highlights, signifying they're young and obviously have many years to live by in human standards.

But what really caught my attention was how "dull" Lilia's color pallette here... Even Sebek and Silver's eyes look more saturated but Lilia is just outright "dull" even though we know his red eyes are really striking... It makes me think of his "eventual end" (am back in the Farewell Lilia laments lol)

How his colors here isnt as saturated and bright like Silver, Sebek, and Malleus bcs unlike them, he has too few of candles to burn now, the only highlights we see here are on the corners of his cape or "the last part of his character design".

I also really like how Sebek, Silver, and Lilia are placed behind Malleus, I assumed they were in front of Malleus based on the visuals of their dorm card lineup but here they're positioned behind Malleus to interpret they're guarding him in the shadows, but also it makes me think that they're positioned like that bcs Malleus obviously has a longer way to go than them but their past ("shadows") are still in Malleus' life and how Malleus can look behind in his past and recall their memories if it ever gets lonely living forward "seperated" from the the other Diaso members.

There is a contrast between green lights and violet lights on the floor, and only Sebek, Silver, and Malleus are standing in the green light.

In the color wheel, violet/purple and green are contrasting colors. If you grayscale these colors, You'll see that violet/purple will look darker than green (grayscale-wise). It makes me tear up interpreting that only Lilia is placed on the purple side of the area because he's the character here who's "life is dimming to darkness".

Even so, despite the differences in their status lifespan personality etc, they look so complete and look good together... 😭✨ And Malleus has an evil expression here too but it has an undertone that he's just happy... There's no undertone of intimidation unlike in pre-groovy, (and also because his face is so round (that happens bcs the perspective is high lol) that he looks softer, XD #chubby cheeks Malleus back at it again lol) and Malleus actually "looks kind" bcs he's with his family lol

[peachsayshi]

Hi, I really like ur page and i was wondering if i could request a beach day with dad gojo?? I think this would be wholesome😭💕

₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥minors / ageless / blank blogs dni

⥽ notes: some tooth rotting fluff for you nonnie! cw children; reader and gojo are parents of two; alternate au where things are only happy; satoru is a retired sorcerer; I mention that satoru's hair is a bit long but that's because I actually hc him growing it out slightly after retiring - requests for dad gojo prompts are still open.

love consumes your daily life. it comes in the form of good morning kisses, in messy rooms, in vibrant chatter that never seems to end, in tears, in a stack of dirty dishes, in folding clothes for a family of four. it manifests itself in various ways - and no matter where the pendulum swings between how good or bad it can feel, you go to sleep every night eternally grateful.

today's sky is clear and vibrant, saturated in a blue that mirrors the expanding horizon. waves crash along the shore, the subtle breeze whipping back and forth.

a morning at the beach was just what you needed. a nice break away from the demands of your day to day life. the heat teasingly kisses your exposed skin, despite you being hidden under the giant umbrella.

you inhale with gratitude, breathing the salt in the air.

by your side is your daughter, whose now a year and half. her white hair is pulled into two pigtails, her cheeks a rosy pink. she's sitting upright, her big eyes focusing on her toy tools as she shovels the grains of sand by your side.

you mindlessly lean forward to kiss the top of her head, pushing your sunglasses away from your face to glance toward the horizon.

your heart flutters at the sight of your husband whose tall, muscular body stands firm like a marble statue in the distance. your son is on his shoulders, his hands lightly gripping his father's hair, as satoru trails a path back and forth along the sea bed.

no one would be able to tell that your son is actually quite tall for his age, not when he looks so small next to his father.

your daughter noises out "dada" as she follows your gaze, pointing her shovel towards them and flicking tiny granulates of sand up ahead.

once upon a time your life wasn't quite like this, so you absorb the seconds like a sponge.

you spend some time building sand castles with your daughter, who rejects the concept of dimensional shapes and prefers the art of rustic mounds instead. you're both so engrossed in your little activity, that you barely hear satoru and your son walk towards you.

