#get inkspired

[enchantingepics]

Story Prompt 65

The docks bustled with activity as people milled about, admiring the colossal ships docked alongside. Amidst the chatter and the sounds of seagulls, two figures strolled along the wooden planks, taking in the sights. Suddenly, a voice pierced through the ambient noise, calling out a name that stirred something deep within one of them.

The person turned around, eyes widening in disbelief as they locked onto a figure striding towards them. Memories, long buried beneath the sands of time, flooded back in a rush of emotions. The two locked eyes, a mixture of surprise and recognition flickering between them like a dance of shadows in the fading light.

"It can't be you," came the hesitant whisper, disbelief coloring every syllable.

The approaching figure smiled, a bittersweet expression etched upon their features. "But it is. It's been so long, hasn't it?" Their voice carried the weight of years gone by, yet held a hint of longing beneath its surface.

The air around them seemed to crackle with unresolved emotions as they stood face to face, the gap between them bridged by years of memories and unspoken words.

"Perhaps we should catch up," one suggested tentatively, breaking the tense silence that enveloped them like a heavy fog.

"Yeah, that sounds… nice," came the hesitant reply, tinged with a mix of nostalgia and uncertainty.

[ladyazulina]

Linney's Campaign

Masterpost - Campaign Page

🌸 Spring 1 🌸

Weather: Stormy ⛈️

Previous Part: Getting close to the devil.

Yep, they're just about to do exactly that

Word Count: 951.

“And it’s the only one here, I haven’t needed anything more.” “That… makes sense,” I rest my head on my crossed arms, “you live alone…” “I lived alone,” he corrects, raising a finger. I roll my eyes. “Don’t be melodramatic, this is only for a few days.” “I’m counting on it,” he nods.

You can find a few other different phrases from this chapter on Medium, Substack, and Inkspired.

You can find the whole chapter in the Sapphire Azulino tier on Patreon 💙

Tagging: @aziz-reads 💙 @cilly-the-writer

[flatbstanley]

From the personal website of Taylor Santoro (taylorgrace.com):

Welcome back to my Thursday Evenings series! Today we'll be spending the evening with Sara Scott. She and her husband Simon have two boys, Robbie (10) and Nicholas (6).

The Scotts moved to Henford-on-Bagley about eleven years ago, where they run a local pub called the Gnome's Arms. I'm always on the lookout for moms who can combine running a business and raising a family, and I hope you'll enjoy this peek into Sara's life as much as I did!

Sara and Simon have a team of employees who help keep the pub running, but they're both on-site every afternoon. Sara is the friendly face behind the bar — try her Bagley Berry Fizz if you're ever in the area! Simon's main duties are bookkeeping and managing inventory, but he also helps out in the kitchen when they need an extra pair of hands. Tonight's menu: Aubergine parmesan, beef wellington, and a delicious butternut squash soup!

How did Simon prepare these delicious meals? With Schmapple appliances, of course! This is your very last chance to get a discount on all your cooking needs—visit their website and use code TAYLOR for 5% off today!

The boys arrive at the Gnome's Arms at about 4:30. Robbie takes horseback riding lessons at a local farm, while Nicholas is rehearsing for the school play.

Because Henford is such a close community, Sara feels confident letting her boys roam through town on their own. Robbie stopped by the grocery stand for a last-minute snack, while Nicholas got some homework help from a local highschooler. "I think it's important for my children to develop independence and confidence," says Sara. "We are so lucky to live in a place where they can explore safely."

Like many families, the Scotts make time for a family dinner — but theirs takes place at the pub! "We need to be present during the evening rush, but dinner is an important time for us to connect with the boys. We have a table that we consider 'ours' so we can spend that time with them while being on hand if our employees need us."

After dinner, Simon headed home with the boys to take care of some evening chores. While the Scotts don't own a large farm like many Henford families, they raise a few crops in their backyard and even have a flock of chickens! Robbie and Nicholas take turns feeding them and gathering the eggs. "Responsibility is another important value for us," says Sara. "Chickens and crops need attention every day whether you feel like it or not!"

Sara stayed a bit later than usual at the pub, but she made a point of being home by 9 pm to kiss the boys good night and put them to bed. "The pub will still be standing in fifteen years. But they'll only be six and ten for a little while, and I want to savor it!"

That's definitely a lesson that this mama will be taking away! Join me next time for another Thursday evening!

@.sara.loves.gnomes: Thank you so much for these sweet pictures and for spending the evening with us!!!

@.inkspirations: <3 <3 <3

@.tradwife56: Now this is the kind of content I'd like to see more of! What a Godly woman, raising her own food and teaching her boys some wonderful traditional values!!!!

(A/N: Not gonna lie, it was nice to take a break from Justin’s nonsense and spend some time with the very wholesome Scotts!)

[sisutattoo]

💜 4/151 Thank you so much @moffbadger for joining in my Pokémon get-what-you-get tattoo! I love this adorable Haunter scene! Are you brave enough to get a random Pokémon tattoo?! All Pokémon are generation 1 They can be done in any style you like And they each come with a 20% discount!! Message to enquire! 💜 _______________________________ #getwhatyouget #getwhatyougettattoo #gumballtattoo #nerdtattoo #animetattoo #pokemon #pokemontattoo #gamertattoo #japanesetattoo #haunter #hauntertattoo #availabledesigns #discounttattoo #flashtattoo #flashdesigns #tattooflash #colourtattoo #uktattooist #uktattoo #uktattooartist #nottinghamtattoo #nottinghamtattooartist #nottinghamtattooist #inkspiration #cooltattoo #uniquetattoo #tattoo #tattooideas (at exotictattoostudiouk) https://www.instagram.com/p/CpQ1Bwlo9Nt/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[mouleestattooart]

Best Tattoo Studio in Pune

nkspired Tattoos, widely regarded as the best tattoo studio in Pune, combines artistic excellence with a hygienic and welcoming environment. Located in the heart of the city, the studio boasts a team of highly skilled and experienced tattoo artists who specialize in a variety of styles, from intricate traditional designs to contemporary custom pieces. Renowned for their attention to detail and commitment to client satisfaction, Inkspired Tattoos ensures a safe and comfortable experience for each client, using top-quality inks and equipment. Whether you're getting your first tattoo or adding to a growing collection, Inkspired Tattoos is the go-to destination for exceptional body art in Pune.

[bewitchingbooktours]

Hollywood by Connor Coyne #LGBTQ+ #LitFic #MagicalRealism

Hollywood

Connor Coyne

Genre: LGBTQ+, Literary, Magical Realism

Publisher: Lethe Press

Date of Publication: Feb. 3, 2024

ISBN: 9781590215944

ASIN: B0CP6PG3J1

Number of pages: 97

Word Count: About 24,000

Cover Artist: Inkspiral

Tagline: A new American myth for readers who enjoy a bit of madness in their weird fiction.

Book Description: 

Anxious Ophelia steps off the elevated train in the big city, hoping to start a new life with her summer hookup, far from her dissolving family and all of the traumas of industrial Rockville. 

Over the course of the next few hours Ophelia will lose her roommate, her money, and eventually, her sense of sanity when she sees a mile-long shark out on the lake, unwitnessed by anyone else, but obviously there, because if it wasn't how did she get so soaked? 

Ophelia cannot go back to who she was before sighting the beast, and the friends and opportunities she discovers all proceed from what and how she acts on that first, fierce, drunken night.

Amazon     Lethe Press

Excerpt:

One August afternoon, in the midst of the hottest years ever recorded, with the nation crashing through wars, the stock market climbing like Icarus toward the sun, and the City funneling its poor people inland as it closed and demolished the last of the projects, Ophelia got off the Red Line elevated train at the Thorndale stop, squinted in the sunlight, and kicked her foot against the platform to free a stone from her sandal.

“Home at last?” she asked herself.

She certainly hoped so. There was so much here, and all of it everywhere: dozens of dark smears from murdered bubble-gum on each sidewalk square, hundreds of quartz-bright sidewalk squares lassoing each block, and thousands of glowing, sweltering blocks throughout the City with its millions of people.

To the west, between the tracks and Broadway, Ophelia made out a video store, a laundromat, and an internet café, all noisy with activity at four in the afternoon. To the east, between the tracks and the lake, she saw a canyon of tenement apartments—mostly brick, fronted with stoic windows, several stories high—going out for three blocks before the real high rises rose from the beach, blue and white and glass and concrete, almost unimaginably tall. Their heights arrowed sunlight back toward Ophelia, hitting her from all sides. And here, too, she saw people coming and going in the glow of late summer.

“Please,” she said. “Let this be my home.”