"mama!" your son squeals, his hands clutched tight into two fists as he nearly kicks the mound that you've both been carefully crafting together.

"easy, my love!" you giggle, glancing up at him with affection.

he looks so much like satoru, you think. his eyes may be yours, but satoru's genes fought hard for that claim with a streak of blue piercing through his left iris. he has the same cute little nose, and a massive grin that brightens up his whole face.

the only stark difference is with his hair color, which was simply a lighter shade of yours.

"m'sorry!" he politely replies, adjusting his position as you circle one arm around him. "I gotta show you!" he opens both fists, where he holds two beautiful shells. "one's for you, mama. and the other is for akemi!"

"oh, these are beautiful, jun!" you coo, taking each shell from his hand. you already know exactly where you'll keep them, one sitting on your vanity and the other you'll attach onto the decorative mobile in akemi's room.

you place both shells carefully into the beach bag and pick up jun's thermos. he plops down right beside you and happily takes it from your hand.

meanwhile, satoru finds his place on the towel, his long arms scooping up akemi into the contours of chest.

you run your fingers through jun's wet hair, pushing it away from his face as you watch him drink water. akemi babbles by your side while satoru continues whispering the sweetest words into her ear.

"how's my pretty girl? you having fun making sand castles with mama?" he coos, rubbing the tip of his red rose against hers. their blushed faces mirroring one another.

akemi giggles and kisses her father in return.

"we should be heading back soon," you state, not wanting to be the bearer of bad news but knowing full well that the afternoon heat will be far too much for young daughter.

satoru and jun both turn to look at you, tiny pouts forming on their mouths as their shoulders slump.

"do we have'ta, mama?" jun mumbles.

"yes, but how about we get some ice cream first before we go?"

"oh! I could do with some ice cream!" satoru replies, too busy making a silly face at akemi to pull another laugh out of her.

jun moves closer to them, practically crawling on his father's lap as he raises the thermos victoriously like he won an epic battle.

"I want ice cream too!"

satoru gathers him in his arms as well, placing him on his lap to cradle his two babies together.

another burst of love runs through you, one that settles deep within your soul.

you allow father, son and daughter to bond while you carefully pack up all your things. by the time satoru puts them down, you're almost finished.

you stand up to stretch your legs, your husband following your footsteps and slipping his arms around your waist to spin you in his direction while jun and akemi take a second to destroy the sand castle that you were building earlier.

"hey, hot stuff," he teases under his breath, greeting you like it's the first time he's seen you all day. "missed you out in the water"

"nu-uh, mister," you playfully scold, "your smooth talking isn't going to excuse you from the near heart attack you gave me when you dunked jun in earlier..."

satoru arches forward to kiss your cheek, "lighten up, mama. you know our babies are in perfectly safe hands with me,"

you shake your head, a musing smile making your cheeks feel tight. you bring one hand up to twirl a strand of satoru's hair, while the pads of your other fingers lightly grazes over the blades of his undercut.

you scratch the back of his head lovingly, "I know they are"

two arms wrap around your leg, and you look down to find jun resting his chin on your thigh while looking up at you with curiosity. "mama, can we get the ice cream now?"

you shift your gaze to satoru, the tiny moment of privacy fleeting as love makes it's presence known once again.

"you guys head over to the shop, while I pack up the stuff. I'll meet you there."

with that, you carry akemi in your arms while you hold jun's hand. the three of you stroll away from your space of sanctuary towards the ice cream shop.

you greet the owner, his familiar face clocking your own. the last time you saw him was on your honeymoon with satoru. the man's face beams with pride as he looks at your children, witnessing how much has bloomed around you since.

you order everyone's ice cream, and he graciously offered akemi's tiny scoop free of charge.

you're seated at the booth, watching jun devour his chocolate soft serve while akemi's lips turn orange nibbling at her peach sorbet. satoru finally walks in, clad in a unbuttoned short sleeve shirt that he wears over his swim trunks. he runs his fingers through his hair, pushing the longer layers back and away from his face to reveal his handsome features.