But who was going to answer her? Not the smartly dressed Black men talking in low voices, laughing softly, leaning out over the tracks to look for the next train. Not the old Polish woman in the headscarf murmuring her rosary to herself. Not the train attendant patrolling the platform. Or the sun, the steel high-rises, the brick tenements, the video store, or the laundromat. Since nobody would answer Ophelia, she descended the stairs, passed through the station, and went out into the City. * * * * *

Five minutes later, Ophelia stood in the lobby of her new apartment building, buzzing for the super to come down and give her the keys. The building stood near the corner of Kenmore and Ardmore, just one block from Sheridan Road and the lake. At eight stories high, it was the tallest of its neighbors, though still dwarfed by the towers just a block away. A white stucco lobby. Moll carpet. Plastic plants standing in shell-shaped alcoves cut into the wall. Nothing fancy, but with a breeze coursing down the hall from an open fire escape, Ophelia’s new home felt luxurious.

The super arrived and eyed her new tenant suspiciously. Ophelia wasn’t tall, but she was so skinny, especially about her face, that it created an illusion of height. When she looked in the mirror, her prominent cheekbones reminded her sometimes of a skull and sometimes of a praying mantis. Ophelia was white, pale even, with fine brown hair that wisped gently about her shoulders. She generally considered herself a fairly okay-looking person, whatever her other defects might be. Still, she knew wrinkles and exhaustion were about the corners of her eyes. Anyone could see this. Everyone noticed. She was only in her early 20s but seldom got carded for alcohol.

The super frowned but must have decided Ophelia was harmless because the woman hit the button in the wall, and the elevator dinged in reply. The super pulled open the accordion gate, and as they rose through the building, Ophelia watched each floor sinking out of view. She tried to ignore the stench of stale piss. They got off at the seventh door. The woman fumbled with the keys, swearing under her breath in some Slavic language, and opened the door to Ophelia’s apartment.

She’d seen Tasia’s pictures, but they didn’t do justice to the place. The hallway opened into a long white living room with a white carpet and a bay window looking out to the east. Slivers of blue water peeked in from between the lakeside towers. An arch to the left led into a slender kitchen, all Formica and old appliances, while another hall exited the back of the living room, passing the first bedroom and the bathroom and ending at a second bedroom with plenty of closets and built-in shelves along the way. Ophelia spotted a cockroach crawling across the stovetop and another in the back bedroom. Still, there was something so happy and fierce about the light and the skylike linearity of the lake that hope welled up in her chest anyway. This was fine. No, glorious! She’d deal with the roaches later. Maybe after Tasia arrived.

As Ophelia carried out her inspection, the super stood in the living room with her hands on her hips, waiting, but there wasn’t much else for Ophelia to do: everything had already been settled.

Several months ago, she had told Tasia that she was going to off herself before the end of summer if she didn’t get out of Rockville. “Let’s move to the City,” Tasia had said. “Get jobs. Get a cheap apartment. Hit the beach. Hit the good stuff.” The joke came up several times before the friends realized that they took the idea seriously. Even though Tasia’d gotten her Associates from the community college, she seemed stuck in dead-end cashier’s jobs and was dying of boredom. Rockville was killing her slowly.

And killing me quickly, Ophelia thought. She’d only been half kidding about surviving the summer. So, before she knew it, the two were creating profiles on Monster.com, Googling neighborhoods, and emailing old friends from high school who had moved to the City. Tasia drove out one weekend, picked up some job applications, toured the apartment on Kenmore, and signed the lease. She’d gotten in on a special promo: no security deposit required. Ophelia had faxed her signature. They were in. But if Tasia had set the whole thing up, she also needed another week to tie up the last loose ends at Spencer’s Gifts. “My manager got caught stealing inventory,” she’d said. “They want to promote me. I haven’t broken the news to them yet.” So, Tasia stayed behind while Ophelia went ahead with her sleeping bag and a backpack full of cleaning supplies. To get the new place ready. To make it homey.

Ophelia thought back to the 4th of July weekend when she’d lain in Tasia’s bed with Tasia on top of her and Rockville’s fireworks bursting out the windows. The taste of shandy on Tasia’s lips and her sturdy weight pressed down. How all the wretchedness and sorrow of all those years had collapsed that one drunken night. So ... were they friends now? Roommates? Lovers? Friends-with-benefits? With all the planning for their big move, this was one thing they hadn’t discussed. Ophelia wasn’t sure if it complicated things or simplified them.

“Okay?” asked the super.

“Thanks,” said Ophelia. “It’s wonderful.”

“Okay.”

As if on cue, a dull thudding sound—four-to-the-floor with the bass bass bass—started thrumming down from the apartment overhead. The eighth-floor penthouse.