"papa, hurry up! you're ice cream will melt!" jun calls out, and you kindly shush him as to not disturb the other customers.

thankfully, it was a young couple and two older women who simply laugh at the interaction.

satoru slips into the booth right next you, his arm automatically curling around your waist while his free hand lifts the cone that you've been holding for him.

he dramatically licks around the swirl of vanilla, making jun and akemi laugh with his animated reaction.

you both find one another then, the root of your love at the forefront.

suddenly, everything else disappears, and it's just the four of you suspended in time. satoru leans down to steal a kiss, his sugary lips slightly cold, and you return the gesture tenderly.

"ewwwwww" jun interrupts, scrunching his nose in disgust.

the spark fizzles, but that's alright. you know full well that you and your husband have the night to make up for it.

satoru looks at his son with cheeky astonishment. "eww?! really, jun? how do you think you got here in the first place?"

you playfully slap your husband's chest, while your son shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly with his innocence brushing over satoru's comment.

"dunno, ask mama"

satoru's jaw goes slack, a disapproving expression overcoming him. "ask mama? as if your papa had nothing to do with it, huh?"

"well, I came from her tummy not yours" your son answers quite matter of factly, giving your husband a sassy look as if he knows better.

you bring your fingers to your mouth to stop yourself from laughing at his wild comment and rest your cheek against satoru's shoulders, listening to father and son banter while the exhaustion from the day trickles in slowly.

you close your eyes for only a moment when the silence settles in.

satoru leans you both back against the plush surface of the sofa.

"tired, angel?"

"mhmm," you agree, "but today was perfect."

he smiles, his cerulean eyes shifting to jun and akemi finishing up their treats.

you're not the only one who finds themselves thankful.

"yeah," he murmurs, squeezing your waist in confirmation, "yeah, it really was."

note: I am not accepting any new requests. if you're interested in seeing what kind of requests I am accepting - please check the "rules" and "upcoming" links on my pinned.

[motherofdogs1010]

Little Darling I (Thomas Shelby x Reader)

Summary: Birmingham has received a new club, one that is showcasing a exotic type of dance that is drawing in crowds, but it is one particular dancer that catches Thomas Shelby's eye... one that goes by the stage name: Little Darling

Warnings: 18+, eventual smut, stripper!reader, eventual smut, swearing, drinking, mentions of prostitution/ sex work, canon Peaky Blinders violence

😊 Dividers by @firefly-graphics 😊 Banner by @vase-of-lilies

Part II

A new club in Peaky Blinder territory was something that always raised Tommy's attention; usually, he would pay no mind when they first pop up, but it seemed like this club was different.

The Scarlet Letter was what it was called, Tommy had been sitting in his office at Shelby Company Ltd. when John and Arthur had come in to report about this club. Apparently, the club was showcasing a unique type of dance with its female employees, one that involved the use of a pole?

"A bloody pole?" Tommy had scoffed at the mention. "How the bloody hell are these women dancing with a pole?"

"Have to go check it out to see", Arthur had replied with a cheeky grin. "From what we've heard, this club had been making money. No ties to any gangs either."

It was a sight to see inside The Scarlet Letter, women adorned in expensive lingerie, their hair adorned in pinned curls and lips painted a deep red, but what was interesting was they work masks that concealed half their face. Literal poles were scattered throughout the place, a barmaid and bartender maned two bars on either side of the place, both busy; sofas and booth seats surrounded some of the poles, paritions in certain parts of the building.

He noticed a few heavy built men guarding certain areas, Tommy realizing they were hired help for the women.

"Mr. Thomas Shelby", a voice boomed. "What a surprise to be seeing the Peaky Blinders in my establishment!"

Y/N ran the red lipstick over her lips, smacking her lips together to get the the color saturated onto her lips. The eyelash extensions she had glued on for the evening tying the whole look together as she made sure to careful wipe away any excess around her mouth just as the boss came in.

"Ladies", she boomed, "We got some big customers outside. Make sure to put on your best performances!"

Cherry Johnson was their boss, she was a woman of a tall stature with a loud, booming voice that commanded respect. But she was a good boss, always fair to them and making sure they were safe, she only had them dance or perform lap dances, never forcing them to go any further.

Cherry came over to her as Y/N was about to fix the mask on, "Y/N, do you mind taking on a particular client here?"

"What client?" she asked as she adjusted the mask and tied the ribbon to secure it.

She saw Cherry grin in the mirror, "Thomas Shelby. Told him I'd send him only the best of my girls."

Everyone had heard of Thomas Shelby, of the Peaky Blinders so she looked at Cherry with a little frown, her lips curled a little.

"He's an obvious big tipper, darling", Cherry said, Y/N sighed.

"Fine", Y/N said as she adjusted her corset. "But he better know the rules."

Cherry grinned even bigger if that was even possible.

Y/N waited behind the curtain, pushing her hair behind her shoulders as she waited for her arrival to be announced. They switched dancers every hour or so, changing sets and outfits, working the floor and private dances. She noticed that her two other co-workers, Babydoll and Lovely, were up next with her on the big stage.

"Hey there, Little Darling", Lovely said with a grin. "Heard the boss gave you some big fish to entertain."

"I just hope he isn't stingy with the tips", Y/N said as she heard Cherry begin to announce them.

"Look alive, ladies", Babydoll teased, "it's showtime."

Tommy leaned back in the plush velvet chair that was in front of the large stage, Arthur and John on either side of him as he inspected the area. Cherry, the boss, had told him that she was sending one of her best girls to dance for them, the crowd favorite, but Cherry had told him the rules and the biggest one was 'no touching'.

"Next up we got Lovely, Babydoll and your favorite... Little Darling!" Cherry announced to the eager crowd.

Tommy put his cigarette between his lips as he noticed the anticipation in John and Arthur, the eagerness in their bodies; Tommy wondered where Esme thought John was as she came out, a intricate corset and stockings piece with a garter on one plush thigh adorned her body. Pinned curls framed her masked face with those blood red, plump lips and sultry, bedroom lidded eyes that were just calling to him.

He didn't even notice his brothers be captivated by her or the other two dancers as she approached the pole, a sensual dance performed in front of him as she moved in a way he had never witnessed before. He noticed other patrons throwing... pounds? at them, the women sensually grabbing the bills and stuffing them into the attire.

"C'mon Tommy", John said, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him a little. "Let loose a little already."

His brothers were throwing notes onto the stage, Little Darling making a show of grabbing them and stuffing them into the corset with a wink. She was like a seductress on the stage, moving with the music, performing acrobatic moves on the pole, it amazed him so as he light another cigarette and placed it in his mouth, he reached into his inner coat pocket, grabbing some bills into his hand.

Little Darling gave him a seductive smile, moving from the pole and getting to her knees, begin to crawl towards him till she reached the end of the stage where he was; she tilted her head a little before she leaned forward, making a show of grabbing his hand that held the bills and guiding it to stuffing the bills into the front of her corset where her tits were.

She winked at him before blowing him a kiss.

Y/N made a good amount of money from her dancing on the stage, counting the pounds that were thrown before passing it to Cherry to take her part.

"Good show out there, N/N", Cherry said, handing her back the money she earned. "You got a private dance with a Mr. Shelby."

Y/N nodded, rolling her shoulders back before making sure her makeup was still good before heading to one of the private rooms.

Walking into one of the private rooms, she saw him there; the dimly light room only seemed to work in the man's favor, adding to the feeling of danger that already existed in the room. He had his cap off, it resting on one of the side tables in the room as he blew out a smoke of nicotine from his lips.

"Cherry tells me you're called Little Darling", Tommy said as she closed the door behind her.

"I am", she answered as she slowly walked towards them.

"Quite the performance you put on."

She moved to straddle his lap, draping her arms his shoulders with a lazy grin on her face.

"I could see you enjoyed it, very much."