“Uhhhhh,” groaned the super. “They never stop.”

She let herself out, leaving Ophelia with the music. * * * * *

It took Ophelia only a short time to unpack. She chose the second bedroom, near the back. It didn’t have a view of the lake, but it got more sun, and she could see the long sweep of high-rises following the shore and rising toward their downtown crescendo. Since she didn’t have a dresser or bed, Ophelia stacked her clothes in neat piles along the wall, unrolled her sleeping bag in the middle of the floor, and crushed a cockroach with her shoe before it could scurry for cover. Then, with the music still thudding overhead, she shouldered her backpack and left the building.

Ophelia found a supermarket just past the Thorndale stop on the other side of the tracks and spent the next half-hour in a reverie, pushing a shopping cart up and down each aisle and wondering what the next month held in store. I could apply to be a cashier here, she thought. I could apply to be a teller at that bank across the street. I wonder if I could apply to work for the El trains. I’ll need to make money somewhere! She didn’t worry a whole lot about what she did or didn’t need to buy. She had a crisp hundred in her wallet—a parting gift from her grandpa and some keychain pepper spray—but this was just the first of many shopping trips. Right now, she just needed to make it through the next week. She bought some Bisquick, some eggs, and milk. Instant coffee. Bananas and apples. Bread and peanut butter. A dollar box of cookies. A six-pack of cheap beer. Paper plates and plastic forks. A tall can of Raid. A small pillow. It ate up half of her money, but it was enough. She was halfway home before realizing she had nothing to cook the pancakes in or boil water for coffee. I can go back tomorrow, she thought. The peanut butter and beer will keep me going for tonight.

When Ophelia made it back, the sun was lower in the sky, and shadows covered the streets below. The thudding upstairs continued. She set her keys and phone on the counter, massaged her sore arms, and noticed that she’d missed a call from Tasia.

“Tasia?” she said when her friend answered.

Tasia gasped. “I didn’t think you’d call back so quick!” she said.

“Why wouldn’t I call back quick? I was carrying groceries. What’s up?”

“I’m bursting! I’m bursting! I can’t lie! I can’t come to the City with you!”

“What?”

“I was going to turn down the manager job, O, but that was before they made the offer. I didn’t know it came with such a huge raise. They’re gonna pay me twelve an hour. That’s, like, twice what I make now! No way I will get a job in the City that pays that much. And you know how expensive it is there ... have you seen the gas prices yet?! We didn’t think this through, O. I can’t move now. It would be crazy. I mean, it would be fucking stupid. I mean, I’m gonna get fucking health care!”

“Slow down, Taze. We have been planning this for months!”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry, it was my mistake too. It was just a dream, you know? It was a silly dream. A summer thing.”

“But our names are on the lease!”

“No security deposit, remember? So, we’re out that first month, but I’ll make that up in like a month. Maybe two. Point is, I’ll make it up quick! You could get out. It was my fuckup. I signed the lease. We just walk away. Hey, I’m the manager here now. I can hire you. Think how fun that’ll be. We can work at the mall together. Lunch at the food court. You know you love them burritos!”

Ophelia’s heart was sinking. It was already in the basement laundry room, and maybe it wouldn’t settle until it reached the bottom of the lake.

“I don’t know, Taze,” she said. “I was ... I was really excited about this. For us. I ... went shopping.”

“Oh, shit. How much money do you spend on us, O? It’s okay, I can pay you back. Now I’m, like, rolling in money! Compared to what I have been. You’ll come back to Rockville, right?”

Ophelia looked helplessly out the window. A seagull sailed down the street, caught between cool breezes from the lake and the warmer currents wafting off the brick buildings. “I don’t know, Taze. I don’t know anything right now. You shocked me. I mean, you surprised me.” She took another long pause. “I have to think about it.”

“I understand. I’m sooo sorry to just drop this. But I’d be crazy not to, you know?”

“I know. I get it.”

“Call me when you make up your mind. I’d love to hook you up.”

Would you love to hook up?! Ophelia cried out in her brain. What does this mean? What did that mean? What does anything mean?

“I will,” she said. “I’ll call you soon.”

“Hey, nothing else, we’re paid up through the end of September. Take a vacation in the City before you come back!” * * * * *

It wasn’t anything, Ophelia thought. It couldn’t have been much. She was drunk, and I guess I was desperate.

Am desperate.

Ophelia went into the kitchen and took another look at the food she had bought. She probably had enough money left over for a pot and a pan, but she wasn’t sure that would leave enough for public transit, and if she wanted to get a job, she’d need some train fare. She decided that she could boil water for coffee in a pan, leaving her enough to take the train downtown for a week. That’s ridiculous, she thought. Who lives like this? If I go back home, I’ve got a sure thing at the mall. I can go back to Grandpa and Grandma’s. Maybe save up. Maybe try again in a year. Or two. Maybe Tasia and I get a thing going ... if she wasn’t just drunk. If she really meant it. A car on the street below started honking. The honking continued, and Ophelia realized the driver was waiting for someone to come out of another apartment. She was drunk. She didn’t mean it. There’s no way I can stay here, and there’s nothing for me to go back to there, either.

Between the thudding bass and the car honking, Ophelia was starting to get a headache.

She wanted to bang against the ceiling with a broom but didn’t have one. She opened a beer with the bathroom towel bar, using the trick her brother had taught her. She shotgunned the beer, then had a second and a third, and then she was halfway done, so she went to the bathroom for a pee and drank the rest of the beers on the toilet. By then, she was getting dizzy, but at least drunkenness was a temporary relief. The honking had finally stopped, but the bass thudded on.

Ophelia went into her bedroom and shut the door, thinking it might muffle the sound, but it didn’t. An elevated train of alcohol slammed into her skull. She giggled sadly and reeled. Ophelia knew she was just as drunk as she’d been when she’d tumbled into bed with Tasia, but she was all alone this time. The walls and windows swirled around her, the bile danced in her stomach, and her ears popped like fireworks.

“Shut up!” Ophelia said and fell asleep.

About the Author:

Connor Coyne (he/him) is a writer living and working in Flint, Michigan.

Connor has published several novels and a short story collection, and his work has been featured in Vox.com, Belt Magazine, and elsewhere. He is the director of the Flint-based Gothic Funk Press and is facilitator for the Gloria Coles Flint Public Library‘s writing workshops.

Connor is a graduate of the University of Chicago and holds an MFA in Creative Writing from the New School. Today, he lives with his wife and two daughters in Flint’s College Cultural Neighborhood (aka the East Village), less than a mile from the house where he grew up.

Web: http://connorcoyne.com

Blog: http://connorcoyne.com/blog

Newsletter: https://connorcoyne.substack.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/connorcoyne

TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@blueskiesfalling

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/connorryancoyne/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4218298.Connor_Coyne

[avery-thorne-bookthoughtsblog]

Wretched Balance Excerpt

Presentation part 1

When post-graduate student Indigo Blackthorne schedules her first tattoo appointment, the last thing she expects is to be sent into presentation as an omega by her tattoo artist. 

:readmore:

Chapter One   Indi:

           I looked at the tasteful archway of the tattoo parlor with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. I’d spent the better part of the past few months scouring social media, trying to find an artist that could tie together the styles I wanted for this tattoo—my first. I’d decided that it was time to reclaim my body, customizing it the way I wanted.

Maybe if I had enough beautiful art to look at instead, I would be able to look at my body without feeling waves of shame and disgust.

Eventually, I’d landed on Inkspire, owned and operated by Tomás Navarro. His greyscale hyperrealism was what had originally drawn my eye, but as I looked deeper into his portfolio, I’d become enraptured with the way he captured the depths of color in his tattooed gems.

After that, it was a matter of explaining my concept and getting a quoted price range.

Everything was set—all I had to do was cross the threshold, and I could begin.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself, before I do just that, silver bells jingling as I open the door.

“Welcome to Inkspired,” the gorgeous Latine man behind the counter greeted me. “Indigo?”

I gave a little half wave, overwhelmed by his brilliant smile. “That’s me!”

Internally, I cringed. Could I be any more awkward?

“Tomás,” he said, stepping around the counter and striding to me with an outstretched hand.

I grabbed it, surprised by how rough the callouses on his palm felt against my academic’s hands. A jolt of heat shot through me as I shook it, and I pulled my own back as quickly as I could.  

“C’mon, let me show you the final design,” he said, gesturing me towards the desk. He handed me a tablet and I couldn’t help but gasp in surprise.

It was beautiful, and everything I had wanted. The raven’s outstretched wings had feathers beautifully defined with deep blues and purples. Held in its feet was a black Lightning Ridge opal cabochon, brighter shades of blue, green, and purple—my favorite colors—flaring across the dark gem. Between the wings and the centerpiece, strings of smaller pear-shaped jewels of the same color draped in many levels.