She stared into his piercing blue eyes, she could see the lust swirling in his eyes as she begun to move her hips.

[carmyberzattosjournal]

Entry 17: A Man Possessed

GIF credit: @maikswen

Bearblr Promptober Day 17: Dumbification (Sub: Clueless)

Summary: Carmy has girlfriend (who he calls Darling) brainworms again, and he's even more of a disaster this time. (Or: the time Carmy had to leave work to go rail his girl)

Warnings: Smut, swearing, p in v sex, unprotected sex (she has an IUD but Carmy's not writing that in his journal), Dom/Sub dynamic, calling Carmy "sir", hair pulling, obsessed thoughts, mild spiraling, fem reader/rando lass who is a trauma surgeon, she/her pronouns.

Notes: All journal entries will be titled as such and tagged with #cb journal.

Thank you for reading. Thank you to @carmenberzattosgf for putting together this prompt list.

If you want to keep following this set of works, you can follow the #cb journal tag.

Sideblog for commentary and yapping: @m-z-shoroi

This is is a two-parter. The first part is here.

Also, if random letters or words are black/white instead of the colors they should be, that's Tumblr being dumb, I've been fighting it for days.

17 Oct 2024

I handled the second incident of Darling invading my brain much worse than the first.

I couldn’t fucking focus for five fucking minutes on anything. I was pissed off at life two minutes after opening, worse so when the place looked a fucking mess from the night before. Assholes couldn’t even clean up after themselves. I don’t even know how many times I lost track of what I was doing or why because my mind went to Darling instead of staying at The Bear. Here she was, burying her face in my t-shirt again, letting out that delicious sigh, the curve of her hip still visible under the blankets, and I wanted so badly to just grab her. To squeeze her flesh in my hands, dig my fingers into the round of her ass, to drown in her soft skin and her wet kisses to my throat. I wanted to bite her. I didn’t even know what to do with that—I just wanted to sink my teeth into the inside of her thigh before soothing her by putting my mouth to use elsewhere. Why? For what purpose? How does that make sense?

Syd must’ve noticed that I was off because she started helping with cleaning—didn’t even try to talk to me. I hate that, by the way; hate when I’m so far away that people don’t even find words worth giving me. I might not talk much, but if people don’t talk to me, I start feeling like a bug on the window; tiny, inconvenient, gross, unwanted, easily forgotten until I make an irritating sound.

I had to step out in the middle of cleaning—I hadn’t even gotten to prep yet, that’s how bad it was—and I found myself dragging my hand over the side of my neck and my throat. My heart throbbed with such violence that I wanted it to escape so I’d stop being harassed by it. My hands trembled, breaths got erratic. I heard her voice again, telling me to breathe, to find sounds around me, but it came through as static. The apple leaf adagio, the skittering of dried maple leaves, her body fits so perfectly in my hands, strawberry lip balm, what’s not to love? Fuck, that feels good, Carmy. More of that, pretty boy.

Pretty boy.

Please call me pretty boy again, I’m begging you.

I struggled to make it through the rest of prep. I’m fairly sure Sydney figured out I was that same sort of fucked up again because she didn’t wait for me to fuck up a count or fail to give directions before taking over the reigns of the kitchen. I turned into a line cook, just mindlessly doing what was asked of me because it’s what I knew I could do without making a worse mess, and she had the rest under control.

Syd always had it under control; I was the one out of control.

Once again, near dinner service, just when I thought I’d be fine, I cracked under the pressure. I had stepped out to get a break from the relentless heat of the kitchen, try to get some air that wasn’t saturated with the aromas of food (it sounds nice, but trust me, when you’re hour 10 into inhaling sautéed onions, confit garlic, vinegar, cumin, black pepper, olive oil, it gets so deep into your lungs that you feel like you might cough up a prime rib steak). The snap of cold air on my face shattered the dam keeping any assertion of reality in check, and I was inundated with this… how do I even describe it? It wasn’t quite rage, but it wasn’t far from it. Like I needed Darling. I needed her so badly that if I didn’t have her, I was going to break something.