It would sit so that the raven’s wings went from shoulder to shoulder on me, the full tattoo taking up the majority of my sizeable chest, when all of the chandelier necklace’s precious stones finished dripping down my cleavage.

I’d always been defined by the size of my breasts, them being the first thing to develop when I started puberty at nine. As a result, I had been constantly restricted with what clothes I’d been allowed to wear, and my chest size had been used as evidence that I was inherently sinful, a lure designed to lead otherwise upstanding men and boys into temptation.

It’d also been one of the few things I got compliments on, by those I’d attempted to date since reaching adulthood, so needless to say, I had a complicated relationship with my boobs. Who wouldn’t?

But I’d realized when I’d turned twenty a few months ago that, left in a vacuum, I actually loved the way they looked on me. So where better to start reclaiming my body and finding beauty in myself than where I already had seeds for it planted?

“I absolutely fucking love it, Mr. Navarro,” I breathed, barely tearing my gaze away from the tablet.

He chuckled, deep in his chest. “I’m glad you love it. But please—call me Tomás. Mr. Navarro is my father.”

“I’m excited for you to put it on me, Tomás,” I said warmly, fully meeting his deep brown eyes with my own for the first time. For a second, his eyes darkened with what I would call desire if he’d been looking at anyone else.

Foolish, I thought, glancing away quickly as I blushed. As if someone who looks like that would be interested in someone as fat as me.

Tomás was undeniably an alpha, towering above me and his tawny arms corded with thick muscles. He had an aquiline nose, wide, generous lips, and a square jaw with the barest dusting of dense stubble across his face. His hair was a few shades black than even my own dark chocolate brown, and hung in beautiful waves around his face. His scent had sweet cocoa top notes, a teakwood middle, and depths of a deep, earthy spice.

I paused, considering. I’m not normally able to scent alphas in that type of way.

I shrugged, dismissing the idea and grinding the stab of hope in my chest to dust. I was at the normal age when presentation happened, and I’d long-since wanted to be one of those betas who is near-magically transformed into the ever-valued omegas. Hell, I’d even have several beta men be interested in me because I was the closest they’d ever come to someone with ‘omega sized tits and ass.’

It wasn’t pleasant.

Besides. I was a masters student, and I’d seen more than my fair share of how omegas were treated by others—especially male alphas—when they were candidates for post-grad certifications. Dismissed as an airhead bimbo at best and anomalies failing to produce kids for their packs at worst—raging feminist somewhere in the middle, but those could be ‘cured’ by the right pack.

I already had a hard time getting others to take me seriously due to my age. I was going into a male-dominated field with my aims at becoming a tenured college professor. I put in enough work and had made enough advancements on my research that had I been male, I’m sure I’d have gained so much more praise than I currently did. I knew I could do it.

But why want to give myself an additional hurdle? I didn’t even want a pack—or kids. Not after that day.

So I was happy I was a size 18 5’6 beta, endowed with nearly as big a stomach as the rest of my curves. I had a baby face and a scent that was, at best, sweet green apples. It was safer.

Tomás cleared his throat, and I realized that I’d been lost in my own thoughts for longer than was socially acceptable.

Fucking autism.

“So uh. We can start whenever you want, if you’ll just take your shirt off…” he trailed off, his gaze raking over me in my tube top.

I’d made sure to wear a strapless corset I’d made to give myself the more back support needed by big boobs, maximizing my cleavage as best I could, and covered up with a fishnet hoodie. It was a huge fuck-you to the ways I’d been raised, and I’d worn it out a few times before to test out if I was okay with having that much skin exposed. There was no way I wasn’t going to show off this tat, and I needed to test the waters.

For my bottom half, I wore a long skirt with two slits up the middle front so that there was a long strip of fabric in between my legs. Underneath, I wore a pair faux-thigh high fishnet tights (and wore a pair of cheeky panties, the thin, smooth black silk pinstriped with mesh).

For some reason, I’d been craving silkier fabrics lately, and looser clothes. Wearing the corset wasn’t hard, per se—but it had been more comfortable when I first made it.

I

I probably gained weight, I thought gloomily.

“Yeah, no problem—where should I put my clothes?” I asked, looking around.

“You can hand it to me,” he said, holding out his hand. “And I’ll hang it up for you.”

“Sure, thanks,” I said, shrugging off my hoodie and handing it to him. “Do you need this corset off too?” I ran my hands up and down it slowly, soothing myself by stroking the seams in the black silk where the turquoise silk striping I’d put over the boning was. I looked up at him, feeling his eyes on me. “I wasn’t sure how you’d want my, um. Bosom?”

He watched me, mouth parted slowly. He swallowed, shook his head slightly, and coughed before speaking. “No, you can um. You can leave that on—I’ll have you adjust them as necessary. At least while I’m placing the stencil.”

“Okay, perfect,” I said. “Since I do want some of the gems to kinda go lower on the cleavage.”

“Oh?” he said, his voice strained as he printed out the stencils. The tattoo was broken into several core pieces, so they could be adjusted as necessary without having to do the whole thing all over again.

I’d been very curious and cautious about the tattoo, okay? I needed to learn as much about it as possible to make sure I could customize it enough to want it on my body forever. He’d been super patient and understanding with me, and I appreciated it a lot.

I’d felt really safe with him before meeting, and that impression was only confirmed now.

“Yeah,” I replied, holding absolutely still by keeping my eyes fixed on the painting visible on the wall where he had directed my head. “I can show you if you want.”

“Yeah, we can do that,” he said. “I’ll stand either in front of you or behind you as I put it on then, and you can look in the mirror and tell me where to put the dots.”

“Sure,” I said, walking over to the mirror and trying to ignore the way the thought of him behind me or kneeling in front of me had sent a throb to my core.

I’d been excessively horny lately, no matter how many times I made myself cum. It hadn’t quite gotten to the point where I was daydreaming about my favorite alpha professor I’d had a crush on since undergrad—who was now a colleague, and who’d chatted with me during office hours after bringing me a chocolate-raspberry scone. I’d also been craving sweet things, and I didn’t know why.

But it had definitely made it so I went out to a club later that night, using my fake ID to sneak in and hook up with men around my age. I didn’t get very far—no more than a hot and heavy makeout session that ended with him fingering me ineptly. But still, I’d been getting increasingly desperate for something in my holes, and my fingers were quickly becoming not enough.

It wasn’t surprising, exactly, that I got turned on at the thought of this alpha marking me from behind—oh fuck.

I realized with a desperate spasm in my core that I might be about to present as an omega.

[stories-of-faenbel]

This is the story of the Duchesses Of The Veiled Valley. Nicolaa & Naria Jacquier we’re two of the duchesses in the Veiled Valley. Some people were not happy with how these duchesses family ruled find out more in this short story “Duchesses of the Veiled Valley.” Find our stories on Get Inkspired! And follow us on our social media! https://youtu.be/QXa35iumKkQ

[littletinytattoos]

🐠

[evaristoramos]

Capítulo novo.

[enchantingepics]

Story Prompt 33

In a bustling college town, somewhere between the stacks of dusty books and the hum of the photocopier, lived a student who had perfected the art of procrastination. With an uncanny ability to navigate the labyrinth of due dates, this student was notorious for pushing the limits of time management. Their reputation wasn't built on academic excellence, but on the thrilling game of submitting assignments just moments before the clock struck midnight.

One day, our protagonist found themselves caught in a whirlwind of chaotic events, forgetting about a series of assignments that were due the next morning. The feeling of being a 'baddie' crept in as they realized the predicament they were in. Unfazed by the impending doom of overdue submissions, our hero donned a metaphorical cape of determination and embarked on a quest to conquer the looming deadlines.

With a backpack slung over one shoulder and a caffeine-fueled determination, they raced against time, maneuvering through the obstacles of crowded libraries and the treacherous terrain of procrastination. As they sprinted through the corridors, they overheard snippets of conversations from fellow students, adding an extra layer of urgency to the mission.

"Hey, have you finished that paper?" "Nah, I'm pulling an all-nighter. It's due tomorrow."

The protagonist's heart raced, echoing the ticking clock in their mind. They reached the library, where the librarian raised an eyebrow at their late-night antics. Without uttering a word, our hero plunged into the sea of books, desperately searching for the information needed to weave their last-minute masterpiece.

In a dimly lit corner, surrounded by towers of reference materials, our protagonist scribbled furiously, trying to make sense of the scattered thoughts in their mind. A fellow student, sensing the shared struggle, offered a sympathetic smile and whispered, "Good luck, we're all in this together."

As the night wore on, the protagonist emerged from the library with a stack of hastily written pages clutched in their hands. With a sigh of relief, they navigated the deserted campus, sneaking into the professor's office to slide the assignments under the door. In that moment, the feeling of being a 'baddie' transformed into a triumphant grin, knowing they had once again outsmarted the unforgiving grip of deadlines.