Possessed? Was I a man possessed?

I had this crawling sensation, yeah? Not quite like ants on my skin; the feeling was bigger, coarser. It started in my back, spread to my shoulders, blazed down my arms, into my hands. I clenched and relaxed my fists, trying to ward it off, but when that did nothing—and it did precisely nothing—I rubbed hard over my arms, dug my short fingernails into my skin in some faint approximation of what Darling’s nails felt like. When I thought about doing it again, even harder, hard enough to draw blood if I had to, I knew I was fucked.

I bailed on the kitchen staff again, but something tells me they would’ve hated me being there anyway.

“Sweetheart? You’re home early, what’s going on?”

She’s on the couch fiddling with yarn—I think it’s crochet? Or is it knitting? I don’t know the difference—and has the 2005 Pride and Prejudice on in the background at a low volume. I don’t even know if she can hear it with how quiet it is. I throw off my jacket, and that’s enough for her to figure out something is wrong. She puts the yarn thing on the arm of the couch and unfolds her legs to get up, but I can’t, okay, I cannot.

“No, you stay there.” I’m sorry, did I just tell her what to do? Who the fuck am I?

She froze and leveled a look at me that I can only describe as a deer in headlights. Entirely confused. Clueless. Maybe even scared.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” It’s tiny. High in her throat.

She follows my face with those big eyes as I approach. It’s weird that it didn’t bother me then. It bothers me now, thinking about it, that she was probably confused as all hell and I should’ve stopped to talk to her, but clearly, I was on one. Or something. That crawling sensation was worse, and overwhelmed by the need, the sheer fucking need to taste her. Taste that strawberry lip balm, lap at her tongue, to occupy my mouth with soft, warm wetness. Fuck me, she was wearing my t-shirt, too.

She squeaked in surprise when I crashed our lips together. Immediately shot her hand to my forearm when one of mine blanketed over her throat. The other seized a fistful of her hair, and she grabbed at my wrist. Probably startled. It bothers me that I didn’t care at the time.

“Open,” I growled.

She obeyed immediately, relented control to let me explore her mouth, and wove her hands into my hair. Fucking hell, I needed that. I was starved of her, plagued with memories of her taste for 10 entire fucking hours—fuck I needed her, all of her, I needed her hands under my skin, goddammit. I pushed her down onto the couch, wrenched her knees apart, and settled between them. She tugged my hair in surprise and then coiled her legs around me.

“Pull harder.”

“Harder? Carmy—”

I used my grip on her hair to tip her head back and aim a glare at her. “I said pull. Fucking. Harder.”

She whimpered and did what I asked. My eyes drifted shut against my will at the tension on my hair—not painful, a sort of raw pleasurable that only pain could seem to bring in that moment. It was too fucking warm. It was boiling again. Why is it always so fucking warm? It was almost as if she could hear my thoughts because she yanked my shirt up and off. I went right back to attacking her with kisses. She hooked a leg high up on my waist and tightened it—have I mentioned how fucking strong she is? College soccer player. She’s really fucking strong.—and it was enough to trigger the ache in my back and force me to pause for a moment with my lips at her neck.

“Carmy,” she gasped, “tell me where your head is, sweetheart.”

Her sounding breathless shouldn’t’ve made me feel powerful.

I yanked off her shirt. May have torn a hook off her bra when I wrested it off her. Whatever, I’d buy her a new one.

“Carmy, I need you to talk—” I cut her off with more fervent kisses. She patted my chest, squeezed her legs again. “Hey, pretty boy.”

That got me to freeze and meet her gaze. She rubbed small circles over my chest.

“Hi… hi, sweetheart.”

“Couldn’t—” Fuck me, I could barely think. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Her confusion was replaced with a wide-eyed expression.