The next day, the sun rose on a campus filled with students grappling with the consequences of their procrastination. Our protagonist, however, reveled in the sweet victory of submitting overdue assignments, wearing the badge of a time-strapped hero who had danced with deadlines and emerged unscathed.

[ladyazulina]

Linney's Campaign

Masterpost - Campaign Page

🌸 Spring 1 🌸

Weather: Stormy ⛈️

Previous Part: He's not as bad as it seems.

Getting close to the devil

Word Count: 2.014.

But I at least know what my next step is, even if I don't like it nor a tiny bit. I just have to wait. Until the storm passes.

You can find a few other different phrases from this chapter on Medium, Substack, Ream, and Inkspired.

You can find the whole chapter in the Sapphire Azulino tier on Patreon 💙

Tagging: @aziz-reads 💙 @cilly-the-writer

[flatbstanley]

From the personal website of Taylor Santoro (taylorgrace.com):

Sul sul! Welcome back to another installment in my Thursday Evenings series! Today we’ll be spending the evening with my friend Ayla Newbury.

Ayla lives in Copperdale with her husband Zahid and their two daughters, 11-year-old Poppy and 4-year-old Emily. She is a freelance artist who has recently gone back to college to study arts education.

Ayla’s Thursday evenings begin at the local rec center, picking up Poppy from swim practice. She and Emily enjoyed the playground while they waited for her to finish. “Emily has tons of energy, and burning some off before dinner goes a long way in making bedtime go smoothly.” I think a lot of us mamas can relate!

Ayla and the girls arrived home around the same time as Zahid, who works as an IT project manager. Poppy and Emily had such a sweet welcome for him! From there, it was on to the kitchen so dinner could happen before it got too late.

“Zahid loves to cook and is really good at it,” says Ayla. “On Thursdays, when we're all home on the late side and need something fast, he does a much better job than I ever could.” This evening, Zahid whipped up a quick stir fry while Ayla helped Poppy with her homework.

How did Zahid prepare this delicious meal, you may ask? With his Schmapple appliances! Just a reminder that Schmapple makes it easy to get a healthy dinner on the table for your family, and you can use code TAYLOR at their website to get 5% off. Hurry -- that deal will be ending soon!

After dinner, the kitchen transformed into Ayla’s study zone. “I try to get the bulk of my studying done while the girls are at school, but when I have an exam or paper, it bleeds into the evenings.” Meanwhile, Zahid took charge of Emily, enjoying some playtime before getting her to bed.

Once Emily was asleep, Zahid and Poppy settled down to watch the Game of Llamas season premiere. “We try to limit TV, but Poppy was just dying to watch this. And I don’t think Zahid exactly minded either.” Game of Llamas is something my husband and I don’t allow in our own home, but everybody has different standards!

I left Ayla’s house around 10 pm to get back to my own family. Ayla was still buried in her paper, so Zahid was the one to putting Poppy to bed.

I asked for Ayla’s thoughts on these photos before sharing them here. “I was worried that going back to school would cut into my time with the girls. It definitely does some nights—I especially miss doing bedtime—but I’m also happy to see how present Zahid is for them when I can't be there. He’s a fantastic dad.”

@.inkspirations: Beautiful photos! Thanks for spending the evening with us! :)

@.Kelly.Moreno: Your girls are precious, Ayla! Looking forward to meeting you and sharing a little about teaching!!!

@.tradcathdad: This woman is a disgrace, neglecting her husband and children to pursue a worthless degree at a woke institution. Cannot believe that you’re promoting this.

@.taylorgrace: @.tradcathdad, I’ve blocked your comment above. We all have different standards and we are all striving for holiness in our own ways!!

[sisutattoo]

🃏 Check out this awesome tiny joker done for @samharrison1992 ! I LOVE doing beautiful dotwork designs for people ☺️ If you love dotwork too, why not get in touch and book your next design! 🃏 ________________________________ #uktattooist #uktattoo #uktattooartist #nottinghamtattoo #nottinghamtattooartist #nottinghamtattooist #midlandstattoo #midlandstattooartist #midlandstattooist #inkspiration #cooltattoo #uniquetattoo #tattoo #tattooideas #linework #lineworktattoo #blackwork #blackworktattoo #stippling #stippletattoo #stipple #stipplingtattoo #dotworktattoo #dotwork #joker #dc #dccomics #batman https://www.instagram.com/p/CnMG-OYNxO8/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=