I ducked down to continue that hickey on her neck. I needed to leave some kind of mark on her. What the hell was going on with me? She trailed a hand down my abdomen and rested it on the bulge in my pants. Took her about two heartbeats to start fumbling with my fly. This wave of cool relief washed over me—don’t know what or why it was about—but it was brief, just a momentary breather in the flames of arousal consuming me. She got me free of my pants and underwear, kissed my temple.

“That better, hm?” Was she really trying to soothe me right now?

Did she not see the animal trying not to devour her?

It occurs to me now that I might’ve genuinely scarred her when I stared her down in response. She froze, searched my face, darted her gaze between my mouth and my eyes repeatedly. Had shaky, jerky movements when trying to shove off her sweatpants. It was odd that she wasn’t speaking. She tends to talk. Her voice is pretty soothing, honestly. At first, something of a regular check in and reassurance for me to know that I wasn’t fucking up, but now a familiar, comfortable, soothing riff in the soundtrack of our lives together. Of course, at the time, I didn’t register any of this because I just needed to be inside her already.

She tensed up when I hiked her leg up my side. Babbled frantically into my mouth, “C-Carmy? Carmy, be gentle. Please be gentle—oh fuck!”

How gentle do you think a wild animal can be, baby girl?

She was unimaginably tight but also impossibly wet. My head spun and it took every last frayed fiber of wherewithal to not immediately sink into her cunt as deep as I could. Forget thinking straight, forget thinking about anything other than the tight, wet heat enveloping my dick. I was pussy drunk already, and I just barely got started.

She dug her nails into my back, had one hand on my abdomen digging into my muscle. “Baby! Baby, please, slow down… fuck, that’s so good, but please—”

“You can take it,” I snarled into her ear.

She took a second, but then withdrew the hand pushing on me and busied it with my hair instead. Mumbled a small, “Y-yes, sir.”

Sir?

She moaned something of a pitiful sound when I got to work. Whatever that version of me was, it wasn’t gentle, but she didn’t seem to care. She hiked her leg up higher when I hit her deep, begged for more, clung to me tighter when I sunk my teeth into her shoulder and did just that, mumbled praises in my ear as I relentlessly fucked her through her orgasm. Good boy; that’s it, you’re making me feel so good; fuck, baby, I’m so full; I can take more, keep going. It crossed the rat’s nest of busted wires in my brain further. All I can remember is this raw, unfiltered, white-hot pleasure burning a chasm into my core, this tension winding so tight I couldn’t get enough air in. Braided steel cable creaking under a construction load? How do I describe this? Tightening rubber band? No.

Sinew tensioning as a dull knife dug into it. That’s an apt descriptor. Like with the ice cubes in the kitchen that first time. Only all-consuming, raw, visceral, centered on her—her scent, her heat, her strained breaths, her wetness, her taste. 

I hid my face in the crook of her neck when I was right on the edge.

Her lips brushed my ear. Her voice was strained but still the same kind of soothing to my soul. “Come on, sweetheart. Let go… Cum, pretty boy…”

I clutched her like a drowning man when my orgasm finally hit me. It knocked the air out of my lungs, killed a scream in my throat, set off a thrumming sound in my ears, first bathed me in flames and then abruptly flooded ice water through my veins. My abdomen screamed from how violently it spasmed, the muscles in my back seized up. Everything stopped. Everything—never in my life had my entire existence been so blank, so empty, so quiet, so at peace. I might even have blacked out for a bit (or my memory is just as shit as it’s always been) because the next thing I remember is slow, gentle caresses over my face, neck, chest, shoulder, then back up to my face to repeat the circuit. Her lips pressed to my hairline at intervals. My eyelashes brushed her neck while I tried to blink the cobwebs away.

“You with me, sweetheart?”

Nope. Not even close. I don’t even know what planet I’m on right now.

She smoothed my sweaty hair back off my face. Planted another kiss to my temple. “That’s okay. You’re safe. Take your time.”

This is going too well, right? She’s too perfect. God’s a sadist; that other shoe is going to return from orbit, and because I am willing to give my whole being to this woman, it will kill me. This love will kill me.